That had to mean something.
It wasn’t completely ridiculous, right? To want to keep fighting?
She remembered what Barbara had whispered into her ear, before Barbara had left the Golden Circle forever that day, that day that was only a few days ago but felt like so much longer: You deserve more than you think you do. Go and get it all.
Dahlia liked to think that by get it all, Barbara had meant she believed Dahlia could win $100,000.
Even though in her heart of hearts, Dahlia knew Barbara was talking about more than just that.
And right now, thinking about more than just that—actually getting it all—only felt overwhelming.
She hadn’t expected so much of this when she flew to LAX from BWI a month ago. She had always wanted to win the $100,000, there was no question about that. She wanted to hone her cooking skills. And she had had dreams about LA Dahlia, about maybe having some fun adventures on her way to the prize.
She hadn’t expected London.
And she hadn’t expected LA Dahlia to sink into her bones so completely. Actually feeling like a different person, a person she would like to be friends with, maybe. Settling into a dry, overpopulated land, feeling comforted by smoggy skies. Feeling seen by palm trees.
If she did get kicked off the show . . . Dahlia didn’t know where she’d even go from here now. How she would say goodbye to LA Dahlia.
How she would say goodbye to London.
I do tend to get these things right, after doing this so long.
No.
Dahlia shook her head and finally rolled herself out of bed. She paced the length of the room, past the window, the dresser, the chair in the corner full of dirty clothes. This little, sterile space that almost felt, in its own funny way, like home.
Because Dahlia had been here for so long.
Janet might get a lot right. Maybe she was a really excellent producer.
But she didn’t decide Dahlia’s fate.
No. Dahlia wasn’t going to say goodbye to any of it. God, she had been on the verge of a breakdown all day yesterday and still baked the best cake of her life. She had earned this.
Who cared if the only other member of Team Dahlia was Barbara.
Grandmas were smart as hell.
Dahlia stopped her pacing, a sudden thought hitting her.
There was at least one other member of Team Dahlia, too.
She picked up her phone from the bedside table and dialed the number of the person she missed the most.
“Bay. Bee. Girrrrrrrrrl! How does it feel to be famous?”
“Hank. You almost broke my eardrum.” Dahlia’s voice was scratchy from using it for the first time this morning, but her face broke into a grin.
“Are you at work?” she asked. “Can you talk? And/or scream?”
“Of course I’m at work and of course I can talk. My boss will understand that I’m talking to my very famous baby sister. Someone else can tell people to restart their computers for a while.”
Hank worked in IT for a hotel group in Boston, where he’d been for years. Like their dad, he had always been an affable nerd, and Dahlia couldn’t imagine him doing anything other than IT.
“Hank, you are one year older than me, and I am not famous.”
Hank snorted. “Whatever, baby sister.”
Dahlia jumped back on the bed, stretching out her toes. “How is work, though?”
“How is work ? Oh my god, boring, Dahlia; shut up and tell me about LA! How the fuck are you! Is Sai Patel a total dreamboat in real life? Are you killing it? Because we just watched the second episode last night, and I have no idea how this all works and when you actually filmed that shit, but in case you’ve already forgotten, let me remind you that you killed it.”
Dahlia laughed.
And then an odd thing happened.
Her laughter turned into a sob.
It was a laugh-sob. Fat, salty tears hurtled down her face, at the same time that she couldn’t stop giggling.
It was possible she was still a little sleep deprived.
And it appeared that all the things that had changed in her life over the last four weeks hit her the hardest, somehow, when she heard her brother’s voice. The voice that had known her before LA Dahlia. Who would love her no matter which Dahlia she was. She wished he were here in person, could wrap her in one of his rib-squeezing hugs. Help her meld this new version of herself with all the old ones. Promise her it would all work out, that being Team Dahlia wasn’t just a pipe dream.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line.
“Um, Dahlia? You all right?”
“Sorry,” Dahlia mumbled through her snot. She grabbed a tissue, let out one last weak laugh. “I, uh. I was calling because I wanted to hear exactly what you just said. So . . . thank you.”