Page 91 of The Sweetness of Life

Thinking back to the Feeding America event, when I first saw her, it felt like I had been struck with an electric rod, a zap of sorts that burned. Suddenly, I felt as if I wasn’t just meeting Lexi’s friend; I was meeting someone who was going to be so much more. Maybe I loved her in that first moment. Maybe I just didn’t know how to recognize it. Maybe that’s why I was so irrationally mad, but I do agree with Kyle: I have never acted like that before.

“So, how do I fix it?” I ask, hoping he has some advice for me.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Grovel?”

“Grovel?” I chuckle. It occurs to me that this might be the first one in two weeks.

“Well, I happen to know when you want something bad enough, you’re great at putting together a plan and executing it.” He grins and the tightness consuming me loosens a little.

“Yeah, you might be right.”

Spicy Hot Boiled Peanuts

COOL AIR BURSTS into the kitchen as Meg swings open the door from the dining room. It’s five fifteen in the morning, it’s still dark outside, and the ovens have been running for an hour already.

“Wow, you are up bright and early this morning,” she says cheerily as she wanders over to see what I’m working on.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get in and get a head start. First batch of biscuits is done, and I’m working on a new cornbread recipe for brunch.”

“Yum! What’s in it?” she asks, sticking her finger in the bowl and then licking it clean.

“I’m thinking a coastal skillet with shrimp and spicy sausage.” Lately, we seem to be getting more tourists during the brunch hour, so I’ve been trying to make it more Southern authentic and less traditional breakfast.

“Sounds like coins in the bank to me.” She turns to grab the iced coffee out of the refrigerator. “Want some?” She waves the pitcher at me and I take in her outfit. It’s Saturday, so it’s going to be a long day, and she’s wearing skinny jeans and four-inch heels. The girl is amazing, has legs to die for, and it dawns on me that I haven’t worn heels very much since I’ve been back.

Looking down, I notice my Converse sneakers have seen better days, and suddenly I hate the way I look. When did this happen? No makeup, simple clothes, hair just pulled into a knot—this isn’t me. I’ve always prided myself on my appearance.

Meg waves the pitcher again, looking for my answer.

“Sure, why not. It’s not like I haven’t already had two cups this morning.” She refills my glass and then makes one for herself before putting the pitcher away and pulling up a stool next to where I’m working. Her perfume floats my way; she smells nice, clean, and I’m pretty sure I don’t.

“You ready to talk about what happened yet?”

“Talk about what?” I play dumb and turn away so I don’t crumble under her all-knowing stare. I was motivated this morning to make this new dish, but even I know that’s a lie. I’ve been showing up before her, which never used to happen, and I’ve been cooking like a woman with an army to feed. It’s all been a not-so-subtle attempt to distract myself.

“Shelby, don’t act like I don’t know you. I do. You haven’t been sleeping well since you got back, and we’ve had more new recipes than ever. It’s been a month since you left. I’ve steered clear, hoping you’d work it out of your system and find some sort of resolution, but that isn’t happening.”

“I’m well aware that it’s been a month.” Walking to the trash can, I pull off the plastic gloves from peeling the shrimp and toss them in. “It’s just that he threw me off balance and I feel like I’m still trying to find my footing. I swear it’s a never-ending case of vertigo.”

Reaching for my drink, I take a sip, hoping to swallow down the emotions rising in me.

“I think you’re overreacting, and you’ve overreacted to the entire situation.”

I narrow my eyes at her, feeling a bit incredulous that she isn’t firmly on my side in this. She just looks at me as if she’s said the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

“What?” She’s my best friend; she’s always on my side, so I don’t understand why she’s changing her tune all of a sudden. A few weeks ago, she wanted to burn down his winery, and now she’s changed her mind? “How can you say that? You know what happened, you know what he did, and you know what he said.”

“I understand that, but given a little time and some separation, I’ve realized this is different.”

“How is it different?” My throat aches, my voice cracks, and my heart races. I take another sip of the coffee.

“For starters, it’s been weeks, and if it were really nothing, you would have moved past it. Also, if you weren’t so stubborn, you might be able to think about this a little more from his point of view, too. And . . . he is not your father.”

“S-S-Stubborn!” I stutter, moving to set the coffee down. “His point of view!” I shake my head like she’s crazy. “Not my father?!” I don’t even know where to go with that one. “Seriously, Meg, don’t patronize me!” I point to myself.

“I’m not.” She lowers her voice and holds up her hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is you’ve been so stuck on what you think he did, you’re missing what he actually did. You both were given the assignment, and he was doing what he needed to do to maximize the opportunity and help grow his business. Was he using you? Yes, but it had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t meant to be personal, and his plan would have been the same no matter who they brought in. I think if you’d step back and look at this on a broader scale, you’d realize you were doing the same to him.”

“What?!” I yell and take a step away from her. I would never use someone. My entire life I’ve been vehemently against even the idea of it. She is wrong—so wrong.