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Actually, nothing has felt right all week.
“Talk to us,” Zara says, cutting through my thoughts. “You look miserable.”
“It’s silly,” I say, trying to brush it off. “It’s just an award.” And then I admit, “To care about something so trivial, when I’ll never see my father again. It feels like the height of shallow.”
There, I said it.
“Are you kidding?” Lisa pulls her wine glass toward her, making the candle between us flicker. “Your mom and dad built this place. Making it as amazing as possible is a tribute to them. It’s the opposite of shallow, Evie.”
“Agreed,” Zara cuts in. “But it’s one award. Not the end of the line. All of the things you want for Leoni’s will come true. I’ve never met anyone more driven and goal-oriented in my life. You can’t let a bump in the road deter you from your journey.”
“Feels like more of a mountain than a bump.”
I talked to Zara for over an hour the other night. And I hate talking on the phone. So that goes to show how desperate I’d been for someone to chat with. Of course, that person should have been my boyfriend, but how could I sit there and complain to him when he’d been nominated and was rightfully excited? The last thing I want is to diminish his achievement.
Even if he doesn’t care half as much as me about this award.
“Look at this place,” Lisa cuts in as Zara takes a sip of her wine. “People are smiling and laughing. You’re bringing them so much joy with your food. How can you compare that to an award from some magazine? Not,” she adds quickly, “that I’m dismissing your goals. But just from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe you don’t see what we see. The place looks great. It’s packed. The servers are smiling. You’re cultivating a warm, happy place.”
They are my family, the staff and customers.
“And don’t forget about Tris.” Zara winks. “I heard things are heating up there too? Chari told me you met his parents? How could you forget to mention that to me?”
If only I could say things were as great as all that. In fact, things have been strained with us this week.
“That’s also tough,” I admit. “He’s great, don’t get me wrong. But the whole situation. With this place.” I wave my arm around. “And . . . you know.”
Lisa frowns. “That must be tough. I’m trying to imagine dating the owner of Bridgewater Signs.”
Zara makes a face. “Um, he’s like ninety.”
“Yeah, that too.”
We all laugh just as I catch one of the servers waving to me from near the kitchen.
“Thanks for letting me drown my sorrows with you guys. Enjoy the risotto,” I say to Zara. “I’ve got to run.”
“Chin up,” Lisa says.
And so, I literally raise my chin in the air. They’re right. I have a lot to be grateful for.
“Will do, thanks, ladies.”
Ready to tackle whatever is happening in the kitchen, I make a mental note not to concentrate on the award, or my troubles with Tris, but on all of the smiles Lisa so aptly pointed out. I can’t control not being nominated. But I can control my reaction to it.
I’ve wallowed for two days.
Time to move on.
My newfound inner peace lasted all of ten minutes.
Now it’s Sunday morning, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table about to text Tris when none other than his name blares into the kitchen from my living room television.
It was my dad’s habit to put the news on in the morning. He fell asleep at night to the TV too, something I’ve never really done until now. It makes me feel oddly connected to him.
“. . . nominated for the prestigious Cucina Award.”
I grab my coffee and head into the living room.
