Dear Enemy

A small, childish part of me is glad she’s gone. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. But pushing something away won’t fix anything. My sister is flawed. But she’s family, and she owes it to all of us to return.

Sitting heavily on the bed, I reach for my phone and send a text before I can think better of it.

DeeLight to SammyBaker: Everything has changed. I just wish you were here. I have so much to tell you.

I give her a good twenty minutes. She doesn’t answer. I have to resign myself to the fact that she’s not ready to come back. Swallowing down a lump of disappointment, I get dressed and focus on tonight.

I’m so damn nervous I can hardly keep my hands from shaking as I smooth out my hair and apply my makeup. The Delilah in the mirror has round cheeks that are too flushed and amber-brown eyes that are too big and shiny—scared. I leave off the blush, since I’m clearly not going to need it, and dab on some red lipstick.

Despite my jitters, I have confidence in my menu. It had taken two weeks to come up with it, searching through old cookbooks for inspiration, remembering childhood recipes, experimenting with taste combinations that bring me joy. Each dish feels deeply personal, even though I can’t fully express why. I created them without thinking too hard about it, letting my memory of food, knowledge of taste combinations, and basic skills guide me. It was worth it. I had to figure out who I was and tell my story through the food I made. It’s all there in this menu. All of what means the most to me. Whether it works, I don’t know. But I’m about to find out.

Macon

The morning after Delilah told me her dreams, she woke up with a wide smile and said, “I want to cook.” That was that. She disappeared into the kitchen and began to whip up dishes that made my knees weak and my mouth water. My diet went out the window; production orders be damned. I’d rather spend my days as her willing taste tester.

She’s become a woman fueled by a creative drive that lights her up. She cooks; I eat; we make love. Over and over. For two weeks. I don’t fully believe in karma, but somewhere, at some point, I must have done something right.

Now I have a chance to return the favor for the woman who’s become my everything. But first, there’s something I have to do for both of us. I pull out my phone and find Sam’s number.

Saint to Sam Baker: I was set to hate you. But I can’t anymore because you brought Delilah back into my life.

I’m not going to forgive you for the watch; I’m not that magnanimous. But I’m no longer going to look for you. Stay gone if that’s your wish. Or come back and ease your family’s worries.

Either way, you and I are done. Pax, Saint.

I have no idea if Samantha will get the texts. I’m not certain I care. But officially letting Sam go releases something in me as well. I feel lighter. I want that lightness for Delilah, too, and remind myself to tell her about the texts. Right now, she’s downstairs cooking and giving her staff instructions.

The doorbell rings just as I’m sliding a shirt on. I hustle to the door, buttoning my shirt as I go. Kelly is waiting on the other side. “Ronan, good to see you.”

“Hey, Saint.” He steps into the hall. “You’re looking better. Well, for an overgrown mountain.”

I top him by five inches, and he likes to give me shit for it. “Thanks, pretty boy.”

I’ve known Ronan for years. He has several restaurants, all of them with monthlong wait lists and endless accolades. His singular talent is identifying top chef talent and creating restaurants that perfectly highlight that chef’s food. A partnership with Ronan is like finding a golden ticket.

I’m nervous. I never get nervous anymore. At least, not when it comes to my career. After the first year working, I finally realized things either happen, or they don’t. No use worrying over shit you can’t control. But this is for Delilah. I know how much this means to her, and I cannot control one single thing about this dinner. I want Ronan to see the genius in her cooking. But if he can’t, then he’s a dumb ass, and we’ll find someone else. And then I’ll kick Ronan’s ass.

With that in mind, I lead Ronan into the living room, where North and his date are waiting to join us for dinner. Then I head to the kitchen.

Delilah is giving some instructions to her staff. I was intending to offer a few words of encouragement; I’m temporarily struck mute by the sight of her.