“Well … kind of all the time. I’m always letting someone down. I’m that person who’s always on the outskirts of every relationship because I can never measure up to anyone’s expectations.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “The only person who I thought maybe would … who maybe thought that I was exceptional was my mom, and that was because of how I could dance. And now I can’t dance. I’m just a shadow of a person who provides a perpetual stream of food in our house.

“Gill … my stepbrother, has been gone all summer and he doesn’t text me because he has better things to do. My ex-boyfriend started dating my best friend because … I think I bored him. My … ex-best friend, Celia, is this vivacious, sassy, intense, unpredictable, spontaneous person, and I’m not like that. I don’t know … I really, really wanted to make Jamie proud and pull off this Parent Confrontation Trap thing without a hitch, but I slipped up with our dad this morning, and I don’t know how I’m going to fix it.”

A single dramatic tear drips off my chin and onto the page. That was way too heavy for our perfect day. Excrement. No one likes a sad person.

Dawn’s two cold hands reach out and pull my face toward hers. With her hands on my cheeks, she says, “I love how open you are. It’s a beautiful trait, Siri.”

I shake my head gently. “It’s not. It makes my mom uncomfortable.”

“It is. Don’t argue with me. Your mother’s discomfort is her issue, not yours. Having the courage to wear your heart on your sleeve is fucking beautiful.”

I roll my eyes. She’s still holding my face.

“Whatever you think you did that’s ruined this psychotic plan Jamie has you wrapped up in is fixable. You can fix it. You’re smart and you’re resourceful, and you’ve got great hair.”

I snort as she lets go of my face.

“What about cooking?” Dawn says suddenly like she’s had an epiphany.

“What about cooking?” I flip to the next recipe in the book.

“Like cooking as a career path,” she says.

I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Like professional cooking?”

Dawn puts a finger in between my eyebrows where my skin is scrunched up. “Yes, like professionally. You turned your other passion into a career. You can do it again.”

“Is cooking a passion though?” I say. “I don’t know anyone who’s passionate about cooking.”

“Are you for real? Who do you think is behind those doors in the back of every restaurant you’ve ever been to?”

I laugh, realizing how dumb I just sounded. Wow. “I don’t know … it’s not like something you physically train for and it’s so … I’ve never thought of cooking as something people do for work, even though it clearly is.”