“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Eliza’s smile deepens as she waits for him to disappear outside. She turns back to me. “Anyway. Monty and I are just so happy to see you around town. We hope you’ll be staying for a bit?”
“Not sure what my plans are yet, to be honest. But I’m happy to see y’all, too,” I say. And I mean it. Being around Ford’s family is like a breath of fresh air. It’s one thing to recognize on a rational level the idea that maybe motherhood doesn’t spell out the death of my dreams.
It’s quite another to see that idea in action. The ache in my chest grows as I watch Eliza beam at her husband and son. As I witness just how lit up Ford is when he’s around his daughter. He lifts Bryce onto his hip and whispers conspiratorially in her ear; she returns the favor; they both dissolve into giggles like true partners in crime.
I find myself giggling, too.
I want in on that secret.
For the first time ever, I’m feeling a nudge of—wow, is that FOMO? I never in a million years would’ve guessed I’d have a fear of missing out when it comes to anything kid related.
But here I am, feeling like I’m missing out.
What does that mean?
Does it mean I could see myself being a parent?
Because suddenly, the thought doesn’t scare the shit out of me like it used to. Maybe because I could envision myself signing up for this kind of motherhood. The kind where I’m doing what I love—cooking, creating—while being around the people I love.
A vision pops into my head. Me, signing the cookbook I wrote with one hand while holding Bryce’s sticky fingers in the other.
Ford beside us, smiling. Maybe cracking a dirty joke underneath his breath.
My heart skips a beat. Am I nuts to find that whole scene appealing? Am I just romanticizing things because I’m out of my mind with nerves and giddiness?
People start to trickle into the barn, and then they come in a full-blown rush. My mom and Alex. My friend Olivia, the author of My Marriage to the Marquess, shows up with her boyfriend Eli in tow. He’s Gracie’s older brother, and just so happens to be the owner of one of Charleston’s most famous—and successful—restaurants, The Pearl. He’s kind of a big deal in the culinary world. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having heart palpitations at the thought of him eating my food.
But then Ford is at my side, and Bryce is wrapping that sticky little hand of hers around mine again. Luke and Gracie appear, his arm draped around her shoulders. Just like that, we’re all talking easily about Luke and his amazing stone-ground grits. How not long ago Eli wanted to bash Luke’s face in for breaking his sister’s heart, but that after an insane groveling period involving brown liquor and a pair of breeches, he was forgiven by both Gracie and Elijah.
I’ve heard the story a hundred times, but it still makes me smile. And you know what? It helps. I’m nervous as hell. Being surrounded by my friends, though, by the people who know and love me, feels fucking amazing.
I didn’t know I could feel so off-kilter and so at home at the same time.
It’s electrifying.
I’m shaking by the time people line up for food. Taking a deep breath, I stand behind all the trays and dishes and bowls. Square my shoulders and clasp my hands behind my back. Tell myself that this is just a tasting, that taking risks is worth it, that it’s not too late to pivot back to barbecue even if the thought strangely depresses me.
“Here.” Elijah presses a metal flask into my hand at the small of my back. “Helps take the edge off. Never gets any easier, does it, sharing your food with the world?”
Letting my hand drop to my side, I look down at the flask. Look back up at Eli. Slowly unscrewing the cap, I say, “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll ever not be nervous about it. The food. My work.”
“I get nervous all the damn time. And I’ve been in this game for—Christ, has it been almost twenty years now? But I’ve found being nervous usually means you’re doing somethin’ right. You’re pushing your boundaries. Trying to get better. And that is always a good thing.”
I turn a little, allowing Elijah to shield me while I knock back the flask. I wince at the bite of the bourbon on my tongue. But the burn that trails down my throat as I swallow loosens my shoulders. They fall back from my ears, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Thanks.” I hand back the flask. “I hope this means I’m doing the right thing. I’m just starting to feel like I’m on the right track again. Like I’m gaining momentum, you know?”