Page 9 of This Is Who I Am

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah.” If it sent her fleeing from the table, it must’ve been brutal.

“Somehow, it’s still uncomfortable to talk about,” Cass mutters. “Although, according to Suzy, we should all be talking about it all the time.”

“Sounds like Suzy turned into a very wise woman.” I glance at Cass’s profile in the fading light. “Yet I prefer to talk about your cooking. Did I mention that sea bass was incredible?” I inject all the lightness in my tone that I have in me.

“Quite a few times, actually.” Cass turns to me and smiles softly. “Now that you’ve seen me at my most embarrassing, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” I dig my hands a little deeper into my pockets.

“Why did you resign from your job?”

“I burned out,” I admit. It’s not that hard to do anymore. “Pretty spectacularly.” When I found myself bawling over a grant application because I’d used the wrong font, I knew something was seriously wrong.

“I’m so sorry.” Cass’s voice is warm with compassion.

“I loved the research and the teaching, but the endless admin and committees, not so much.” I sneak a quick glance at the side of her head, but Cass just listens intently. “It doesn’t help that I’m a perfectionist. I just—I spent my entire life chasing that world only to realize, at the cusp of fifty, it’s not what I want. My father dying somehow made that crystal clear.” If someone hadn’t made my dad retire, he’d have taught until his final breath. “Through some twisted subconscious logic, I believed I had to be exactly like him, follow the same path. I looked up to him so much.”

Our footfalls slow on the boardwalk, as though what we’re talking about requires a gentler pace.

“I’m so sorry you lost him.”

“He was very ill toward the end and people don’t live forever.” I give a quick shake of the head. “Sorry, that sounded a little harsh, as though I’m glad he’s dead, which I’m not, but he’d stopped being the genius I so admired a while ago. Then, mercifully, it all went pretty quickly, and he didn’t have too long to suffer the indignity of no longer being able to use his once-brilliant brain. It was really hard for him.”

“I’m still sorry.” Cass bumps into me ever so lightly.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for walking me home. No more signs of hot flashes, thank goodness.” Her restaurant comes into view, looming in the distance.

“My pleasure.” I chuckle. “I figured it couldn’t hurt to be friendly to the best chef in the town and its surroundings.”

“I didn’t open Savor until I was forty-five. It took me too long to follow my dream, what I really wanted, as well.”

“What stopped you?”

“Life. Excuses. Fear, probably.” She shrugs. “I worked in other chefs’ kitchens for years, convincing myself it was good enough.” She pauses. “It took my mother dying to finally push me into doing it. She left me just enough money to make it happen.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, the only appropriate response to the revelation of a parent dying.

“She died way too young. Breast cancer.” Sadness seeps from Cass’s voice. “And she never got to see the restaurant she gave me.”

I stop myself from wrapping an arm around her. We don’t know each other well enough for that.

“Take it from someone who often gets mistaken for a restaurant critic,” I say, “your mother would be so proud.”

Cass chuckles and the sound is soothing, like the push and pull of the waves alongside us.

“Are you joking or do you really get mistaken for a critic a lot?” Cass asks.

“I often go to restaurants with my notebook as only companion, but, no actually, I haven’t been mistaken for a critic before. That was just you.”

“You mainly had my staff worried, but I guess I went along with it.” We’ve almost reached Cass’s house and our pace has slowed to a crawl.

“If the surfing doesn’t work out, you can always try for a career as a food critic. Or both.” Cass comes to a halt.

I cackle as I stop next to her. “Yeah right.”

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