Page 229 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Olivia told me about a trail that cuts through the woods on the opposite side of the main drive, so we cross over and find it, then take it past a little spring and up a hill steep enough to make my quads burn before the trail spits us out next to the goat barn. From there, we head over to the farmhouse, then catch the trail meant for guests who want to take a more scenic route to get down to the restaurant.
When I’m hauling a dinner service up to the prep kitchen at the back of the farmhouse, I use the main drive. But the meandering path through the woods is storybook perfect, rightdown to the gazebo lit with twinkle lights year round. I can only imagine the hundreds of wedding photos that have been taken in this spot.
Maybe it’s the way the whole farm is nestled into the mountains, but it feels like there are all these little pockets of solitude, places where you might be minutes from a restaurant full of people or a barn full of goats or an orchard full of workers, but you still feel like you’re completely alone.
This is exactly what I needed when I took this job. It’s not that running the catering kitchen isn’t stressful. But the pressures feel completely different. Nothing is quite as personal as it was when I had Dad observing every single decision I made, micromanaging my career in every way I would let him.
I drop onto the gazebo steps while Toby wanders off to sniff around the trees. On my phone, I scroll through half a dozen texts from my father—all sent in the past twelve hours.
So far, I’ve ignored every single one. But if I keep that up too much longer, he might do something drastic. Like actuallycallme. Or worse, fly out here to talk to me in person.
That’s probably not a fair assessment. I’m sure he’s just worried about me. But if I talk to him, he’s going to try to convince me to come home, and that’s not a battle I feel like fighting. Before responding to Dad, I distract myself by texting my sister. A dose of Bree’s humor and optimism should go a long way to give me the courage I need to stand up to Dad’s coaxing.
Tatum:Tell me I can respond to Dad’s text.
Instead of texting back, Bree calls me.
“Of course you can,” she says when I answer the call. “You’re a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need himorhis money.”
“I am,” I repeat. “I am those things.”
“Yes you are,” she says through a grunt that makes my eyebrows rise up my forehead.
“Bree, what are you doing?”
“Yoga,” she says, her voice still strained. “My doctor says working on my core will help me stop peeing on myself every time I laugh.”
“Oh, geez. That’s—wait, is that a thing? That really happens?”
“Welcome to motherhood, baby,” Bree says. “The twins wrecked my body. Sweet of them, right?”
“It’s the gift that keeps on giving,” I say. “I won’t keep you. Just needed to hear you tell me I’m tough.”
“You are so tough,” she says. “Don’t let him manipulate you, Tatum. You’re living your life. Just say no to his guilt trips!”
A surge of gratitude for my sister and all her quirky weirdness fills my heart. “Thanks, Bree.”
I hang up the call and pull up the thread of texts with my dad.
Dad:Did you see the revised offer I had the studio email over? Note the salary. I pushed them to double it, and they agreed. Let me know when you’re ready to sign.
Dad:Double, Tatum.
Dad:Did you see that part?
Dad:You know, offers like this don’t come along every day.
Dad:It’s a primetime slot, too. They’re really excited about it. We just need you on board.
In his last message, his positivity finally starts to crack.
Dad:The studio won’t keep waiting for you, Tatum. I need your thoughts on this ASAP.
I sigh and tap my phone against my hand.
I recognize that having a major television network offer me a primetime cooking show is a big deal—the kind of thing chefs all over the country dream of. This particular show would be something my dad and I did together—some sort of father/daughter bake-off thing featuring us both.
But when the offer first came in? All I felt wassuffocated.It was just another thing in the long line of things Dad has pressured me to do over the years. Open my own restaurant. Sign onto his merchandising deals. Be head chef at Le Vin. And now, become a television star right next to him.
