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Diana remembered the brief visit like a blurry dream. At the time, she’d already been hard at work, crafting her escape from Ryan. She hadn’t yet learned if The Nantucket Factory was fully on, which meant she was still pretending that her and Ryan’s upcoming series was a go. She’d still had to pretend to be a happy, dutiful wife in that glass house in Santa Monica.
“But there was something off about Dad when I got home,” Valentina said. “Something I couldn’t figure out. He was on his phone all the time.”
“He was always on his phone,” Diana said, “with producers or other chefs. Anyone he thought would escalate his fame and monetary value.”
“This was different,” Valentina breathed. Her expression was difficult to read. “I know it was wrong, but I finally took a peek at his screen.”
Diana folded her lips. How many times had she preached the importance of privacy? But, in this modern world, did privacy even exist?
“He was texting someone. A woman,” Valentina said. “I didn’t think anything much about it at first because I assumed she was, like, a colleague or something. But I just remembered.” She swallowed, and her eyes glinted with tears. “Her name was Stacy.”
The name dropped between them like a stone. Diana dropped her head against the headrest and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. The beautiful image of Stacy—twentysomething, blond, clearly into yoga, vegan—filled her mind’s eye. This was the sort of girl who might have dated Ryan back in their culinary school days. This was the sort of woman Ryan had always been meant to be with.
Diana had initially been a matter of convenience due to their proximity to Rome.
And then, she’d been a part of his brand.
But he was building a different brand now. He didn’t need her anymore.
Maybe she didn’t need him, either. But ever since she’d arrived, it had been difficult to convince herself of that. Nightly, as Nantucket winds crashed against the Victorian home and the Atlantic Ocean crawled up and down the sand with the tides, like a monster playing with its prey, Diana had ached for him. She’d tried to envision ways she could return home and mend their relationship. She’d spoken aloud to him, pretending he was in bed beside her, telling him all sorts of things. How lost she was without him. How empty she felt when the cameras rolled.
“I just think maybe he was cheating on you,” Valentina cried as tears streamed down her cheeks. “And I hate it. I hate it so much. And now, all your fans won’t know that this started before you broke up. They’ll think you pushed him to it.” Valentina’s face crumpled. “I hate how they see you, Mom. They don’t know how special you are.”
Diana’s heart was tremendously heavy. She reached between their chairs to take Valentina’s hand. “I’ve never given them everything. They hardly know me,” she said finally. “And because of that, I’ll be able to move on from this. Your father always gave them everything. And he’ll be trapped in that loop forever, looking for public affection and attention. I wouldn’t wish that life on my greatest enemy.”
A few minutes later, rain peppered the veranda and sent Valentina and Diana inside. Diana set to work on popcorn and hot chocolate to wade away the evening’s surprise chill as Valentina scrubbed the dishes from dinner. Diana watched her, loving how diligent she was about cleaning. Diana hoped she’d instilled this patience in her daughter. She hoped she’d instilled this care for details.
When Valentina cut the water, Diana asked, “What about next year?”
“What about it?”
Diana raised her shoulders. “What if we lived in Los Angeles together? It’ll be your junior year. You can enroll at Santa Monica High. If you want that.”
Valentina’s eyes widened. Slowly, she set a stack of clean plates on the counter and dried her hands with a towel.
“I know it would mean saying goodbye to your friends at the boarding school,” Diana said. “But the way you talk about them makes me think you’re not always comfortable there, anyway.”
In a very small voice, Valentina breathed, “I’d like that. So much.”
Diana wrapped her arms around her daughter as the rain escalated outside, pounding across the veranda and spackling the windows. At least one thing was settled. At least she would have her daughter back again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
To support their peace of mind and allow for many hours of laughter and riveting conversation (that had nothing to do with Ryan and Stacy), Diana and Valentina made a pact to avoid the Cooking Channel. That weekend, rather than weep about Ryan’s newfound love and newfound series, Diana and Valentina explored Nantucket, hiking the beaches, dipping their toes in the surf, and eating everything they could get their hands on—hot dogs, burgers, fries, fried fish. Everything unhealthy and dripping with oil. Everything Diana hadn’t been allowed for decades because she’d had to uphold her television diet. And everything Valentina had begged for the past ten years—rolling her eyes at Diana and Ryan’s healthy concoctions.
Sometimes, Diana had the urge to send a photo of her and Valentina to Ryan. “Here we are together! Wish you were here.” Something like that. That was an urge from another time—a leftover piece of the life they’d once shared. She would get over it soon, she hoped.
A few times, Diana and Valentina were only a few blocks from The Clam Factory. Diana itched to text Rachelle and ask how things were going. Instead, she decided to do something far more dramatic. She’d begun to think of her life like a canvas. She could paint whatever she wanted onto it; she could show herself who she truly wanted to be.
Diana made a reservation for Saturday evening. She used a fake name to throw off the scent. When she told Valentina about her plan, Valentina begged to go with her.
“I told you. I want you to have a life on your own terms,” Diana said. “Being on television has consequences. People start to know you and build a story around you. People expect things from you. It’s horrible, Valentina.”
“I’m just going to sit across from you at a table and eat and smile,” Valentina pointed out. “Plus, it would annoy Dad that I appeared on your show rather than his. So much!”
Diana smiled to herself. She hated how much she liked this part of the game.
But still, she said, “I don’t know.”
