Chapter 9 According to Plan
According to Plan
Wyatt
Iplanned a fun evening out only to end up in a car with a lukewarm Odette.
She perked for a minute, but only about that long.
This was supposed to be the moment, but it felt more unfortunate than unforgettable.
Odette was being polite—nothing more, nothing less.
The last time I saw her like this had been when a tabloid ran a story about how “inside sources” confirmed that I refused to marry her.
I assured her that wasn’t true, but it still took the wind out of her sails for days.
Here I was trying to remedy this shit and getting nowhere!
“You will love the cornbread,” I said. “I know it sounds odd but it’s so nice with a sweet drink.”
Odette looked over the menu. “It is made with bacon fat.”
The one thing I hadn’t remembered—somehow, someway—was that I was traveling in the Midwest in the state that the American Pork Council called home with a notable vegetarian.
“Sorry,” I winced. “We could…”
I filed down the menu, unable to find much of anything. My palms sweated and I patted my sport coat pocket. Yep, it was still there. No, I was no closer to deployment. A familiar face approached as I tried to ground myself.
“Well, hello!” Bobby Martin announced. “How the hell are you, Wyatt? It’s been ages!”
I stood, knowing Bobby wanted a quick hug. I’d known him for over a decade. It was fun to see him once more.
“Odette, this is Bobby Martin, executive chef of Primrose. Bobby, this is Odette.”
“Should I bow?” Bobby asked.
Odette held her hand out and flashed one of her megawatt smiles. “God, no, please don’t. So nice to meet you. Wyatt has talked your restaurant up so much.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so good,” Bobby said. “Wyatt and I go way back. He and… well they invested.”
“It’s okay to talk about Isla,” Odette said. “Promise. I know you knew her, too.”
Bobby looked at me, surprised. I shrugged. He gestured for me to sit.
“So, what are we thinking?” Bobby asked.
“Well…” Odette looked at me for guidance. “I’m actually a vegetarian.”
Bobby shook his head. “Wyatt Worthington, man, you didn’t warn me. We could have done something big.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Odette said. “I can have… something.”
“No, I can fix you something good,” Bobby said. “We take care of our guests. I bet I can make almost anything on here work.”
“We were thinking the cornbread.”
“I can use vegetable shortening,” Bobby offered.
“I don’t want to be trouble,” Odette turtled inward.
I wanted so badly to know what was causing this.
“Never. No friend of Wyatts would ever be a trouble. And the only things this asshole has told me have been good. Promise you.”
Odette perked up temporarily. “And that primrose martini, then? Can we have both?”
“Of course, you can. I’ll have them send those right out. I promise there will be no bacon fat. Is the honey butter still okay?”
“Yes. It doesn’t have to be vegan,” Odette agreed.
“Great. Coming right up.”
He walked off, then turned back to mouth, “What the fuck, man?”
Realizing I’d committed a cardinal sin—not reporting a vegetarian ahead of time at a white tablecloth farm-to-table dining concept—I shifted uneasily.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” Odette said, voice tiny.
I grabbed her hand across the table. “Odette, what is going on? Is it just the time change? You don’t like the states? I’m an idiot for forgetting your dietary restrictions?”
“No,” Odette said. “I’m fine.”
“But you’re not yourself at all.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice grew sharper, and she looked out the window.
Our drinks arrived and I tried to defray the stress. “That’s the Arch, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, out of it.
“Odie, what is happening? You’re not yourself. Can you just—”
“I cannot fix it,” Odette said. “I feel like my head is in a blender and…”
Her words stopped. Dabbing her tears on her napkin, she started to come unglued.
“Odette, I’m… what is going on? Can you just tell me?”
“When you had me re-pack my bags, I forgot that my medication was in there. So, I packed my meds in the suitcase that is in Venezuela or whatever.”
I fought the urge to snicker. “Columbia, Odette. Do you mean your anxiety meds?”
“No. All of them.”
I finally understood it. Since we started, she’d not taken any of her psych meds. The phrase head in a blender seemed about right.