Page 144 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“There you are,” she says, reaching for my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was telling Milli about our coffee bean incident at our nomination party.”
Milli stands out even in this crowd—magenta dress, sky-high heels, and earrings shaped like tiny forks. Her hair’s twisted up in some kind of shiny, rose-gold situation.
Milli lets out a quick, musical laugh. “Sounds like your restaurant’s got more personality than most people I date.”
She winks over the rim of her espresso cup, and I suddenly understand how this woman built a media empire with just a phone and a bite of food.
“It has personality,” I agree. “Mostly because it’s full of Amber’s family, and they’re all slightly insane in the best possible way.”
“Speaking of family,” Amber says, “where are the kids? They should be here by now.”
“Hazel texted twenty minutes ago. They’re in the lobby having what she diplomatically called ‘a spirited discussion’ with hotel security about whether Mason’s toy dinosaur counts as a ‘disruptive prop.’”
“Oh no.” Amber groans. “I should go?—”
“Relax,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Your mom’s with them too. Between her and Hazel, they could negotiate peace treaties and reorganize the United Nations by dinnertime.”
This is what I do now. Anticipate problems, solve them before they become crises, and make sure Amber can focus on what she does best. A year ago, I would have told her to handle her own family emergency. Now I make sure she doesn’t have to.
Growth looks good on me.
Before Amber can worry further, there’s a commotion near the entrance that can only mean one thing: my future in-laws have arrived.
Sure enough, Amber’s parents sweep into the receptionwith the confidence of people who’ve raised three successful children and survived it to tell the tale, followed by my mother who flew in this morning and immediately started critiquing our hotel room’s organizational system, and three kids who are clearly trying to be on their best behavior but failing spectacularly.
Mason is indeed carrying a small dinosaur, which he’s apparently named after the hotel. “This is Fairmont,” he announces to anyone within earshot. “He’s a vegetarian, and he likes fancy cheese.”
Crew has somehow acquired a notebook and is taking detailed observations about the catering setup.
And Tally is dressed like a young professional but moving through the crowd with the focused intensity of someone documenting everything for posterity.
“Mom!” Mason calls out when he spots us, waving his dinosaur in the air. “Fairmont wants to know if there’s going to be cake at this party!”
“There might be dessert,” Amber says diplomatically.
“What kind of dessert?”
“The fancy kind,” Crew answers before Amber can respond. “I researched the menu. They’re serving something called ‘deconstructed lemon tart with micro herbs.’”
“What does deconstructed mean?” Mason asks.
“It means they took apart anormal dessert and made it fancy by putting it back together weird,” Tally explains with the authority of someone who’s clearly given this some thought.
“That sounds dumb,” Mason declares.
“Mason,” Amber starts, but Milli is already laughing.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” she says. “I’ve had some deconstructed desserts that definitely qualified as putting things back together weird.”
The reception continues for another hour, a blur of conversations about food trends and restaurant economics and the future of coastal cuisine. Amber navigates it all with growing confidence, talking about her grandmother’s recipes and the importance of supporting local suppliers and her vision for The Salty Pearl’s future.
She’s in her element, and it’s incredible to witness.
When they finally call us in for dinner, we’re seated at a table near the front with other nominees in Amber’s category. The other chefs are impressive. A young woman from Portland who’s revolutionizing plant-based cuisine, a couple from New Orleans who’re bringing Creole traditions to modern dining, a team from San Francisco who’ve made sustainable seafood their mission.
They’re all talented, all deserving, all probably more experienced and better connected than we are.
But none of them have Amber’s story. None of them have her heart.
