Month of Sundays (30 page)

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she said under her breath.

Veronica echoed her sentiments but much more colorfully. “Shit on a biscuit.” The crowd tittered as the tiny microphone pinned to Veronica’s chef’s coat broadcast the epithet all over the studio, though the network’s thirty-second delay probably prevented it from going out over the airwaves.

While Veronica struggled to plan a menu, Griffin pulled out a pen and quickly created one on the fly. She gathered her team around her once more. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, showing them what she had written. “I want each course to lead to the next one. A summer salad followed by a hearty fall main course and, to finish, a chilled soup that acts as a harbinger of spring.” She turned to her line cook. “Ben, take point on the first course. Do you remember the watermelon salad I made for my Fourth of July barbecue?”

“Watermelon, feta cheese, radishes, peanuts, scallions, prosciutto, olive oil, lime juice, and mint.” He rattled off the list so fast it was as if he had memorized the answer to the question.

“That’s your dish.”

Ben swallowed hard. “H-how many servings?”

Griffin put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Four. Three for the judges and one for me. I’m starving.”

Her joke lightened the mood. Ben visibly relaxed. “Yes, chef.” He ran to the pantry to gather ingredients.

“Erica.”

“Yes, chef.”

“I want to focus on the entrée, so I’m putting you in charge of dessert.” She winked. “If I screw up the main course, I’ll need you to help me finish strong.”

“You got it, chef.”

Griffin gave Erica a high five. Her team ran like a well-oiled machine, in stark contrast to the train wreck on the other side of the room. Veronica’s assistants looked skittish. As if they were afraid of making a mistake. No one wanted to be the scapegoat who cost Veronica a victory.

While Veronica’s prep cook crafted a prosciutto salad with pears, feta cheese, and pecans, Griffin poured flour on the counter, hollowed out a circle in the center, and cracked an egg over the crater. She worked the ingredients until they formed a dough, pressed the dough flat with a rolling pin, then fed the dough through a roller. She set the first noodle aside and quickly formed another.

A reporter roaming the sidelines provided a running commentary. “Chef Sutton is cranking out lasagna noodles. Did someone order Italian?”

*

Rachel stared at the monitor overhead that provided close-ups of the action taking place at the front of the cavernous room. If Griffin was making lasagna noodles, that meant her main course would most likely be mushroom lasagna. The dish that had brought her and Veronica together—and torn them apart.

“Please tell me she isn’t doing what I think she’s doing.”

Griffin looked up as if she had heard her. “If I’m going down,” she said with a grin, “I’m going down swinging.” She checked on the salad preparation. “How are we doing?”

“Almost there, chef.”

Ben had chopped the watermelon into cubes and sprinkled it with feta cheese. Torn pieces of prosciutto were waiting to be browned in the oven. Ben whisked lime juice and olive oil together to make the dressing. Griffin dipped a finger in the liquid to check the flavor.

“Perfect. Great job.”

“Thank you, chef.”

With forty-five minutes left on the clock, Erica grabbed tarragon, honey, orange juice, lemon juice, and a lemon from the pantry and began prepping the dessert course. She tossed the strawberries into a food processor and slowly added the liquids. Then she added the chopped tarragon while Griffin stirred. She offered Griffin the first taste.

Griffin lifted the spoon to her mouth and smiled. “Just what I was hoping for. Excellent, chef.”

Erica covered the bowl of soup with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator to chill.

Calm and focused, Griffin seemed to know exactly what she wanted to do. Veronica, meanwhile, seemed at her wits’ end. Barking orders at the top of her lungs, she implored her sous chefs to keep up with her.

“They call this a timed challenge for a reason, people. If we don’t get it on the plate, it doesn’t count.” She tasted her saucier’s offering and screwed up her face in disapproval. “You call that white sauce? It tastes more like paste.” She brushed him aside. “Get out of the way. I’ll do it myself.”

“I wish I’d brought some popcorn,” Rachel’s father said. “This is better than a movie.”

Rachel hated to say it, but Veronica’s appetizer looked delicious. On the other hand, her dessert was simple but boring—the required watermelon and strawberries mixed with grapes and pineapples from the pantry. Her main course was, naturally, mushroom lasagna. Her version of the dish was going to go head-to-head with Griffin’s.

I guess tonight’s the night we find out once and for all who makes it better.

*

Halfway through the challenge, Griffin put the finishing touches on her Béchamel sauce and slid her mushroom lasagna into the oven. With fifteen minutes to go, she helped Ben brown the prosciutto.

Sweat was pouring down her face, but she reminded herself to be patient. For her team, this wasn’t a competition. It was a teaching experience. Ignoring everything she had riding on tonight’s result, she allowed her staff to fix their own mistakes without stepping in to do it for them and offered gentle encouragement whenever possible. She felt like a mama bird watching her chicks prepare to leave the nest.

Even though she had often said she didn’t want kids, she had essentially been raising them for as long as she could remember. Busboys, dishwashers, servers, line cooks, sous chefs. She had mentored them all over the years. She felt like a proud parent each time they moved to the next level in their careers.

Maybe it’s time I gave the real thing a try.

She and her team plated the dishes with minutes to spare and exchanged fist bumps after Elinor called time. She sneaked a peek at Veronica’s offerings. Despite her histrionics, Veronica had pulled off three spectacular-looking courses. Griffin hadn’t expected anything less.

“I don’t know if my dishes are good enough to beat yours, but it was a pleasure facing off against you.”

“You gave me a run for my money, Sutton. Before either of us claims victory, though, let’s see what the judges have to say.”

They shared a weary hug as the audience gave them a standing ovation.

*

The judges seemed to take forever to reach their decision, but it couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes. Rachel rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants as Elinor and Stewart prepared to announce the verdict.

“Veronica,” Stewart said, “your salad was to die for and your main course was close to perfect.”

Not what Rachel wanted to hear.

“Griffin,” Stewart continued, “your dishes showed surprising flavor and unexpected heart.”

Of course they did. Griffin’s food was a reflection of her—soulful, passionate, and complex. If she were fortunate enough to spend the rest of her life with Griffin, Rachel doubted she would ever uncover all of her many layers. But oh, how she wanted to try.

“In second place with ninety-three points out of a possible one hundred, let’s hear it for…”

Elinor paused, letting the tension build. Rachel’s heart rate climbed close to its maximum.

“Veronica Warner. Griffin Sutton, you are the cream of the crop!”

Griffin closed her eyes as relief washed over her face. Or was that validation?

Despite her obvious disappointment, Veronica was the first to offer her congratulations. “Well done, chef.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.”

Rachel, her parents, and the rest of Griffin’s supporters leaped to their feet as Griffin and her staff met in a joyous group hug. Confetti rained from the ceiling while Elinor rattled off the list of prizes Griffin had just won. Rachel doubted the cash meant as much to Griffin as something money couldn’t buy: the respect she had craved for so long. She had finally earned a spot in the upper echelon of the culinary world.

“Is there anything you want to say?” Elinor asked.

Griffin adjusted the oversized cardboard check one of the show’s sponsors had shoved into her hands.

“I want to thank Veronica for being such a worthy opponent, I want to thank my team for doing such a great job, and I want to thank the fans for supporting the show as passionately as they do. None of us could do what we do without you. But, most of all, I want to thank Rachel Bauer for being here tonight. Rachel, I couldn’t have done this without you. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. And I can’t imagine taking another step without you.”

*

“I’m sorry I misjudged you,” Rachel said when they were alone. “If I had been paying attention when we watched the episode, I would have noticed your hair was wet one second and dry the next.”

“We believe what we choose to believe sometimes.”

“I should have chosen to believe you.”

“It’s water under the bridge, Rachel. Water under the bridge.”

Confetti littered the empty studio, prolonging the evening’s festive feel. Rachel could still hear the cheering, even though the rest of the audience was long gone.

“Veronica looked devastated by the judges’ decision.”

“Oh, I think she’ll be okay.”

Right on cue, Veronica strolled through the room with Elinor Davies on her arm. “What do you say, Sutton?” she called out. “Best two out of three?”

“Name the time and the place.”

“Tomorrow.” Veronica glanced at Elinor. “I’m going to be tied up tonight.”

“Literally, I’m sure.” Griffin turned back to Rachel. “Where are your parents?”

“Headed home. My mother wanted to congratulate you, but she couldn’t wait to see herself on TV.”

“I love your mom,” Griffin said with a chuckle. “But I love her daughter even more.”

Rachel stiffened. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re leaving. Don’t say you love me if you’re going to walk out of my life in a few months.”

“I’m not leaving without you. When I said I can’t imagine taking another step without you, I meant it. Every word.”

“That sounds vaguely like a proposal.”

“Only vaguely? Then I’m not doing a very good job of expressing myself. I love you, Rachel. All those things you want, I want. I want a family with you. I want a life with you. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Rachel’s mind reeled as she tried to absorb the magnitude of what Griffin had just said. But Griffin wasn’t done.

“In case you haven’t heard, I’m going to be opening a restaurant next year. I could use a reputable accountant to keep me from losing my shirt. Do you know where I can find one?”

“You want me to work for you?”

“
With
me.”

“I hate to play devil’s advocate, but my practical side is begging me to. If the restaurant failed, it could drag us both down.”

“Then it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “I do.”

And she had never been more certain of anything—or anyone—in her life.

Rachel was excited but a bit anxious as well. Her carefully-planned life was suddenly far from it. And she couldn’t be happier. Not about being three thousand miles away from family and friends—that part sucked—but an even larger family was waiting to greet her with open arms. And when things settled down, she and Griffin would start a family of their own. Provided, of course, they could find a place to call home. Logan had a long list of properties that met their requirements—something near the beach with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large kitchen. When he found one they liked, they planned to fly out and take a look at it in person to see if the real thing was as good as the pictures on the Internet.

But that was weeks if not months from now. Today wasn’t about the future or the past. Today was about coming full circle.

She had asked Griffin to let her plan the last leg of their culinary trip around the world. Griffin had happily acquiesced. Her eyes widened when Rachel led her through the doors of the restaurant on the corner of Houston and Ludlow. Rachel escorted her past the (in)famous table where Meg Ryan memorably faked an orgasm in
When Harry Met Sally
. They found seats in a recently vacated booth, rubbing elbows with locals and tourists who probably didn’t know cornichons from Cornish hens. Looking at the expression on Griffin’s face, Rachel could tell she had made the right choice.

“Welcome to Katz’s Deli,” she said after she ordered a pastrami sandwich for the two of them to share. At Katz’s, the portion sizes were so large one sandwich could feed a party of five.

“You told me once that I represent New York for you,” Rachel continued. “For me, nothing represents New York more than Katz’s.” She took a sip of her egg cream. “As we begin our new life together, I thought this would be the perfect point of departure.”

Griffin rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “So I should cancel the trip to Italy?”