Page 122 of Cooking Up My Comeback
Fine. Maybe I’m spiraling. A little.
“Want to talk about it while I perform miracles with concealer?”
“Can you go check on your brothers?” I ask Tally. “Make sure they haven’t gotten intoanything... creative?”
The last time I left them unsupervised for ten minutes, Crew tried to “improve” the bathroom faucet with a screwdriver and Mason decided to give himself a haircut. Never again.
Tally sighs with full-blown teenage exasperation. “Okay.” She gets up and leaves.
I flop backward onto the bed like the dramatic mess I apparently am.
“I’m making a terrible mistake.”
“About Brett or about the restaurant? Because honey, tonight is going to be magical.”
“About believing this could work out. About letting myself fall for him when my life is mayhem and legal threats fueled by caffeine and stubbornness.”
Hazel starts applying concealer to my under-eye circles with professional efficiency. “Okay, we’re multitasking. Makeup and emotional crisis management. Tell me what’s really happening.”
So I spill everything. About Chad’s settlement offer demanding twenty-five percent of the restaurant. About Brett’s promise to fight alongside me when I don’t even know if we can win. About how my kids have started making plans featuring Brett in our future. About how absolutely terrified I am of trusting a man with our hearts again, especially when the stakes keep getting higher.
“And the really pathetic part,” I finish, “is I’m completely, hopelessly gone over him.”
“Pathetic?” Hazel pauses her mascara application to stare at me. “Honey, you sailed past ‘gone’ weeks ago. You’re in full-blown, humming-while-you-cook happy territory.”
Wait. I’ve been humming?
“Am I that obvious?”
“You cleaned your baseboards yesterday. Voluntarily. With a toothbrush.”
Okay, concerning.
“But what if?—”
“Nope.” She waves her mascara wand. “No spiraling allowed. You can worry yourself into paralysis, or you can choose to believe good events happen to people who deserve them.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re marrying a man who built you a house and runs a successful business.”
“I almost lost him by worrying myself out of happiness.” Her voice gets serious. “You know what changed everything?”
“Therapy?”
“I decided I was worth fighting for. My happiness wasn’t selfish. I deserved love that shows up and stays.”
Before I can absorb this revelation, disaster strikes downstairs. It sounds like someone’s filming an action movie in my living room.
“Mason!” Tally’s shout cuts through the house. “What didyou do?”
Oh no.
Another crash. Then Crew’s voice: “It’s not terrible! We can probably fix it!”
Famous last words in the Bennett household.
“They’re being helpful,” I groan, standing up. “This is going to be bad.”
We race downstairs to find my living room transformed. Silver and gold sparkles cover everything—the couch, the coffee table, the walls, the ceiling like a disco ball exploded.
