AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It took Valentina several more sessions of begging to get Diana to cave.
“All right. But there will be no interviews about who you are or what you think about your father’s new show. Deal?”
“I won’t say anything to them,” Valentina agreed. “I just want my classmates to see me on TV. And I want to eat with you at that fancy restaurant! They have fried fish, don’t they? French fries?”
Diana laughed and chased Valentina through the kitchen and up the dramatic staircase to the bedroom that was hers and hers alone—without Ryan. They found themselves in Diana’s closet, where they parsed through dresses and skirts and silk blouses to find their evening attire. When Valentina donned one of Diana’s dresses, Diana’s breath caught in her throat. For the first time ever, Diana saw herself in Valentina rather than only Ryan.
Even when Valentina had been very little, Diana had seen only Ryan. And she’d ached at the unfairness of it all. Why hadn’t her daughter looked like her, even the slightest bit? As proof of something? As proof of her love? In her mind, she loved Valentina far more than Ryan did. And Ryan had done nothing but prove this ever since.
“What?” Valentina asked with a laugh.
“You look beautiful, honey. And so grown-up.”
“I’m sixteen, Mom,” Valentina said, as though that was ancient. As though she didn’t have a million more mistakes ahead of her—most of which Diana couldn’t protect her from.
“I just hope you know how special you are,” Diana said, wrapping Valentina’s hair into a knot above her head that she eventually let fall.
“Mom,” Valentina coughed, smiling, embarrassed. “Stop.”
On the night of their reservation, Diana and Valentina drove downtown and parked across the street from The Clam Factory. Valentina wrinkled her nose. “What a silly name,” she said.
“I know. They changed it for the TV show,” Diana explained.
“What was it before?”
Diana pondered this as they headed up the sidewalk toward the restaurant. It occurred to her she didn’t know. Maybe she’d never asked. She’d been so lost in her own narrative, unwilling to comprehend the lives she was affecting in coming to Nantucket in the first place.
Before Diana could answer Valentina, Henry burst from the front door, showing all of his fake bright teeth.
“Diana! My darling!” he said as he headed for them. Diana wasn’t sure if he planned to tackle her or hug her. “We’ve been worried!”
Diana allowed herself to be hugged, surprised at Henry's warmth. He’d been her “ticket to a better life,” and she’d taken him for granted, calling him, in her mind, a necessary evil on her quest to live her life on her own terms.
Although he’d pushed for the “Eddie, Diana, and Rachelle” narrative, Henry had done nothing but be kind to her. He’d just been trying to do his job.
“So what’s up?” Henry continued, his eyes still big. “You’re feeling better? Rachelle said you’ve been really ill. I can’t imagine. She made us all promise we wouldn’t reach out to you and bother you, but I almost did. I mean, you’re Diana March! My friend! My money ticket!”
Diana made a mental note to thank Rachelle for covering for her. She was the perfect sous chef, as the sous chef was meant to slip in easily during the head chef’s time of need. Diana prayed she could pay the favor back later. Perhaps she could give her an opportunity of a lifetime—if the chance ever came.
Diana introduced Henry to her daughter. Henry gushed, saying, “I’ve always wondered about you, Valentina. You must be a wonderful cook like your parents.”
Valentina snorted. “I hate cooking.”
Diana and Henry laughed.
“You never know what your children will be like, I guess,” Henry said, pressing his elbow against Diana’s upper arm.
“Valentina likes what she likes,” Diana said. “And she hates being in the kitchen.”
“Unless Mom is letting me eat cookie dough or something,” Valentina joked.
Because Diana had spent the brunt of her life in kitchens, she often wondered what she’d missed over the years. She supposed Valentina would help her understand the rest of the world and what else there was to appreciate. Perhaps you didn’t have to produce expert crème brûlée or duckà l'orange to be happy in life. It was mind-boggling—but probably true.
“I’m really sorry I wasn’t around for filming,” Diana finally said. She felt a blush crawl up her neck and into her cheeks. After all, she’d arranged for this show to happen, signing contracts that had indicated she was to be the face of The Nantucket Factory on the Cooking Channel.
Henry waved his hand. “It’s totally fine! We found several new angles for storylines this week without you. It’s been interesting. Of course, we’ve been focusing on Rachelle’s meteoric rise to ‘head chef’ status. And Benny and Paul have really escalated their feud.”
Diana laughed. “You don’t need me at all?”
