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She’d waited as long as she could to tell him. She’d known about her departure for weeks at that point, and she’d been biding her time, almost enjoying herself. She and Ryan hadn’t entirely enjoyed one another’s company, but they’d gone to a few films and had friends over. They’d talked about politics. They’d discussed their finances.
In some ways, they’d acted more like a “real couple” in the past few weeks than they had in years.
Unfortunately, the news hadn’t come from Diana. Their producers had let it slip on the phone with Ryan yesterday. And he’d, understandably, blown up.
“We’re Ryan and Diana,” Ryan reminded her quietly now. He sounded so sorrowful and broken. “We’re America’s favorite couple in the kitchen.”
Diana’s heart pumped. “We haven’t cooked together in ages,” she reminded him.
Ryan tugged his hair again, showing his massive bicep. When they’d first met, they’d been happy and healthy—not muscly, not obsessed with fat percentages, not weighing themselves every morning. Neither of them had cared when they’d developed small stomachs from overeating. They’d adored cooking, craved flavor, and given it all up for another helping.
Before Ryan could respond, Diana fled the veranda and hurried upstairs to her walk-in closet. She’d already opened three suitcases and filled most of each with appropriate outfits for the next few months. The weather would be different. It wouldn’t be “always sunny” California. Perhaps she would be able to breathe again.
Ryan was on the other side of her closet door, breathing heavily. It sounded as though he’d been crying. Diana’s heart cracked at the edges. This was the only man she’d ever loved. Why was she doing this to him? Why was she ripping them apart?
With his body so close to hers, it was difficult to remember.
“I would have come with you, you know.” Ryan gasped toward the door.
Diana remained quiet. She’d already said everything she wanted to say. She’d squeezed her emotions dry all night and into the morning. Ryan continued to fight for a life that no longer existed.
“I should have known,” Ryan muttered, growing angry again. “You just want your own fame, don’t you? Do you just want your own glory? It wasn’t enough to share it with me.”
Diana scoffed quietly and pressed both palms against the door. She was reminded of The Shining when Jack Nicholson used an ax to reach his wife behind the bathroom door. It was incredible what bad marriages did to your psyche and soul.
“It wasn’t about the fame,” Diana breathed to the door.
Ryan cackled unkindly and stepped away from the closet as though he’d learned everything he needed to. “Sure, Diana. Just keep telling yourself that.” He trounced down the hallway and disappeared into his office. Diana could already imagine him plotting her demise over the next few months. She wasn’t sure how he’d do it, exactly. She just hoped that when his retaliation came, she would know how to handle it.
It wasn’t like California had ever been home. Not really. As Diana and her Uber driver filled his trunk with her suitcases, she stole several glances at the horizon line, where an orange sun dunked itself into a glistening ocean. It looked entirely unreal, like a photograph from a calendar she’d hung in her childhood bedroom in the suburbs of Chicago. Back then, her only dream had been to be a chef somewhere. She hadn’t needed any view beyond one of sizzling skillets, wide countertops, cutting boards layered with glistening tomatoes, and something bubbling on the stove. Maybe she still felt like that. Maybe that made her small-minded.
In the back seat of the Uber, Diana crossed and uncrossed her ankles and stared straight ahead. She didn’t need to see that house again.
“That’s a beautiful place,” the Uber driver said. “How long have you been there?”
“We bought it about twelve years ago,” Diana answered simply, as though she were telling someone when her birthday was.
The Uber driver snapped his fingers. “You’re that lady! The one on the Cooking Channel!” Beside him, a fake four-leaf clover hung from his rearview mirror, swinging this way and that as he turned the car.
Diana smiled sadly.
“And your husband! He’s insanely talented,” the Uber driver remarked. “My wife and I tried his salmon recipe the other night. I think it might have saved our marriage.” He cackled and smacked his thigh.
Diana wanted to turn invisible.
On the long drive from Santa Monica to the Los Angeles International Airport, Diana gazed wistfully out the window. She watched pedestrians hunker at bus stops, roller skaters skid across sidewalks, and cars honk at one another. She wondered if she would miss Los Angeles one day. She wondered if she would ever come back on purpose.
When they were stuck in traffic, Diana forced herself to google “divorce lawyers” for the first time. She knew from television shows and other friends in the industry that it was essential to meet with a lawyer early on—just in case your partner met with him or her first. If they had, that lawyer was considered “blocked” from you. It made things messy and complicated, like a horrible game.
Diana wrote a few emails to divorce lawyers in Los Angeles and on the East Coast. There had to be one who would take her case. She hoped they weren’t fans of the Cooking Channel. Those people had a tendency to pull for her and Ryan as though the fact that they’d fallen apart was proof that love no longer existed.
Love did exist, though. Diana knew it because she’d once felt it so completely with Ryan. She’d felt as though, in kissing him, they’d floated off the ground and into the sky. Everything they’d cooked had been wonderfully flavorful and nearly perfect because it had been a product of their love. Their love had been paramount to their television shows. It was what the American public had been hungry for.
At LAX, Diana’s Uber driver pestered her for more details regarding their upcoming shows.
“You should go on Netflix,” he suggested, “or another streaming service. That way, we can watch you whenever we want to.” He beamed. He thought he was being helpful.
“I’ll think about that and run it past Ryan,” Diana said as he lined the final suitcase up with the others.
