Chapter 39 Walk Away
Walk Away
— 365 D AYS A FTER B ARBARA’S W EDDING —
I lock the door of Amelie’s Bistro and sigh. Glancing at the insignia, at the barren walls, the dirty floors, I almost want to cry. But I have no strength for that either.
William Roberts won.
I never thought I’d say that sentence out loud. Letting Roberts win is the very last thing I thought I’d ever allow myself to do, but I have no more ammunition, no more drive.
He turned my dream into a nightmare—into what has me sobbing into my pillow until I finally fall asleep.
I should have gone to my father, but I couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing him yet again. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ask, what he’d say, the judgmental expression on his face when I’d tell him about my failures.
So I didn’t. I let it all unfold before my eyes, at first wondering if it was really my fault. If the bad reviews and the logistical and bureaucratic mistakes were really my own shortcomings. Until it became plenty clear they were not.
What I don’t know is why. Why he’s done all of this. Was he afraid I’d be his competition? Was it because of my father? Maybe this was the reason he invited me to dinner. Or why he interrupted our date?
My foot hits a box at the entrance. I lean down and grab it, and once the For Rent sign is on the ground, I sit on the last chair left by the deck. The sea looks calm today, like an endless mirror of the sky. Funny, because in some ways it resembles the way I feel inside. Serene.
I’m done. I lost, and I accept it. Giving up feels liberating.
I rip the box open. I’m not supposed to receive mail here anymore, but I’m sure it’ll keep happening for a while. Fishing inside, I find a magazine. I pull it out a little, recognizing the name on top. Yum magazine. It’s a monthly magazine consisting mostly of fluff about restaurants and cuisine, but it often leans into gossip a little too much for my taste, so I never bother reading it.
It’s also not free, so I don’t see why I’m getting a copy.
I check the sender, but the field is empty, so with a sigh I pull the magazine out, and the first thing that catches my eye is the red sticky note on top. The black ink used on it feels darker than dark even before I read the words written with it.
“Nothing personal, Amelie. William Roberts.”
Behind it, on the cover of Yum magazine, there’s me. My picture. It’s the first one that shows up if you write my name and surname online. I’m wearing La Brasserie’s black chef’s coat and smiling with my arms crossed. Next to the huge picture, there are several bubbles encasing shots of my restaurant, and a blue, white, and red title that reads: “The French Disappointment.”
With my hands almost numb as my heartbeat skyrockets, I turn page after page until I’m greeted by the same picture of myself. My eyes scroll through the lines, grasping words here and there but not really retaining much. “The face of nepotism” and “Just a byproduct of her father’s success” are what stand out the most. By the time I get to the end, I know what the gist is, but I couldn’t quote a single sentence if I tried.
I read it and read it and read it again to no avail until I can’t feel a thing besides cold from the strong gusts of wind that have picked up in the last minutes. I can’t feel angry or defeated anymore. I just grieve everything I lost silently, like a funeral hymn echoing in my mind.
Setting the magazine down, I close my eyes, and I breathe.
How long will it take for my father to see it? How long until Barb does? Will it get to Frank or Martha too? How big will it become? Maybe it’ll find its way to Ian.
My phone beeps, and these days, every time it does, I dread it. It’s either someone asking for money or Martha complaining about wedding planning, which she started again a few months back. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point I started hating my life, and I still can’t get out of this slump.
I guess it started when I met Ian. When he showed me what else is out there.
If he were here, he’d know what to do—how to get rid of William Roberts. He’d tell me encouraging, lovely words that would push me to try one more time to think of a new solution.
But I’m out. Out of will, out of money, out of ideas. William Roberts destroyed my restaurant and my reputation, and I don’t know how to recover, nor do I truly want to. I’ll just find another job, one that doesn’t involve cooking. And I’ll be my own chef in my free time.
With a sigh, I grab my phone. It’s Martha.
Martha:
Call me sometime today?
I’m not exactly in the mood to talk, but it might be about Barb’s pregnancy, so I can’t exactly ignore her. Bringing the phone to my ear, I listen for the beeps.
“Hey, Ames.”
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Where are you?”
“At the restaurant. I had to clean up before the new tenants come in.”
Silence. I hear noises in the background, then she clears her throat. “Oh, maybe we should talk some other time.”
“Tell me whatever you need to say, Martha,” I say, stiffening on the chair.
We’ve been fighting a lot lately. And I don’t mean fighting like in the last year, where she does whatever she wants and I just take it while resentment brews under the surface. No. It’s been some proper fighting, with screaming and accusations and anger. Since I opted out of telling her about Frank’s arrangement in the end, she continues to blame me and Ian for the breakup, and I let her. Because I don’t care about her opinion and it’s less humiliating than the truth anyway.
“It’s just… I was wondering…”
Oh my God, I’ve got no patience left for this. “What?”
“You know the wedding is in twenty days, and…”
As she stutters incomprehensible words, my brain tries to guess what exactly she’s asking for. I haven’t got a clue.
“…Frank will be there.”
“Mm-hmm.” I bite my bottom lip, trying to push down the anxiety I feel at the idea of seeing him again. I already knew he would be, so there must be more to this call. “And?”
“And I was thinking maybe you could… talk? Before then?”
I remain silent.
“I know what he did was fucked-up, Ames, leaving you at the altar like that. But you can’t blame him. Not after you had an affair —”
“No.”
Martha says nothing for a few seconds, and I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. No. What a beautiful word that is.
“Really, Ames? You’re just going to let him go without even fighting?”
“Really.” I settle in the chair and tilt my head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. “I don’t want to fight for Frank. Nor do I want to marry him.”
“Ames, this is ridiculous. Look at your life for a moment. You can’t tell me you’re better off now, and it doesn’t look like Ian stuck around—”
“Martha, I said no. And you have to respect it. I don’t need to explain myself, and I don’t have to give you my reasons.” Grinning wider than I ever have, I continue: “No means no .”
She grumbles something that sounds like “Unbelievable.” And it is unbelievable. It’s unbelievable that I’ve waited so long to say no. No, Martha, you can’t have everything you want with zero regard for anyone else. No, Frank, I won’t marry you when you obviously don’t love me. No, Dad, I will not be a pawn in your sick games.
So easy. How in the world it took me so long to get it is be-yond me.
“Fine. If you’re gonna be unreasonable, do what you want. But you’ll end up alone.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
“Yes. Since that Ian guy, I swear you’re unbearable,” she spits out. “And it’s not enough that he ruined your relationship. Now you’re going to let him come between our friendship too.”
My fist clenches on my thigh. I couldn’t care less about her opinions, but she should watch her poisonous mouth before she says a word about Ian. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Martha. And I let you, Frank, and mostly myself ruin it. But I can at least take solace in the fact that the past year wasn’t for nothing, because I won’t let you or anyone else walk over me. If that means ruining our friendship”—I shrug—“well, so be it.”
“Fine, Ames. Maybe when there’s nobody left, you’ll change your mind.”
Happier than ever with my decision, I look at the colorful sails in the distance. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Bye.”
Once she hangs up, I glance at the glass construction one last time, step onto the creaking planks of the deck, and take hold of the slick metal handrail. I breathe in the salt, the sea, the summer.
It’s time to walk away.
Though no one said I couldn’t do it on my own terms.
I throw my bag on the table, deciding I’ll be back for it later. But first, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do since the first time I saw this place. This is my last chance before the temperature drops—and, more importantly, it’s my last chance before I give up this place.
Gripping the handrail, I lift one leg over it, then the other, and step on the narrow edge. My heart tumbles as I look down at the water. It can’t be more than fifty feet away, and the beach is a short swim from here. Still, jumping into the unknown is scary. Doing it alone even more so.
But it’s what I need.
I take a deep breath, the toes of my shoes suspended over the void, then close my eyes. As I let go of the rail, I leap forward and let myself fall.