I nodded, pretending to look pleased. Had it really come to negotiating with Rain in order to stake a claim to her lousy couch?
Rain paused, tapping on the bedroom doorframe. “So why did you take the job?” she said. “What’s your play?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Bullshit.”
I looked away, irritated that she was calling me out, even if she was right.
“Not everyone is gaming everyone, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “No, not everyone. But you definitely are.”
“You know . . . you looked kind of sad that I might have been gone,” I said.
She stopped smiling. “I can promise you it wasn’t for the reason you think,” she said.
Then she disappeared into her bedroom.
26
You can easily get complacent.
When I was younger, I never did. I was vigilant. Consider it a side effect of growing up in my father’s home. His shifting rules made anything close to complacency an impossibility. We never knew what would be required of us, based on what he thought was required of him. There were some rules that we could count on lasting, like his pancakes, and others that shifted entirely on a dime, like forbidden hours. It taught me a good lesson, though. Complacency was dangerous.
So why was it that I kept forgetting such a basic tenet?
I woke up on the uncomfortable couch, rain pouring down outside, and I actually had the thought: Amber’s hack was in the past. I was onto the redemption plan. Step one: getting my career back on track. Chef Z knew me. Chef Z would soon love me. Step two: starting to deal with my personal life. I sat down to send Danny an email. A long email explaining a little better how I thought we’d gotten here. It would be useful, I decided, not to let him completely off the hook. I would strike the perfect tone between sensitive and strong. I wouldn’t overly apologize. He, after all, had things to apologize for now too. His haste in the aftermath, selling our apartment. I wouldn’t castigate him, but I’d allude to it.
I would also fit in that I was driving my niece to camp every day. If he thought I was trying to heal my family, he’d be impressed. And he would remember that was the woman he loved. One night in fourteen years hadn’t changed that.
Except, when I opened my computer, I saw the new hack.
An email from Aintnosunshine.
Checking in. Happy being yesterday’s news?
And there was a link to my YouTube channel, A Little Sunshine. I clicked on the link, and instead of a new video from me, there was Toast of the Town written in large letters and a link to Amber Rucci’s YouTube channel. I stared at the screen in disbelief. Was Amber actually that shameless? Sending people from my channel to hers?
Reluctantly, I clicked on the link and saw Amber sitting in her Upper West Side apartment, curled into her couch in a comfy sweater and jeans (and full makeup), announcing her cookbook release and saying she had exciting news to share.
“I’m hitting the small screen!” Amber said. Then she clicked on her TV, which was tuned to the Food Network. “Stay tuned! Literally.”
My Food Network hosting gig. It was now her Food Network hosting gig. She was the ideal replacement. A marketing executive was ordering new billboards. A producer was happily convincing the higher-ups that Amber was better for the job anyway.
I hit pause, trying to control my anger.
On Amber’s checklist to steal my career, she had checked another box. An important one.
Publishing contract. TV show.
I looked at Amber’s smug face, so pleased with herself for stealing my life. So pleased with herself that she was getting everything she thought she deserved.
I couldn’t help it. I hit play again.
“A perfect toast to enjoy the premiere episode with?” Amber said, springing into cheery action. “I vote for . . . grilled pineapple and hazelnut chocolate on dark pumpernickel bread. For the win!”
She held the toast up, the chocolate dripping off the rich pumpernickel bread, the pineapple bright and luscious.
She took a large, crunchy bite and smirked right at me.
I felt faint. I actually felt faint.
So I turned off my laptop, complete with its crack.
And then I threw it against the wall.
“Wow, that’s loud!”
I turned to Sammy, standing there, watching. “Sorry, Sammy.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my laptop,” she said.
I almost laughed.
Sammy walked over to the window, looked at the rain. “I’d like to watch movies today,” she said. “Considering the weather.”
I bent down to pick up my laptop, still thinking about Amber. “Good decision,” I said, only half listening.
She plopped down on the couch, wrapping my blanket around her. “You’ll watch with me?” she said, more of a command than a request.
“As long as it’s not a horror film,” I said.
“Not allowed,” she said.
I thought of Amber and her pineapple, my fury bubbling up again. “Or about food.”
“Not interested,” she said.
I sat back down on the couch, the laptop in my hands.
She motioned toward it. “Why did you throw that, anyway?” she said.
“It was stupid. I was mad at this woman, who did a mean thing.”
Sammy looked confused. “Is it her computer?”
“No.”
Sammy reached for the television remote. “Then that was pretty stupid,” she said.
27
A weird thing happens when someone tries to blatantly take you down: You let cruelty win or you let it fuel you.
I chose fuel.
I knew that the first step was to win Chef Z over quickly, and that meant taking big swings.
For my swing that Monday morning, I would head to 28’s local farm in Amagansett. In Z’s one and only botany interview, he’d said he tended to his vegetables at 10 A.M. daily in order to prep the menu for that night. I sussed out that the sous-chefs arrived a little before he did. I was going to befriend one of them, and convince them to walk me through the gardens (show me the springing mushrooms and tomatoes and herbs). I would “happen” to be there when Chef Z arrived. So he would see my eagerness to understand another aspect of how he did what he did. How many members of his kitchen staff did that? How many people in charge of the trash?
My plan was to take Sammy to camp and then head to the farm. Except, just as we arrived, Sammy hesitated before getting out of the car.
“I won an award at camp,” she said.
I was reviewing my knowledge about summer fruit, thinking of something interesting to say to Z. So I didn’t respond at first—and then Sammy continued.
“I made a contraption that waters the plants at night,” she said. “While we sleep. It’s pretty great.”
My eyes ticked to the clock on the dashboard. “That’s great, Sammy. Good for you.”
“They’re having assembly today to show the inventions.”
“Did you tell your mom? She definitely would want to be there.”
“I know she has to be at work, so . . .”
I knew what she was asking. I knew what I was supposed to say. What she wanted.
Sammy shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
I closed my eyes, doing the math. If the ceremony took less than an hour, I’d probably be okay.