Chapter 24
Carina
“Guess who’s home?” I let myself into my parents’ home. “It’s me, your only daughter.” I answer my own question before dropping the bags I’m holding near the door. I walk into the living room and grin wide. There’s a mixing sound coming from the kitchen.
Mom is already at it.
She can whip up a batch of freshly baked muffins as fast as other mothers serve toast. My money is on tonight’s dinner. I bet she already started to prep for it.
“Where is everybody?” I make sure my voice carries.
The mixing sound stops.
“Mother of God. Oliver, she’s here. Carina is here. Let me wash my hands, cupcake. I’ll be out in a sec—”
“What’s she doing here so early?” My father is upstairs.
“Does it matter, Oliver?”
“It does, Vanessa,” Daddy says. “I’m still getting dressed. It’s not like I’m going to receive my baby girl half naked. She said lunch. Eight o’clock in the morning isn’t lunch. Is she on London time?”
“Oh, stop your complaining, Oliver. Our baby is here. Get down here.”
This whole conversation goes on while they’re in different parts of the house.
I can’t help but laugh.
Home. Sweet home.
Soon, footsteps trample down the stairs and another set against the wooden floor, coming from the kitchen. The next thing I know, I’m caught in a Callahan sandwich.
“Carina. Cupcake.” Mom sobs, kissing me all over.
“Baby girl.” Daddy is also sobbing and hugging the hell out of me.
“Mom. Daddy. You guys are suffocating me.”
They only hug me harder.
“You guys,” I say, twisting out of the bear hug.
“It seems like an eternity since you’ve been here,” Daddy says.
They both wipe away a few tears, their blue eyes are still teary.
I may do a better job at hiding it, but I’m just as emotional.
Family.
You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.
I readjust my outfit. “I was here not long ago.”
“Not long ago? Not long ago?” Mom crosses her arms over her ample chest. “You mean last Christmas?” There’s no mistaking the indignation in her voice.
She turns to my father. “Oliver, did you hear that? She leaves New York and comes back ungrateful? Did we use to feed her every eight months when she lived under our roof?”
She can be so dramatic.
“Mom.” I roll my eyes, with an amused smile stretching my lips.
“I miss you so much, cupcake,” she says, pinching my cheeks. She takes a step back and pins her closed fists at her waist in a motherly way. “What happened to you?” She waves her chin at me as if it were a finger.
I glance down at my body. “What do you mean?”
“You lost weight?” I don’t have time to answer. “She’s wasting away.” Her eyes shift to my father. “Right, honey?”
“Your mom is right, baby girl,” Daddy says. “Is Riley working you too hard? Maybe you’re losing weight because of dehydration. It’s pretty hot down there.”
“Stop it, you two. Before I know it, Mom will have a feast ready and Nonna Ludovica will come rushing in with some extra food. I eat well, and no, Riley isn’t working me too hard.
And it’s no hotter there than it is up here in the summer.
Maybe I lost a little weight because of my new lifestyle.
I’m sure it has to do with the fresh air.
” And because Rhett has been keeping me quite busy.
“Mmm.” They hum at the same time, nodding in perfect synchronization.
Drama averted.
“What are you doing here so early?” Mom frowns. “I thought you were going to pop by the restaurant to work the lunch rush.”
I decided to approach this like an army sergeant. My photo shoot with Rhett is tomorrow, which means I’m free all day today. After a lot of thought, I feel broaching the subject of, ‘Guess who’s coming to dinner?’ is easier in the intimacy of our home than at the restaurant.
“I figured we could spend some time together and head to the restaurant a little later,” I say. “I stopped by Hot Bagels and got us a dozen freshly baked Jewish bagels, lox, dill cream cheese, and all the trimmings.”
My brothers have paired up to manage the restaurants, but my parents and both nonnas drop by the one in the Financial District to help out with the lunch rush because it’s usually ridiculously busy there.
“It’s only going to be you and Mom,” my father says. “I have to run. There was a cancellation and I was able to get a booking to see the doctor.”
Doctor? “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, baby girl.”
I shoot him a dubious side gaze.
“You know how it is when you work standing all day and you keep adding candles on your birthday cake.”
“Your knee?”
He nods. “It’s acting up again. I have an eight forty-five appointment, so I need to run.”
He puts my mind at ease.
“I should be back within an hour and a half.”
“I’ll be here.”
“We’ll catch up when I return.” He kisses me on the cheek.
“Sounds good. See you soon, Daddy.”
“You won’t even have time to miss me.” He smiles. He turns to Mom. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” He kisses her on the lips.
With that, he grabs his keys and he’s out the door.
“Come into the kitchen,” Mom says, pulling me forward. “You have to explain to me––to my face––why you couldn’t sleep at your own parents’ house and decided to sleep in a hotel bed where eight million people have slept before.”
Here we go.
“You have no idea how well the sheets were washed. Are they even bleached? At least here, you know I value supreme cleanliness—”
“Mom, let’s have breakfast first.”
She arches a brow and studies me for a long beat.
I offer a warm smile.
She nods. “Fair enough.”
Thank you, God.
“Let me grab the bag I left at the door.” I’m going to need energy for this conversation.
As I suspected, Mom was in the middle of some elaborate food preparation for tonight’s dinner. She’s already started the meat lasagna made from scratch—including the fresh pasta. Nonna Ludovica’s recipe is so outstanding, it deserves five Michelin stars.
“Those were amazing.” Mom pushes her plate away. “I doubt I’ll be hungry for lunch.”
“Same here.”
“Can you buy Jewish bagels in Summerville?”
I shake my head. “There are a few authentic Jewish bagel delis in Texas, but none in the small town I live in.”
“Another reason that makes New York the best city in the world.”
She’s revving up her engine.
“The diversity of food is unparalleled. Everything is better in New York.”
As usual, she’s campaigning for the Big Apple with more fervor than the mayor.
And everything is bigger in Texas.
I respond with a tight smile.
The Bialetti burbles on the stovetop.
Mom’s gaze swings to it before locking her eyes onto mine. “More coffee?”
Saved by the stainless steel stovetop coffee maker. “Yes, please.”
She gets up, heads to the stove, pours coffee and frothed milk in our cups, and returns to the table.
I tap my fingers on the table, willing my nerves to settle.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing a cup from her.
She sits down. “I’m glad you came early. We have time to catch up. Things are so frantic at the restaurants,” she says in between sips.
“That’s what I thought. Sitting like this and enjoying a cup of coffee with you is such a treat.”
“I agree,” she says. “So tomorrow our little girl becomes a star for the second time.” She reaches out for my hand. She gives it a good squeeze and we smile wide at each other. “You have no idea how proud Daddy and I are.”
I squeeze back. “Thanks. I’m pretty excited.”
“I told everyone at church and every customer I’ve come across at the restaurants.
Can you imagine? The New York Times wants to feature my cupcake.
Few ladies at church are able to say their child has celebrity status.
It was one thing when you could ride Riley’s coattail, but now you can stand on your own. ” She chokes up.
“Mom. You can’t keep crying like this.”
“I can’t help it. It seems like just yesterday you were a tiny adorable baby.”
“Twenty-four years ago?”
We both laugh.
“You’re soon on your way to be bigger than Riley. A mother knows,” she says, tapping the tip of her nose.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Wash your mouth out with soap, child. This is a big deal. You are a top chef,” she says with a stubborn chin nod.
“All right, you win,” I say with a theatrical eye roll.
“I know you said the hotel was paid for. Still, I can’t hide my disappointment. I would’ve much preferred it if you were here with Daddy and me. You’re there alone.” She sets her cup on the table. “You should’ve been with family.”
It’s my turn to set my cup on the table. “Actually, Mom, the story the New York Times will be running is a two-part piece––”
She claps. “You’ll be featured twice? Wait until the ladies at church hear this. I need to text Nonna––”
“Mom, calm down. That’s not what I said.” She frowns. “My interview and photo shoot is tomorrow, but today…”
“Yes, today.” Mom motions her hand, coaxing me.
“Today…” You can do this. “They’re interviewing Rhett Sullivan and doing his photo shoot.”
“Who?” Mom contorts her face in a grimace.
“Rhett Sullivan is the reason the New York Times even knows I exist.”
“Is he a famed chef who lives in Summerville?”
“No, he isn’t. You remember how Riley’s older brother owns the ranch where I live right now?”
“Of course.” She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, I’m silly. “Daddy and I even did a search to pinpoint the exact location of the ranch in Texas just in case something were to happen to you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’m dumbfounded.
“You’re our only daughter,” Mom says. “We wanted to make sure you were safe and living in civilization and not in a godforsaken remote area of bush country.”
And they wonder why I feel suffocated.
“Back to Rhett Sullivan. He works for Jake.”
“He must have an important position for the New York Times to be interested in him. What does he do?”
“He’s a ranch hand.”
“A what?” That face again.
“He works at the ranch.”
She gives me a despondent look.