Charlotte Parker rubbed her eyes and looked lost, a level of exhaustion and vulnerability London had never seen in her, and it felt like the world as they had always known it was collapsing. Their head felt heavy; their throat clogged.
“Mom,” they choked out. “Are you going to get a divorce because of me?”
She jerked toward London suddenly, as if remembering they were there. She turned on her bar stool to face them. She took London’s face in both of her hands, smelling of the Chanel perfume she had worn for as long as London could remember.
“My serious, sensitive, beautiful London,” she said with a watery-eyed smile. “If my husband can’t get his head out of his ass about this, that has nothing, not even a single iota, to do with you, and everything to do with him. Do you understand?”
London tried to swallow, but it was like their tongue had become lead inside their mouth. They managed a small nod.
“No matter what happens with your father, I love you exactly as you are, exactly as you will ever be, and I am so proud of you I can barely even begin to express it. Okay?”
They sat like that for a moment, looking at each other, scared hazel eyes searching wizened, gentle brown and finding nothing but the truth.
London’s tongue dislodged enough to allow them to whisper, “I love you too, Mom.”
Finally, Charlotte released London’s face and sat forward again, stealing a sip of the toddy as she did.
“London,” she said after a few moments of comfortable silence. “Do you want your dad at the taping tomorrow?”
London looked over at her. She was studying them carefully, but without judgment.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t come, if you don’t. Don’t feel guilty, either way. It’d make sense to me if you wanted him there, and it’d make sense if you didn’t. But it’s your choice.”
London stared into the almost-empty glass in front of them.
They had never even considered that could be an option. That London could tell their dad no. About this, about anything. That London could be in charge.
They felt childish, suddenly, that this hadn’t occurred to them.
They still wished . . . they wished this wasn’t an option they had to consider at all. It still seemed unfair. But having some power in the equation felt marginally better.
“I want him there,” London decided. “I want him to see me win.”
Charlotte brushed their cheek with another sad smile. “That’s my London.”
She reached over and drank the last dregs of toddy.
“Speaking of. I believe we both need our beauty sleep if we’re planning on stunning the cameras tomorrow.”
They slid off their stools and left the dark bar.
Charlotte weaved her arm through London’s, leaning slightly on their shoulder as they walked toward the elevators.
“I just hope we all get through tomorrow without Julie assaulting anyone,” Charlotte said as she pressed the silver button on the wall. “You should see your sister when she watches you on this show. I swear, she has turned Chef’s Special viewing into a full-contact sport.”
London laughed as they stepped inside the elevator, the jittery nerves that were gaining speed in their veins again marginally offset by a hazy warmth.
“Sounds like her.”
The elevator dinged at their mom’s floor.
London smashed her into their chest in a slightly awkward, half-drunken hug before she stepped away from them.
“London?”
Charlotte turned once she’d stepped into the hallway.
London looked down at her expectantly. She smiled.
“You got this, baby.”
And then the doors closed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The set was a mob scene.
Not in the suffocating staging area where London and Lizzie had been waiting for what felt like hours. London could do with some more chaos back here.
But they could see out onto the main floor from a crack in the temporary walls set up around them. Their pulse pounding in their ears, London watched everyone pour in.
The set had been transformed to make way for a live audience. All of the cooking stations had been removed, with the exception of two mega stations for London and Lizzie, which were situated directly across from each other. They’d made the judges’ table even higher and more grandiose, so all three could loom over the cooking process for the entire three-hour cooking period.
And behind the two mega stations, black risers had been installed to seat the family members and former contestants. London watched Ahmed walk in now, talking with Ayesha. With a pinch in their gut, they saw Cath. Jacob. Jeffrey.