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“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “But why is it the opposite in romantic relationships? It feels like, when you tell someone you like them, they want to get as far away from you as possible.”
Sam cackled and draped her hand over her chest. “I think that goes away once you hit thirty-five or so.”
Darcy and Rachelle exchanged glances.
“I meant to ask you about your boyfriends,” Sam said wryly. “But I get the sense I’m missing something?”
“We both agreed we wanted to be single for a while,” Darcy said.
“They liked us too much!” Rachelle joked as Sam shook with giggles.
“It used to be a good thing when a guy liked you,” their mother said.
“We’re in our early twenties,” Darcy agreed. “I’m not ready to settle down. I want to have a wild summer! I want to have adventures!”
Sam laughed, her eyes widening as though her daughters were fascinating specimens. “Things have changed so quickly, haven’t they? When I was your age, I already had both of you. I was chasing you around, trying to ensure you didn’t put dangerous things in your mouth. The idea of ‘adventure’ was far from my mind.”
Rachelle’s heart seized. Did her mother regret that?
The answer came a second later.
“I was as happy as a clam,” Sam assured them. “Even your father was good to me back then. I couldn’t understand people who didn’t want to settle down. But Rachelle, I know how focused you are on your career. And Darcy, I love how you love life! Don’t slow down for anyone or anything, okay? Promise me that?”
Darcy and Rachelle promised.
Their pizza arrived not long after that. They draped the boxes on the coffee table and put on a new rom-com called Anyone But You—a story involving enemies pretending to be in love.
“This trope never gets old,” Darcy said, rapt with attention.
“But how often does it happen?” Sam asked. “I’ve never fallen in love with my enemy before.”
“It happened to me,” Darcy chimed in. “But I think it was all a game. I never hated him.” Her eyes flickered toward Rachelle, whose mind wandered to Eddie at the restaurant. What was he up to during this vacation? Would he still be at the restaurant when she got back?
“What about you, Rachelle?” Darcy asked. “Have you ever fallen in love with your enemy?”
Rachelle took a bite of white pizza and chewed contemplatively. She’d had so many enemies in culinary school—mostly men who’d felt she wasn’t good enough to receive all the accolades the teachers gave her.
When she told Sam and Darcy this, Sam clapped her hands and said, “That’s misogyny 101!” Darcy nodded knowingly.
“It’s just how the culinary world works,” Rachelle said sadly. “Men are given chance after chance. They’re lauded as the ‘best chefs in the world.’ Women have to work three times as hard and can’t make a single mistake. It’s the only way forward. The only way to get any respect.”
Sam glowered and made her hands into fists. “Who do I have to threaten to make things fair around here?”
Rachelle bubbled with laughter. “Hopefully, nobody. Hopefully, a week from now, I’ll be up to my ears in stress as head chef.”
“You deserve it, honey,” Sam said, tucking Rachelle’s hair behind her ear gently, just as she’d done as a child. “Nobody works as hard as you.”
Because Darcy didn’t have to work till ten the following morning and Rachelle was still off until April first, Sam convinced them to spend the night in her guest bedrooms. They’d already decorated them individually for these very nights—pretending to be younger girls, coming home where it was safe.
“There’s nothing I like more than having my daughters wake up in my home,” Sam said breezily, pouring them a half glass of wine. It was nearly midnight, and Sam’s fiancé, Derek, was upstairs in bed, resting up for his contractor gig tomorrow. Sam didn’t have to wake up early tomorrow, either. She had a series of meetings late afternoon with addicts and their families, life-altering connections that sometimes boggled Rachelle’s mind.
“Food always behaves the same way every time I deal with it,” Rachelle said, swirling her wine in her glass and gazing adoringly at her mother. “I don’t know how you deal with so many people, their backstories, and their pain. Whenever you think they’ll go one way, they go the other. It must drive you crazy.”
“Oh, but it’s all a part of it,” Sam said. “Every story is different. Every way forward is different. That’s the nature of the work.” She smiled. “You have to deal with people, too, remember. And from what you’ve said, culinary people are all egos, headaches, and stress tied into a ball of fun.”
Rachelle smiled and sipped her wine. Outside, another lightning bolt shot across the night sky. She felt warm, light, and happy, cozied up with her two favorite people. Nothing could go wrong.
“Everything will fall into place,” her mother assured her, squeezing her foot over the blanket. “Just you wait.”
