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The audience murmurs. A smattering of applause ripples across the small crowd. Sarah flips her cue cards. “And when did you start cooking, Abby?” “I was eight. My mom loved to cook, and I was her little sous-chef. Cutting, stirring, making a mess mostly,” I chuckle. “But the love for cooking stuck, long after I learned to clean up after myself.” People laugh; even Sarah chuckles. And for a moment, the stage doesn’t feel too big, the lights not too bright. I can do this. “So, what would you say is your signature dish?” Sarah leans in, interested. Enter title… I feel a flicker of excitement. “Oh, that would have to be my rosemary-infused lamb with a side of garlic mashed potatoes. It’s rustic, hearty, and incredibly flavorful. The rosemary and garlic come together to create a sense of home, no matter where you are.”
Sarah’s eyes light up and she looks over at the crowd. “Doesn’t that sound delicious?” she asks, to which the crowd murmurs in response. “It’s a customer favorite for sure,” I beam. “It’s actually adapted from one of my mother’s recipes. I love to give my customers a taste of home.” “Of course,” Sarah says, smiling. The interview continues in a myriad of laughter, awws, and light applause. With each passing minute, I begin to feel more and more relaxed, like I’ve done this a thousand times. I almost forget that the audience is even there, and it feels like it’s just me and Sarah having a conversation about food. But then, Sarah throws me the one question that I was most dreading. “So, Abby, what is your biggest inspiration?”
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I freeze. My eyes involuntarily flicker to where Vanessa is seated on the sidelines with the other judges, her afro a glorious halo under the studio lights. It would be so easy to point at her, to say her name. She’s the woman I’ve idolized for years, the dream I’ve chased in my sleep, and she’s right here. But then, like a flickering montage, faces start appearing in my mind. John, my sous-chef who’s always got my back, even when we have our disagreements; Ethan, my restaurant manager who has never missed a day of work, no matter how many times I’ve begged him to take a vacation; Daisy, the ever-smiling waitress who uplifts everyone’s mood despite the weather; Chloe, my best friend in the entire world; Anton, the homeless man who turned out to be like an uncle to me; and then, finally Karl. Karl. My ex husband, the man who I thought I would never see again. The man who almost took a dozen bullets for me, all over a bag of truffles. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. My crew—my family—who’ve stood by me, who’ve celebrated every small win and endured every big loss. How can I not mention them? I look back at Sarah, then into the camera, into the eyes of whoever is watching this—be it one person or a million. Sarah’s eyebrows go up, intrigued. The audience leans in, as if they’re collectively holding their breath. Even Vanessa seems to perk up from her seat. I pause, and time seems to stop. I glance up across the crowd, and my heart does a flip. Because amongst the crowd, I see one familiar pair of brown eyes, sitting all the way in the back, looking down at me. Updated at Draмąոоvels.cоm Karl.
I pause, letting my words hang in the air. A smattering of applause erupts, growing louder and echoing in the studio.
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