Chapter 15
“My arm really does fucking hurt. I didn’t think a break could be such a nightmare. People break bones all the time, and it’s nothing, right? I didn’t know it could be this awful. But I’m miserable. And already tired of this.”
Dave helps me clomp into the house while wrangling some of the bags that I was hauling in from my stuck car. “Okay, so just be miserable for a while,” he suggests. “Be in pain. You know, accept it.”
“I bought all this stuff to make dinner. I wanted to do something nice for you. Although I don’t even know what I have because Anj just threw things into my cart,” I say with a laugh.
“Just be miserable for a while,” he says again. More seriously, serenely this time. He’s not talking about just my wrist.
After a time, I finally answer, “I’m not ready to. It’s too much. This trifecta of Patrick, my arm, this stupid cat who probably wants to be thrown back in that Boston alley? I’m not winning at anything.”
David silently takes over, unloading my groceries and gently moving me aside when I try to help. He sets me down in a comfy chair and pours me a glass of wine. I work on slowing my breathing and not thinking about anything real.
After I’ve calmed and while I’m checking on my cat and feeding that spiteful thing—who again hisses at me when I offer him food—I hear Dave laugh from the kitchen.
It’s my cue. I hold up my phone in anticipation of something cute, and it’s so fun to capture this moment.
“These weren’t random ingredients Anjanette picked out.” Dave is smiling, less resistant and shy about being on camera. Maybe even liking it a bit. “It’s her favorite of mine that she wants me to put back on the menu.”
“And that dish is?”
“Just watch and wait. And why do you even want me in a post?” he asks as he unloads bags.
I shrug. “I’m not above sharing a bit of eye candy, alongside such good food.”
“So, I’m eye candy, huh?” he asks. He gives me that flirty Resort Dave smile that first drew me in. “You’re bananas.”
“Just keep cooking. It’ll get you followers,” I encourage, rationalizing why I keep my camera on him.
My followers and I are obsessed with his cooking.
Mussels with artichokes, dill, tomatoes, jalapenos, broth, and a touch of cream—it’s not any kind of dish I’ve tried before, and it’s gorgeous.
Within minutes, there are demands for an official recipe and multiple people drooling. Some over the recipe, some over Dave.
My live post might be good, but Megan will share this again and on my website to include a full recipe once I get an actual recipe out of Dave.
While I know he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s digging the fun and new attention.
After dinner, he pours drinks, and my nerves are still settling after that car-in-the-ditch situation.
This place has a large deck/patio with a tall outdoor fireplace that he lights.
“We’re going to sit outside in this weather?” I ask incredulously.
“It’s only a bad storm when you’re driving. It’s fun outside when you’re at home with a fireplace.”
The cozy chairs are impossible to refuse when he leads me out there, so I fall into one and promptly bang my goddamn cast against the arm. Dave winces as hard as I do.
“I’m okay,” I say preemptively, but this pain sucks. “I don’t know why that Top Cat hates me so much. He wasn’t on the streets that long. He shouldn’t even be that feral, right?”
Dave settles into the chair across from me. “Not sure there’s a timeline on that stuff.”
“Evidently not. Maybe he’ll just be a bathroom cat forever. At least he won’t be dead. Maybe never nice, but not dead.” I swirl my wine and take a sniff. It’s a really nice vintage and just what I need tonight.
My phone dings, and I groan when I see a text from my mother.
Dave asks what’s up now, as he’s seen me get too many demanding messages.
I sigh. “My mom is freaking out about house stuff. I just have to arrange to send out a few people to deal with plumbing issues. And apparently, the roof is falling apart. And there is some kind of city sewer issue she is supposed to respond to.”
“That’s on you?”
“It is.” I inhale and exhale so very deeply. “Even the short version is shitty. We can skip that.”
To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate. “I want the long version.”
Patrick was the only person to have ever heard the long and true version of what my childhood was, and how these people who never should have had a child did so. But it might be nice to share my horrors with another living person.
After an hour of my unloading, he’s still here. And somehow, his head hasn’t exploded. “Okay, so your dad was clearly … not well.” He puts it kindly.
“And a criminal of undetermined sorts. Mafia undertones.”
“Okay. What about your mom?”
“That’s another psycho story. She was so fucking depressed, but also so focused on appearances, so she’d make us get all dressed up, go to the country club to socialize a few times a week.
Then we’d be back home, and she’d collapse.
I couldn’t have friends over because she wasn’t up for it.
My mother was hyper focused on her persona as the PTA president, on manners, presenting oneself as well dressed, yelling at me if my appearance wasn’t up to par.
She’d come home from an event, then sink into a chair and stare at a wall for days.
Always in some kind of survival mode, trying to tolerate her own misery. There wasn’t room for me, for any kid.
“I truly don’t know why they even agreed to have a child. Nobody played with me, hugged me, pushed me in a swing. Nobody read to me. Nobody indulged in make-believe play or taught me how to be silly or have fun.
“And because I had so much, I’d hole up in my room and pack up clothes and toys to give away, always afraid that people didn’t have as much as I did.
Routinely sneaking out trash bags full of gorgeous stuff.
I always knew there was something wrong with the disparity in our town, but nobody else seemed to care. ”
“But you did.”
“Always.”
“And your parents were, well …”
“Awful.” I can fill in the blanks. “I don’t like them. I don’t even think I love them.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Diana.”
It actually feels so good to tell another person about this shit, and shockingly, I feel lighter.
“Hey, Dave? Thanks for another to-die-for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
We sit in silence for a while, until he finally asks the inevitable. “What in the hell were you doing, going out on the road tonight? You scared me, Diana.”
“Told you, I thought I’d be fine.” It’s not a good explanation, but it’s truthful.
“But why wouldn’t you let me help you?” Before I can give him some bullshit answer, he seems to get it.
“Because from what I can tell, especially after hearing about your disastrous upbringing, you’re not used to anyone offering you help.
You’re always kind of saving everyone else, yes?
Doing for everyone else. All the restaurants you champion, your friend who’s living on the streets.
Maybe your parents? Trying to please people who are not really on your side?
All that business stuff I heard in Puerto Rico sounded awful. ”
He’s right.
I sip my drink and nod. “It just feels embarrassing. Like, tonight was mortifying.”
“Sitting in a ditch and waving away help? Asking for help is nothing to shy away from,” he suggests.
Fair point. In theory.
“I have a confession,” I start, intentionally switching subjects.
“Do tell,” he says softly.
“I love that your Wi-Fi here semi-sucks. It works just enough that I can share all my videos with my girl Megan Madonna, but I can pretend it’s bad enough that I can’t take calls or get emails.”
“To isolation?” Dave raises a glass, and his clinks against mine as we both smile in clear agreement.
“What about you?” I wonder aloud. “What is Dave’s story?”
He waves a hand. “Nothing big to tell.”
“Shit, you know my worst now. You could at least share something about yourself. Anj called you a curmudgeon, and I don’t see you like that, so spill.”
Dave scoots inside for a minute and finds himself a new glass and pours a good shot of bourbon. “Okay, fair is fair. I’ll share some random stuff.”
Maybe it’s the small kick of booze that gets him talking, but at least I’m not the only one to bare their soul.
“My family is in the lobster business, of course, as is per usual around here, and my parents are older than most people my age. My mom was forty-three when I was born. I assume I was unexpected.” He laughs.
“Um, what else? My uncle—my dad’s brother—died, leaving his wife, Anna.
She’s Spanish, and they’d opened a restaurant just north of here, about thirty minutes away from Snowshoe.
Amazing tapas. Like, you’d drool. Yeah, there are plenty of people in this town to watch over her, but they’re not family.
And during winter months and all, people don’t drive up as much.
I just want to make sure she is okay, so I stop in there a lot. ”
His protectiveness over me is now more understandable. He maybe protects everyone?
Before I can react, he texts me a link to the restaurant.
“Oh, I definitely like this!” My eyes widen, and I know I’ll have to explore this menu more later.
“Yep,” he agrees.
“So sorry about your uncle, but it’s awesome how you watch over your aunt. So, you then started your food truck?” I prompt.
“Yeah, these lobster guys need to eat, as you saw tonight. I tried serving more healthy stuff, but they demand everything else.” He smiles and slams back the rest of his drink.
David can be very flexible with his schedule though. “In fact, I’m going to move to serving just lunch and dinner soon. Winters here? There’s no reason to kill myself with breakfasts.”
After his winters in Maine, he then travels up and down the East Coast during the spring and tries to hit areas that are less popular.
He loves to visit small towns that wouldn’t expect a food truck, especially ones with all his seafood.
He brings along produce that local farms have donated and hands out what he can.