Page 4 of Worth the Wait

And what I’d left behind.

I knew I was living a lot of people’s dreams. A condo in the city on the eighteenth floor—although I was sure most of them didn’t include living with their mother in their New York fantasy.

I’d gotten accepted into one of the best culinary schools in America. And after finishing two separate twelve-month courses, I received another offer to learn from one of the most impressive and popular chefs in the world. Every year, he handpicked ten students from the graduating class to teach in his home kitchen with a job guaranteed at the end of it. I was invited, and I couldn’t say no, even though I’d been tempted to do exactly that.

Of the ten of us, only six had lasted the entire course. To be honest, I’d almost quit more than once, too, and I didn’t blame the ones who’d bailed. The chef that I’d previously admired from afar started to lose his luster up close. He made cooking a chore instead of something enjoyable, and he was mean almost all the time.

Cooking was supposed to be a fun activity. The kitchen had always been my happy place. I loved creating food not only for myself, but for others as well. I wasn’t learning that side of things with this chef. There was no joy to be found; only harsh critiques and a lot of screaming.

This industry was brutal. I’d always known it could be that way, but the reality was more than a little disheartening. New York had eventually started teaching me that I had an aversion to mean things. People yelling, shouting, acting unhappy and downright cruel toward others didn’t make me feel good. And I was surrounded by so much of that lately. It felt like my soul was being crushed with each day that passed.

Aside from tonight, I usually got home between three to four in the morning. Once the restaurant closed and we got the last patron out, there was the cleaning, prepping, and double-checking the next day’s menu. Even with a multitude of staff who each had their own responsibilities, it fell on my shoulders to make sure the kitchen was deep-cleaned each night and ready for the next day. Regardless of what yourscheduled hourswere, those were just numbers on a call sheet. They didn’t really mean anything. As a chef, you stayed until your job was done.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and I stepped into the long hallway. When I reached the front door, I fiddled with the handle first to see if it was open, but it was locked. Punching the seven-digit code into the keypad, I heard the dead bolt unlatch, and I made my way inside, wondering if my sister was here or not.

Sarina was a couple of years younger than me, but she fit into this city like she had been made from its DNA or something. A beauty blogger and influencer who had more friends than the entire population of Sugar Mountain, Sarina was always being invited to one event or another, and she lived for being seen. It only added to her online popularity and sponsorships.

The girl was making a mint from simply posting online. It was shocking that we shared the same parents, even though we definitely resembled each other. I chalked up our differences to the divorce and where we had each been raised and by which parent.

You see, my mother left my dad because, “Sugar Mountain is boring,” and she wanted “more out of life than some small mountain town with nothing going on.”

Once she moved to Manhattan, she married some ultra rich guy almost right away. When they divorced, he’d given her a lump sum of cash instead of paying alimony each month.Eventually, she’d found another, even richer man to marry, and the same cycle happened all over again. I assumed she was on the hunt for her next victim, even though her money was nowhere near close to running out.

So, while I’d chosen to stay in Sugar Mountain with my dad, Sarina left with our mother and her revolving door of rich men.

And here we were—two girls with such vastly different personalities and characteristics that you’d think we were strangers instead of siblings.

“Sarina, is that you? Or is it you, Addison?” My mother’s voice carried throughout the condo and hit my ears right as I kicked off my boots and left them on the tiled entryway.

“It’s just me, Mom,” I answered, wondering if she was disappointed that it was her second-favorite daughter instead of her first.

She waltzed out of her bedroom and met me in the kitchen, her silk robe flowing out behind her, her hair still perfectly styled. “You’re home from work early. Is everything okay? You didn’t get fired, did you?”

I stopped myself from making an annoyed sound, but couldn’t stop my irritated tone. “Why would I get fired?”

“Who knows, Addison? Maybe so you can have an excuse to run back to Sugar Mountain and that boy,” she said, her voice trailing off.

My mother and I had always had trouble connecting on an emotional level after she moved away with my sister. All she’d wanted was to get me out of Sugar Mountain and away from Patrick O’Grady. Instead of being excited for me when I’d started dating him, I remembered her being downright mortified and angry. She went on some rampage during one of our rare phone calls, ranting about how I’d be stuck there forever because O’Gradys didn’t leave.

“They practically own the town, Addison. How could you date one of them? Now, you’ll be stuck too.”

But I had been happy, beingstuck. Especially with Patrick. I hadn’t wanted to leave. And she never understood that. How could she when she was so fulfilled here, in the city that not only never slept, but never shut the hell up either?

“Why do you hate it so much? There had to be a time when you loved it there? When you loved Dad?” I pushed, even though it wasn’t something I typically did. I usually took her crappy comments about my home and tossed them away.

My mother and I didn’t have that many heart-to-heart conversations. Plus, I barely even saw her since I’d started working at the restaurant. When she was awake during the day, like a normal person, I was usually sleeping. But the disparaging remarks about the town I adored got to me. Especially tonight, when I was missing everything that I loved about it so damn much.

“Like you, I grew up there, and I appreciated being somewhere safe as a child. I loved your father; otherwise, I wouldn’t have married him. But at the beginning, we both talked about seeing new places and traveling, even though, eventually, I knew he’d take over his family business. So, when it came down to it, your father never wanted to leave, and I became obsessed with getting out. It was all I could think about.” She sat down on one of the two barstools in her kitchen. “I know you think I’m some kind of monster, Addison. But I just wanted more. I’m too big for that place. I never belonged there. You and your sister don’t belong there either.”

Okaaaay.

I bit out a sarcastic laugh. “Sarina doesn’t for sure. But I do. And I know you think less of me because of it.”

“I don’t thinklessof you.” She gave me a wave, but her expression said it all. She absolutely thought less of me. “I just don’t understand. I got you into this amazing school. You have a job at one of the best restaurants in the city, and you’re what?” She leveled me with a disappointed look. “Unsatisfied? What more could you possibly want, Addison? The world is at your fingertips, and it’s like you don’t even care.”

This woman did not know me at all. Even after three-plus years of living with her, I was still some sort of enigma in her eyes. She treated me like I was a puzzle that was broken somehow. Like, if she only put the pieces together just right, I’d magically turn into who she expected me to be.

“Of course I care. I’m grateful and thankful for all you’ve done,” I said, making sure that my mother got just the right amount of praise to make her feel appreciated. “I would have never gotten into that school without your help.”

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