The only sounds are my sniffles and the movie and a quiet conversation coming from the hallway or a neighbor. I take a deep breath. “I’m okay,” I say.

“Didn’t make the show?” Wes asks.

“Huh? Oh. Right. The show.” The show is suddenly the last thing on my mind. “No. Well, I don’t know. It wasn’t about the show.”

They watch me, waiting for me to say more. I’m not going to weigh them down with this. Jeremy has law school to focus on. And moving into a new home that doesn’t have asbestos. Wes would give me every one of his last dollars, if he knew. Which is exactly why I can’t tell him. Just like I wanted to run this restaurant myself, he deserves to start his new life with Corrine without a burden.

“I think... I think I need to go for a drive.”

“Yeah. I’ll give Wes a ride home. You go,” Jeremy says. He passes me some tissues and a water bottle.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Wes squeezes my shoulder and I avoid his eyes until I’m out of the apartment. My car’s engine squeals in the cold. I don’t let it warm up as I drive, with single-minded focus, across town. In the light of day, my mom’s old house looks different. Lived in. Loved.

I’m thankful for the cold weather because no one is out here to see me sit and cry.

Chapter Eleven

Sophie

The way that I know cooking was the best career choice for me is how even after a day of following Mom around Boston, listening to her unsolicited advice about getting on dating apps “for the lesbians,” I’m still energized when I park my SUV behind the restaurant.

Amy’s car is already here and the way my heart flip-flops in my chest when I see the cherry red hatchback is dangerous. We’re not a Thing. We’ve just gotten each other off a couple times.

But ever since Mom brought up Julie’s marriage, and reaffirmed her strong desire for me to get married, I can’t stop thinking about Amy. If Amy ever got married, she’d probably wear a pantsuit. Something off-white, cream colored. A satiny camisole underneath a blazer with lace trim. She’d leave her hair to its natural waves. She’d keep her face mostly bare. She’d be beautiful.

I laugh to myself, putting my fingers to my lips, buzzy and warm. Thoughts and prayers to the person who tried to plan a wedding with Amy Chambers. They’d never get to make a single choice. She wouldn’t be a Bridezilla, she’d just know what she wanted and what her partner wanted, too.

I hated planning my wedding to Paul. The details were so tedious. Who cares what color the linens are or if a DJ was preferable to a live band. All I wanted was good food, the best food for our closest friends and family.

Paul wanted to get married in a hotel conference room. Not knocking hotel conference rooms, but they’re not known for their menus. But I bet Amy would let me cater our own wedding.