Chapter Eight #4
We look at each other for a heavy handful of seconds.
“I could have let him sell the house like he wanted,” Daisy says. “I could have supported his ambitious, ‘crazy’ ideas.” She makes quotation marks in the air. “He didn’t become a renowned chef by playing it safe, after all.”
She stares at her half-eaten plate, and I keep my full attention on her—on the shy way she puts her hair behind her ear and the nervous movement of her jaw, clenching and unclenching.
“When it was just us in the kitchen, late at night, when life was still stable, I could dream alongside him,” she continues when I remain silent.
“We experimented and made endless plans.” The corners of her mouth stretch up briefly.
“But I had studied to be the voice of reason.” She looks at me, lost in her inner world.
“I was supposed to help him make rational, informed decisions. And so, when the crisis came, I focused on the numbers.”
I nod, showing her that I’m following.
We are different from each other. I’m more like her dad, it seems. I’m impulsive and full of ideas. She is thoughtful, rational, and fearful. We are two pieces that need to be combined to obtain balance. We can learn from each other.
And maybe, deep down, she is not as controlled as she pretends to be.
There is a fiery spirit inside her, and it’s sad that she keeps restraining it.
I’m glad I’ve brought a little of that to the surface.
I hope she can see that suppressing the call of your heart is like dealing with a time bomb.
You’re safe for a while as you ignore it. But one day, it will explode.
My stomach sinks at the thought that maybe I haven’t been honest with myself either, as Luigi suggested. Daisy is right that I’ve been avoiding the past… the violin . I have a ticking bomb inside me, and it might be time to deal with it.
“Maybe I was wise to tell Dad not to go ahead with his project because it would fail,” Daisy says.
“Or maybe everything would have worked out if he had sold the house to save the restaurant and turn it into what he dreamed it could be.” She takes a brief pause to eat and deal with her emotions.
“He could have afforded rent in the Valley. Or maybe he could have bought a cheap apartment far from the ocean. Maybe the traffic wouldn’t have harmed his fragile heart like I feared.
A stroke killed him in the end… Who would have thought? ”
She looks away, and I notice she is holding back tears. I take her hand on the table, and her gleaming eyes land on mine.
“You can’t feel guilty for that, Daisy. Please don’t.”
She blinks rapidly to avoid shedding a tear. I want to hug her now… Hold her head against my chest and whisper that everything will be fine. All I can do is squeeze her hand, though, and lean a little closer.
“You did the right thing, okay? People like your dad and I need people like you and Luigi to keep our feet on the ground, tell us we sometimes shouldn’t do what we think would be awesome.”
Her light brown eyes stay on mine, drinking my words, hoping to find comfort in them.
“You feel that you failed him because you didn’t let him fulfill his dream before he died.
But you couldn’t have known, Daisy. Like you said, maybe he wouldn’t have succeeded.
Running a business is hard. Maybe he wouldn’t have made a profit in three years.
Maybe he would have had to sell it anyway, and then ended up with nothing, not even a house.
Vouching for what you thought was safest, you gave him two good years working as a chef in someone else’s restaurant, free of burdens, living in his sweet home in Santa Monica.
A house you and your brother inherited, right? ”
It’s a guess, but she nods. “Yes. Nick and I sold it to pay off our loans and get our life plans in motion. It sucked to let it go, especially after all we’ve done to keep it… But it was necessary. We didn’t want to live there without Dad… It didn’t make sense.”
Knowing now how she could afford this trip and a restaurant in Venice Beach gives me a new view of Daisy. She doesn’t see the inheritance as her money. She feels duty-bound to use it to fulfill the purpose intended by its previous owner. Her dad. A man she loved and respected.
It is her money, however, to do with as she pleases.
“Just remember, Daisy, that a loving father would want his daughter to do whatever her heart desires with the money he left for her.”
Despite all she lost, I hope she sees she’s blessed. She has the power of choice. She can be whoever she wants, go anywhere, and decide her fate in a way so many can’t. She just needs to make good decisions.
Decisions she makes for the right reasons, not out of guilt.
“I don’t only want to buy the restaurant for him,” she says, her voice weak. “La Veneziana—in a totally upgraded version—was our dream. I was just willing to give it up for his well-being. But now I don’t have to. I can make it come true, for both of us.”
I caress her hand on the table, showing that I’m here, supporting her, and she smiles as she gazes at our hands.
“Thank you for listening,” she says, low as a whisper.
“Thank you for opening up.”
She doesn’t want my opinion. She’s set on her plans, and who am I to tell her she shouldn’t follow her dream and honor her father?
I lean in to caress her cheek. She closes her eyes to feel the touch and takes a deep, calming breath. I can sense her agitation waning. She relaxes under my gaze and the stroke of my fingers. I want to be by her side every time she needs comfort.
As soon as she is done with her pasta, the server comes to take the plates, and we receive the next course—Venetian-style branzino accompanied by a pretty fennel and orange salad.
The dessert comes after two more delicious courses. It’s the chef’s version of panna cotta.
Daisy stares at her plate for a few long seconds. Then she looks at me, then at the plate again, and takes a deep breath.
I watch her taste the dessert, slowly and delicately. The moment her tongue processes the flavors, she drops her spoon and covers her mouth in wonder.
“Oh, my God,” she says, laughing. “This is—” She shuts herself up with another spoonful, and I taste it too. It’s the best panna cotta I’ve ever had.
“Amazing,” I complete her sentence.
“It tastes just like Dad’s panna cotta…” Her eyes are teary. She is trying to hide it, but I can see it. I hold her hand, and she keeps eating, lost in memories, weeping silently.
Once she is done, I look at her moist eyes. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’ve been avoiding certain dishes, you know.
It was easier…” She uses her napkin to wipe her eyes.
“I’ve unburied old family recipes and put them in my plans for the restaurant, but I haven’t cooked any of them yet.
I guess I didn’t want to go down memory lane alone…
or with Jeremy or my brother.” She smiles at me.
“But tonight, with you, I felt ready. I feel like I can face anything now… So thank you.”
I smile back and caress her cheek, my heart beating so fast I feel like opening a few buttons to breathe better.
I’m so happy to be helping Daisy let go of her fears. I love being her safe haven and giving her the confidence she needs to face her demons. Her past. Her grief.
As I stroke her fingers, I think of how odd it is that good memories hurt.
Well, Daisy is feeling good right now. She survived her trip to the past and is smiling at me, grateful. Tasting again the food she had avoided, she felt connected to her father and all they shared.
Behind the pain and tears, there is a reward.
My breath is uneasy, so I inhale slowly and put a new smile on my face. Time to lighten the mood.
“If you ever need inspiration, ask Luigi to see the recipe book he’s writing,” I say. “I’m sure he will let you have a look before publication.”
I tell her about Luigi’s plans to travel around Italy, and she is excited to hear of his culinary adventure. When we’ve both finished our dessert, the chef drops by our table.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the meal,” he says, smiling cordially.
“We loved it. You’ve even made me cry.” She laughs, and the chef bows gratefully.
“She’s a chef, so that’s great feedback,” I say.
The chef thanks us, and we chat with him a little.
His name is Carlo Gravano, and he’s from Modena.
He is curious about where Daisy lives and works.
She tells him about the one-star Michelin restaurant she’s worked at in Los Angeles.
Curiously, she doesn’t mention the Venice Beach restaurant, just that she is ready to start her own business.
She compliments his panna cotta and says it reminded her of her father.
“I’ll definitely come back when I’m in Venice again,” she says.
The chef scratches his stubble. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible… But maybe you’ll visit my future osteria in Modena?”
Daisy frowns. “What do you mean? Are you closing?”
Carlo leans closer as if he doesn’t want other guests to hear him. “It takes a lot to keep a Michelin star, you know… Sometimes, you want to get back to the basics.”
He smiles, and I wonder if this business owner wants to sell or if life is pushing him to make that decision.
What will I do when I decide I’m done with the hotel business and feel the pull toward music? When the bomb I’ve ignored for three years finally goes off? Will I hide from my duties to play Bach in my room?
Can I really accept never playing professionally again?
It’s more than one clock that is ticking.
I’m getting older…soon too aged and rusty to restart. Some would say it is too late already. I told myself three years ago it was too late, so how would now make sense?
The chef returns to the kitchen, and shortly after, Daisy goes to the bathroom, leaving me alone with unpalatable thoughts of the future.
* * *
I didn’t think I would be alone in my room tonight.
But it’s okay. We had a delightful evening. Not every date needs to end in sex.