14. But Will I Be Fine
“Oh my God, Nom, what should I do?” The words spill out in a flood of fear and confusion. My world feels like it’s in free fall. After sobbing into a pillow, demolishing a half-carton of banana nut white chocolate ice cream, and more tears, I found myself sprawled on the living room floor. It was only when the realization of my pregnancy hit me again that I reached out to Naomi.
The moment she answered the phone, I told her the truth: “I’m pregnant!”
Her response was swift and filled with concern: “I’ll be there soon.”
True to her word, Naomi arrived in just seventeen minutes. As she stepped into my apartment, the weight of my situation momentarily lifted as we hugged each other tightly. Her warm and reassuring presence anchors me amid my chaotic emotions.
“Gosh, Gina,” she whispers, offering comfort with a gentle rub on my back. “Let’s go sit.”
I nod, and together, we head to the sofa. As I sink into the cushions’ comforting embrace, I admit, “I still don’t know what to do.”
Naomi looks at me with such kindness. “Do you want to keep the baby?” she gently asks, her tone letting me know I have her support no matter what I decide.
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. During my earlier turmoil of emotions and the ice cream binge, I realized I wanted to hold on to the blossoming life inside me. Yet there’s a significant concern I can’t ignore. “It’s Randy,” I confess. “I don’t know what he wants.”
“So we’re confirming that Randy is the father?” Naomi probes gently.
I look down and nod slightly, feeling a bit embarrassed because the last time we discussed it, I adamantly denied the possibility of Randy being the father.
“It’s okay, Gina,” Naomi reassures me, her voice soothing. “Everything is peachy keen.”
I raise my head, and slowly, we begin to smile at each other. I love her so dearly. Naomi Sutters is truly the best friend anyone could ask for. I struck gold back in the third grade when the cute little girl with a chipped front tooth visited my father’s dental office for a repair. Our bond formed instantly. While I was busy with my homework, she approached and sat next to me, offering help because she loved schoolwork.
Together, we breezed through my math homework, proving even then that we were a great team. “I love math,” she had said, “because I love logic.”
“Logic?” I had asked, curious.
She then took the time to explain what logic was. I was amazed, not just by her intelligence, but by how fun she was too. After finishing the homework and with time to spare before her appointment, we played with the sit-down table tennis set in the waiting room.
When it was her turn in my dad’s chair, Naomi suddenly looked a bit scared. Her dad was at work. He would return to pick her up later but couldn’t stay with her for the appointment. Feeling alone, she asked if I could stay in the room with her, and my dad agreed. We spent that dental session bombarding my dad with all sorts of silly questions.
“Can a frog have two heads?” Naomi asked, her words muffled because the mouth prop held her mouth open.
“Sometimes three,” my dad joked.
We both broke out in laughter, knowing my dad gave us a silly answer to her silly question. From that day forward, we were inseparable. But who could have ever predicted that years later we would be here, side by side, coming to terms with my accidental pregnancy?
Naomi and I still sit in silence, but I feel compelled to express my greatest concern about telling Randy the news.
“I’m so rooted in this small town,” I begin hesitantly. “And Randy… well, he’s accustomed to the big city life. I don’t want to make him feel like he has to give up his dreams because of this situation.”
Naomi’s thoughtful “hmm” fills the silence as she contemplates her next words. It’s one of the many things I cherish about her; she never rushes to judgment or advice, making her destined to be an outstanding lawyer.
“Do you have any idea how far along you are?” she finally asks.
The question sends my mind spiraling back to that unforgettable night with Randy, a memory that now seems shrouded in a dream-like haze. Despite the clarity of that night fading, the significance of it doesn’t.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, although deep down, I know that’s not entirely true. Before that night, Randy and I were all about urgency and fiery passion. But that night was different; it was as if we allowed ourselves to truly feel, to savor each other in a way we never had before. I feel like if destiny had a moment, it had to have been then.
Naomi probes further. “And you haven’t spoken to him since he left?”
Curled up on my sofa, I wrap my arms around my knees, seeking solace in the small comfort it provides. “No,” I admit with a heavy heart.
Naomi mirrors my sadness with a sympathetic downturn of her lips. Then she quickly changes her expression to ask, “Did you catch tonight’s episode of Head Chef Total Domination?”
I shake my head and then gesture toward the TV. “He’s in there, though,” I say. “He’s in my DVR.”
“Okay then.” Naomi reaches for the remote. “Let’s watch Randy. Maybe seeing him will remind you that you’re going to be okay.”
Her suggestion sparks hope within me, yet I pause, reaching out to gently touch her leg. “Wait just a moment.”
Naomi halts as she looks at me, waiting for me to speak.
Resolved to reveal the truth, especially now that my unexpected pregnancy has left me with little to lose, I recount to Naomi the entirety of my last night with Randy. I share the depth of our connection, my hopeful anticipation for a blossoming relationship, and the unfortunate timing of missing his crucial phone call the next day. I tell her that he promised to call me back when he could, but that call never came.
“And you couldn’t get in touch with him?” Naomi asks, her expression intensely curious.
I can only respond with a shake of my head, feeling the weight of missed opportunities.
Naomi’s lips twist as she considers the possibilities. “Maybe he’s on a closed set,” she muses.
“What’s a closed set?” My knowledge of TV production lingo is scant, having only recently dipped my toes into the world through my segment on my parents’ podcast.
She explains the restrictions often placed on communication to and from contestants on shows to prevent spoilers or influence. “The show doesn’t want to risk any leaks,” she elaborates.
Her explanation makes me hopeful that Randy isn’t just ignoring me because he’s put me and our town in his rearview mirror. With my newfound optimism, I grasp onto that possibility.
“That has to be it,” I claim, allowing myself a genuine smile for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
“I think that’s a promising assumption to make,” Naomi says, smiling along with me. “And Gina?”
I perk up. “Yes?”
She leans in, the air thick with anticipation. “You could’ve told me, you know.”
I nod, feeling a bit sheepish. “I know. Keeping it to myself was more about me than you. I’ve never been in love before.”
Naomi’s eyes widen, a mix of surprise and delight on her face. “Ooh, love? That’s a word I’ve never heard you use about anyone.”
I laugh and give her knee a playful tap. “Just play the episode already.”
After a few clicks on the remote, the screen comes to life with the opening scenes of Head Chef Total Domination pulling us into the excitement of the competition.
As the show begins, the judges are introduced one by one. There are three of them, with Chef Robbie Price taking the lead. He sets the stage by telling the audience that they’re about to witness some of the world’s finest chefs in action. My excitement skyrockets when Chef Randy Thorn is the first to be introduced. With a confident curl of his arm and a flex of his muscles, he positions himself as the chef to watch.
Naomi glances at me, her eyebrows arched in admiration. “He’s so hot.”
I can’t help but agree. “Very hot.”
Our attention is riveted to the screen as the next two chefs are announced. The suspense for the culinary battle to begin is nail-biting.
Then comes the moment that turns my world on its head as the next introduction is made. “Chef Deanna Blume, Food and Spirits Chef of the Year, renowned for her elevated American cuisine,” the announcer says.
My reaction is visceral. My neck cranes forward, and my jaw slackens. “That’s her,” I manage to whisper, disbelief coloring my tone. “The woman from the pier that night. He told me she was his manager, but what is she doing competing on a cooking show?” I turn to Naomi, searching for an explanation in her eyes, but she’s just as taken aback as I am.
She gestures at the TV. “Let’s just watch and see what happens. I mean, just because she’s his manager doesn’t mean she isn’t a chef.”
“I don’t understand why he didn’t mention that they were competing in the same competition,” I say as more contestants are introduced.
“It is odd,” Naomi concurs.
The tension in the air thickens as the show goes on. Watching is no fun at all. Deanna’s always standing near him except when they’re cooking. Watching Randy chop, dice, mix, and put his dish together is a lesson in pure mastery. When he tastes his food, adjusting here and there, it’s clear he’s in his zone.
Finally, time’s up. The judges taste his entrée. Guest chef judge Jack Lay, a titan in the culinary world, praises Randy after sampling his dish. “Good to have you back.”
After he says that, a video of Randy’s backstory is played. Mentored by one of the greatest chefs in the world, Randy worked in one of the most famous kitchens in New York City until addiction brought a halt to his rising star. But he’s recovered now and living in the small town where he was born. And according to Chef Jack Lay, he is better than ever, which is perhaps why Randy eventually wins the first competition of the episode.
“How are you doing?” Naomi asks, her eyebrows raised in concern as she checks in.
I nod stiffly. I’m managing okay until the show begins to drop hints about Deanna and Randy’s past relationship. Other contestants express their surprise; one even comments on how beautiful their babies would be. Then when Randy wins the final cooking challenge of the episode. Deanna’s excitement is explosive. She jumps into his arms, and Randy, in turn, lifts her and spins her around.
“Turn it off,” I demand, unable to reach the remote control myself.
Without hesitation, Naomi complies.
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, clearly as shocked and perhaps as disappointed as I am.
We sit there in stunned silence.
“You know, Gina, there has to be an explanation,” Naomi says after a pause. “Especially after what you told me about your final night together.”
“I know you’re trying to help,” I manage to say, attempting to fend off the onslaught of negative thoughts clouding my mind. Someone once said that our minds aren’t engineered for happiness; they’re built for survival. And right now, my mind is in full survival mode, painting scenarios where Randy seduced me that final night, fully aware of my turmoil at seeing him with another woman. It suggests that he wanted one last night with me, achieved his goal, and now there’s more at stake with my pregnancy while he seemingly falls for someone else.
Or worse, was he in love with her all along? If I’m smart, I would protect my heart from him. I would start the process of getting over him five minutes ago.
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