Page 92 of Sizzle

Dad grunts, but doesn’t disagree.

“You got time,” he says. “Better you focus on getting into that fancy school than worrying about making rent.”

“Maybe,” I say. But the time for that dream has passed. I can’t exactly say I’ve made peace with it. Culinary school has been my goal since I was old enough to turn on the oven. But right now, there’s some life stuff in the way. And that’s okay, too. Just because I’m not already there doesn’t mean I won’t get there.

It’s one more debt I owe to two men I don’t think I’ll ever see again. I’d never in a million years be so sure of myself and my abilities if it hadn’t been for them.

I chug my ice water fast enough to make my head hurt. Anything to keep the tears at bay.

I’d made it a whopping ten minutes without getting misty-eyed this time. Progress.

The doorbell rings and Dad’s out of his chair before I even look up.

“That’ll be Connie,” he says on his way out of the kitchen. “I’ll get the door.”

Dad took it pretty well, all things considered, when I told him I’d had not one boyfriend, but two. And that those two guys were also seeing each other. Dad had tried to shrug it off as “college-age experimentation,” a phrase that left us both unable to make eye contact for several minutes. But he’d been extra kind to me ever since, ordering dinner for us more than once so I didn’t have to do all the cooking and making sure I got dessert every time.

I guess if you have to be heartbroken twice over, there are worse ways to go through it.

The phone rings, saving me from a complete breakdown right there in the kitchen. The number on the screen is one I don’t recognize, though it’s clearly local.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello,” says a perky female voice. “I’m calling for Joelle Munroe.”

“Speaking.”

“Ms. Munroe! It’s wonderful to speak with you at last. My name is Kenna Burch. I’m a producer over at Sizzle, the cooking network. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

I’m gaping like a damn fish out of water, so it takes me a beat too long to answer. Sizzle is the newest—and from what I’ve heard is now the biggest—cooking channel on television, largely due to their inclusive approach with online content.

“I’m familiar with the network. What can I do for you, Ms. Burch?”

“Oh, call me Kenna, please. I’m calling because your blog has been recommended to us by quite a few of our viewers. You’ve got a lot of fans out there, Ms. Munroe.”

“Um, thanks.”

“A few of the producers here would like to set up a meeting with you, at your convenience of course.”

“Sure,” I say slowly, not quite catching on. “Um, what’s the meeting for?” Am I in trouble or something? I know the thought is ludicrous but I’m shaking so hard right now it feels just like the one and only time I got called to the principal’s office in junior high.

“Oh! My bad, I probably should have led with that,” says Kenna, laughing. It’s a tinkling, attractive sound that makes me want to laugh with her. “We recently received your application for the production assistant position.”

“Wow,” I say. I’d submitted that application months ago. Long before I ever met—

Long before I ever started working at Duckbill. I’d assumed they hired somebody else and forgot the whole thing.

“When do you need me for an interview?”

“My bad—again,” says Kenna. “I’m just so excited to talk with you. We’re not looking to interview you for the job. That’s just how we got your contact information, Joelle. Can I call you Joelle?”

I murmur something approximating a yes.

“Joelle, we’re just smitten with your blog. Your videos are raw but incredibly promising, and we’ve seen all the glowing press you’ve gotten for that restaurant revamp. Put simply, you’re a rising star. We’d like to talk with you about putting together a pilot.”

“A pilot. Like a TV show pilot? An actual show?”

She laughs again and this time, I don’t curb the smile.

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