Page 9 of Dodge

I examined the few pictures online and google-mapped the place to get a satellite view. Red brick facade, large square planters out front with dead plants, worn-out canopies over the large front windows, and a few plastic patio tables and chairs on the wide sidewalk. There was nothing impressive about the look of it. If the inside was as bad as the outside, it would have to go through a major renovation.

The wordbistropopped into my head. Upscale casual. I pictured the front all cleaned up with rounded tables and ornate chairs to match, umbrellas and tablecloths in forest green to contrast with the red brick. French cuisine was my forte, but I knew local ingredients were always a good marketable item and usually the freshest and most available. I leaned back in the bed, musing. Cornmeal-crusted rainbow mountain trout, served on a bed of red garlic quinoa and fennel salad. Simple but filling. Coq au vin with sautéed haricot vert and pearl onions. A thick hearty beef bourguignon served with fresh salad and warm yeasty baguette. Classic croque monsieur sandwich and onion soup. Local wines paired with each dish, and a good selection of craft beers. Crepes with cherry or Nutella filling—

My phone’s ring cut through my fantasy restaurant planning. I glanced at the Hello Kitty clock on the wall: 10:00 p.m. Shit, only one of two people would dare to call me at this hour. I looked at the number to confirm before I answered. “Hello, Mother.”

“I heard they fired you.”

Yup, a classic Harriet Somers greeting. No “Hi” or “How are you?” or “Are you okay?” with her.Straight to the point, do not pass Go or collect two hundred dollars.

“Yes, they did. About three weeks ago. Chase and I had a fight at work, and he canned me.”

“What did you do?”

My hand tightened on my phone, and my face burned. This was also typical of my mother. If something went wrong in my life, no matter what the circumstance, it had to be my fault. “I did my job, Mother. Nothing more than that.”

Thankfully she dropped it, at least for now. My mother kept a cache of all slights, wrongdoings, arguments, and past conversations to use as weapons in the future. Tonight she pulled out her favorite one.

“To this day, I cannot understand why you chose to be a chef. You could have been a doctor like your brother. Such a waste of talent.”

The burn in my face increased. “Mother, we’ve been over this. I didn’t want to be a doctor. I love what I do, and I’m good at it.”

She huffed. “Yes, you’re a good cook. I’m a good cook, but I didn’t have to go to culinary school to be one.”

“Being a chef is more complicated than that. I—”

“Are you coming for your father’s birthday celebration?”

Dismissed. Again. “I’ll try.”

“We will expect you on Thursday night. Where are you working now? I assume you got another position. Head chef this time?”

“Uh… no, not yet. Chase kicked me out of the condo when we broke up. I’ve been staying with my friends Anita and Connie.” I braced myself.Here it comes in three… two…

“Thosemaids? Oh, Fauna, don’t tell me you’re cleaning houses now!”

“I’ve been helping with some jobs, yes. It’s honest work for good pay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of people make a living working in services.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Fauna. It’s menial labor! It’s bad enough for you to be working in a kitchen. You’re a Somers. I hope no one we know has seen you or, God forbid, hired you.”

Her exasperated tone set my teeth on edge. “I doubt that’s gonna happen since you and Dad live in Charlotte.”

“Your father is a top vice president of an internationally recognized bank. Hundreds of people know and respect him. I can’t imagine what they would think if they knew his only daughter was adomestic.”

She whisper-hisseddomesticas if the syllables would burn her mouth. At one time in my life, her scathing comments filled me with shame. My grades were never good enough. Only first place counted at my high school track meets, and I didn’t win them often. My academic standing was too low. I needed to straighten and tame my curly hair more. I needed to be thinner. My clothes weren’t fashionable enough. I spent my life under her microscopic scrutiny, and any perceived flaw was expressly forbidden. The only worthy professions were that of a doctor or lawyer, and her anger at me still raged on from when I went to the culinary academy and not medical school.

I was so over it. “Actually, Mom, I’m looking at a different path now.”

She ignored theMomdig. I used the word because I knew she hated it.Motherwas her preferred moniker. “Oh? Have you come to your senses at last and decided to go back to medical school? I’m sure your father can pull some strings at Duke and get you in for the fall semester.”

“No, I’m not cut out to be a doctor, Mom. There’s a cute little diner for sale in Bryson City. I’m going to buy it.”

Her silence had an ear-shattering volume. Then she spoke in her grittiest voice. “Adiner? Are you completely out of your mind?”

I gripped my phone tighter with a little guilt, as this was my first reaction when Anita broached the idea to me.

My mom continued her tirade. “Bryson City? Never heard of it.”

“It’s a small town west of here in the Smoky Mountains. It’s really cute. Google it sometime. I’m driving up there tomorrow and checking it out.”

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