Page 56 of Clinically Delicious
I’d specifically avoided reading anything about Sorellina because I knew it would destroy me.
“No,” I said. “I’ve been busy. With the nanny thing.”
“You should come by sometime! I could get you a reservation. It would be so fun to catch up properly.”
Fun.
She thought it would be fun.
Fun to watch me sit in the restaurant that should have been mine, eating food I should have been cooking, while she played the role of successful chef and I played the role of failed culinary school graduate turned babysitter.
“I’m pretty busy,” I said.
“Oh, come on! We haven’t seen each other in months. I miss you!”
She missed me.
She missed me!
The person who’d gone behind my back, who’d taken the position that had been promised to me, who’d never even apologized or explained or acknowledged what she’d done—she missed me.
Something inside me snapped.
“You miss me?” My voice came out louder than intended. “You miss me? Tracy, you stole my job.”
Her smile faltered. “I didn’t steal anything. They offered me the position.”
“The position that was supposed to be mine. That I’d been promised after my externship. That I’d worked my ass off for.”
“Cate, that’s not fair. It’s not my fault they chose me instead.”
“You knew I wanted that job. You knew how much it meant to me. And you fucked the chef!”
“What was I supposed to do? Turn him down? It’s not my fault you—” She stopped, but I knew what she’d been about to say.
It’s not my fault I what? That my legs didn’t open like a naval port like hers did! Her words hung in the air between us, unspoken but deafening.
“Forget it,” I said, turning back to my burger. “Congratulations on your success. I’m happy for you.”
I wasn’t.
I was the opposite of happy.
I was devastated and angry, and hurt, and every other emotion I’d been trying to bury for the last six months.
“Cate, don’t be like this—”
“I’m not being like anything. I’m eating my burger. You should go back to your table.”
“We should talk about this properly—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I looked up at her, and I could feel tears burning behind my eyes. “You got what you wanted. I’m happy for you. Now, please leave me alone.”
Tracy’s expression shifted—hurt, maybe, or offended. “Fine. If that’s how you want to be.”
“It is.”
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking on the sticky floor, and I sat there staring at my half-eaten burger, my appetite completely gone.
