Page 11 of The Princess and the Nerd

“Let’s try to take the positives from this criticism,” Robbie says. “And there are so many positives to take away! What I’m feeling is that this is a golden opportunity for personal growth… and more importantly, opportunity for a makeover. Now keep reading, Will.”

“Shit,” I whisper.

It’s hard to feel depressed in the gorgeous mountains of Vermont. I was expecting a whimsical experience similar toRatatouille, since I grew up in this area, and wanted to be overcome with nostalgic memories of pleasant childhood meals. But instead I leftwishingmy food had been cooked by a rat. The chef’s generous use of capers in everything did lead me to feel like I was eating leftovers that had beenshatin by a rat, or mouse, or similar rodent not nearly as cute as the ones in Disney/Pixar. Did it taste much better than mouse droppings? I’m not certain.

I will say that the restaurant benefited from capitalizing on waterfall scenery, with massive glass window paneling that allowed an unfettered view of the natural landscape. Which is great, if you can get a seat next to the glass window. Your chances are high if you’re an old, rich, white man in a suit and tie.

Unfortunately, I was condemned to the cheap seats and stuck in steerage. If we had been on the Titanic, I would have been shoved below deck in third class and left to drown. Luckily, I was able to escape the sinking ship that isThe Willowbefore being sucked deep down into an oblivion of abysmal food.

Verdict: Tasteless. Utterly tasteless—both the food and people. 0 stars. Do NOT recommend.

We all sit quietly at the island, having a moment of silence for all the hopes and dreams that used to be our careers. I am too shattered to even cry.

Destiny exhales heavily, digging her fingers into her temples.

“I need a drink,” Robbie announces finally.

“You drank all night,” Dez scolds him.

“Exactly. It’s wearing off, and I need to lubricate my brain so that I can think about this properly and find a solution.”

“I don’t think drinking is going to help anything,” I inform him.

“If anything, drinking tons of rosé is what got us into this mess,” Dez adds.

“Not accurate,” Robbie interjects. “I have done some of my best cooking while sipping on good wine. Maybe you just selected the wrong bottle of rosé—did you ever think of that?”

“Guys,” I tell them. “Stop. But I do think it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of dating unreliable men. And staying in shitty relationships with endless drama and red flags, long after we’ve all determined that it’s toxic. It affects us all.”

“So you are blaming me for all this,” Robbie grumbles. “I told you, it’s my fault. I’m the one who was thinking with my dick, and clinging to a dude who was being a dick. While he was also off getting other dick. So… it’s on me. I dropped the ball, and now the whole restaurant is going to suffer.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him softly. “We can’t blame each other right now. We need to band together.”

“And do what?” Destiny asks. “This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and we blew it.”

“My brother is working on getting us some PR management. He also said that I should contact Mr. McGuinty and apologize. Maybe I can also inform him about some of the inaccuracies in his article. At least the stuff about the restaurant name—which was really upsetting. He should have done more research. Maybe he can print a retraction about… something.”

“Yes!” Robbie says. “But first of all, before we do anything, you need a makeover. I suggest we correct some of the issues he was accurate about—like your hair. We need to change that drab brown mane to something that glistens.”

I reach up to touch my head awkwardly. “Are you sure?”

“Girl, you are way overdue for a good cut and color and blowout,” Robbie affirms.

Dez nods. “You have been working yourself to the bone lately, and we need to take care of Willow first, before we take care of the restaurant.”

Tears touch my eyes. Even with their careers on the line, they still manage to care about me so much. “You guys,” I say softly, a bit choked up.

“Don’t think we’re beingtoonice, sister. You are the face of the restaurant, after all. We could be just using you—trying to exploit your beauty and boobs to rescue our jobs, and save our pathetic little lives. Did you ever think of that?” Robbie asks.

“Nah. You guys are just nice,” I respond.

“We are nice,” Destiny says. “You guys can go do the makeover stuff, and meanwhile, I’ll head to work and start baking some bread. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and many people won’t even read the article. My coping mechanism will be to almost ignore this entirely.”

“A valid strategy,” I inform her.

“Yeah,” she muses, but then she leans closer to Robbie. “Just in case, maybe bleach her hair platinum blond and dress her up as a hooker and send her to this McGuinty fellow as a peace offering. With some butter on top. Good plan?”

“Perfecto,” he responds, kissing his fingers.

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