CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Madison
I hear my front door open tentatively from behind my hands, which I've been crying into for the last five minutes.
"Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now."
"Well, damn," says Mabel, making me look up. "That's not a nice way to greet an old lady."
"Sorry. I thought you were James."
"A fair reaction then. That boy needs to be punished for that foolish display back there. Mind if I sit?" she asks, already making her way to the bed.
I scoot over and pull my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling ten years old again. Wishing I was ten years old again.
"Well," she sighs. "That was an event."
"Mabel, please forgive me for how rude I'm about to be, but I'm not in the mood for sympathy. I'm angry and sad, and I don't want coddling or to hear how I'll get it next time."
"Oh, good. Because that's why I told your sisters they couldn't come in. I'm not here to baby you. I'm here because I know—and you know—that you're strong as hell, child."
I cut a glance to her.
"There's no waiting for next time. Honey, you have a restaurant full of people waiting for their orders.
You have a staff trying to stay afloat without you, and right now, they're underwater.
It's not the day you dreamed of, but it's the day you got.
And now . . . you've cried, which is good and makes a person feel better.
But you know what comes next. It's time to get up and show what you're made of. "
"You think I'm strong?" I ask, resting my chin on my knees.
She narrows an eye. "I thought you didn't want any coddling."
"Okay, fine. I want a little dollop of coddling to go with the tough love."
She smiles. "Let me put it this way, Maddie. A weak person wouldn't have stared down those Huxley boys and kicked them off the property with one pointed finger."
"They left?" I don't know why this makes my heart drop—it's exactly what I told them to do, and what needed to happen. But the thought of James not being there the rest of the night kills me. Will we be okay after? Is he reconsidering if I can actually do this now that he's seen me mess up so much?
She nods. "They left immediately. But James looked like he'd rather swallow his own boot than walk away from you upset."
I don't have time to worry about that yet though.
"I just wanted today to go smoothly. I didn't want to give anyone a reason to say, We knew this would happen. I wanted this to be the event that finally made this town, and my family, take me seriously."
Mabel bumps her shoulder against mine. "If you want everyone to take you seriously, then look them straight in the eye when you demand it. Night's not over."
She's right.
And maybe a younger version of me would have used this moment to quit.
To wait for someone else to rescue me and make everything easier.
But Mabel's right—no one's coming to do that.
Not only that, but I wasn't waiting for it this time.
Even in this bleak moment, I was always preparing to go back out there.
Dreading the fix, but knowing I was the one to do it.
And just to make myself feel better, I briefly picture a young Zora Brookes standing in a busy kitchen when the lights went out because she forgot to pay the electricity bill.
I smile.
Pity party's over. Time to go finish this night.
I lay my head on her shoulder. "Thank you, Mabel. I love you."
"I love you too, sugar." She pats my leg.
I stand, tug the hem of my chef's coat back into place, and walk to the mirror. My mascara's a mess, hair askew. I lick my fingers and wipe under my eyes the best I can, then gather my hair and freshen up my ponytail.
My chest still feels tight, but I can breathe again. And that's progress.
Before I leave the cottage, I glance back at Mabel, sitting alone on my bed. She looks so small suddenly. This strong woman, always giving strength to the world around her, seems tired. Who's checking up on her?
I pause in the doorway.
"Mabel . . . you're always the one swooping in and giving us the pep talks and tough love speeches. But it's your turn."
She twists on the mattress to see me. "Oh, I don't need—"
"Zip it and listen up," I say, hands on my hips.
Mabel's mouth snaps closed. "My grandma—your best friend—died last year. And as we both know, she was gone a long time before that, thanks to the Alzheimer's.
Your husband is no longer on this earth either.
But you . . . you're still here. You've still got a lot of life left.
And you need a companion. A friend to walk with you through the rest of it.
Someone to call for coffee. A buddy to watch The Price Is Right reruns with.
And although we appreciate your place in our lives as the Oracle"—we both grin—"you need a shoulder to cry on too."
I expect her to protest, but she doesn't. And that tells me I'm spot-on.
Mabel, tough as nails, crosses her arms. "Well, do you have a friend-dating service I can use or something?"
I smile. "Even better. I already have the perfect person in mind for you."
In my silence, Mabel seems to register who I mean. Her eyes narrow. "No way. Not her. I hate Harriet."
"I don't believe that for a second. I think you love to hate her, and she loves to hate you.
You also know each other better than most people do.
And take it from someone who just spent the last two years surrounded by people who didn't know the first thing about me: Being known is beautiful.
Especially when they know the worst things about you and choose you anyway.
" I think of James and how my many faults haven't stopped him from loving me.
"Give Harriet a shot and see what happens."
She grunts but doesn't say no.
I take that as a win.
"I gotta get back to the kitchen."
"Oh, but Maddie." She sighs dramatically, letting her shoulders sag. "Please . . . for the love of God, announce your relationship with James already. The town is getting sick of pretending we don't see y'all making out behind every corner."
I laugh. "You knew he was here that night, didn't you?"
"Heavens, yes. His big boots were sticking out from under the bed."
"I fear we'll never get anything past you, Mabel."
She winks. "Not if you're lucky."
With my head held high, I march back into the restaurant.
All eyes are on me, and the restaurant is silent.
I look out over my friends and family who I've known my entire life.
I realize the people I was most scared to fail in front of are actually the most supportive of my failures.
And maybe the act of failing isn't actually a finite thing.
It's not an event on a timeline but a swipe of paint on a paper.
The more strokes of paint, the more beautiful the picture.
In the center of the room, I raise my voice so everyone can hear me.
"Well, I bet you didn't know you were getting dinner and a show!
" Everyone laughs and the tension breaks.
"Thank you for coming out. Thank you for being here for me and the Huxley family as we embark on this new adventure. I'm so happy to be part of it, and I'm so grateful to be doing it here—at home.
I love you all, and I'm going to go make your food now because I know you're starving. "
I turn to walk away, but cheers erupt so loudly I'm forced to turn around. Everyone is standing. They are on their feet for me, Madison Walker.