Too soon, Natalie and Ben had to head back to camp, and I had to go back to prep for dinner service. I got two more big warm hugs, and waved to them as they left me at the front door of the restaurant.
Was Sawyer waiting for them just out of sight? Would they tell him how I was doing? Would he even ask?
I trudged back to the kitchen and spent my few spare minutes sharpening my knife while I pondered the biggest question of all: when would I stop caring about those questions?
It was a good thing I couldn’t have seen eight years down the road to the answer: never.
Chapter 26
Present
NewYorkfeelssurrealonce I’m back in town. I watch the neighborhoods pass from the train window as we leave Newark. I’ve lived here for five years, all of them in the same small apartment in Brooklyn. I’d planned to move to Manhattan if my cookbook sold well. It had, but then I was paying my dad’s medical bills, so I didn’t have the funds for an upgrade like I’d planned.
What Icouldafford was to live without a roommate, so now I had the small two bedroom for myself, my old roommate’s bedroom now serving as my office.
I open the door and let myself in, appreciating the quiet. My old roommate, Dan, had been fairly easy to live with, but he’d had a habit of rescuing the most ornery cats while also not being super diligent with their litterboxes. I miss the cats. I don’t miss the smell.
I set my suitcase on my bed and unpack before I do anything else. Dan always insisted this was the sign of a serial killer, but if I don’t do it now, it’ll stay packed in my room for another month. I’m either hyper-organized or a disaster. I try to be hyper-organized.
I get ready for bed, order noodles from my favorite shop around the corner, curl up with Netflix, and decompress. Every time my thoughts drift to Sawyer, I jerk them back to my TV where I’m streaming a true crime about a girl who disappears in LA only to be discovered months later in the rooftop water tank of a sketchy hotel.
Not much room for sentimental musings with that as my soundtrack.
I don’t set an alarm for the morning. I’m an early riser anyway, but there’s nowhere specific I have to be tomorrow either. We won’t start tapingDinner Rebornuntil early September, which leaves me three months to use as I like. Except not really.
I’ll spend a lot of time working on my next cookbook,Perfect Party Platters, so I don’t have to balance that while I’m shooting. I’ll research recipes to make when we start taping. I’ll spend time wandering the boroughs, trying new foods and markets, searching for culinary treasures.
But before I can do all of that, I need to make my Sawyer Recovery Plan. I didn’t have one last time. I expected he would fade from memory over time. But he lingered like a ghost, always the shadow I compared other guys to, but his shadow had been enough for them to always fall short.
I have a major weapon in my pocket this time though: answers. I know why. I can write “The End” on that story and move on. But mindfully. I have to make this plan with intention, so it works. Otherwise, Sawyer is likely to pop up in my thoughts at all the wrong times.
Ask me how I know.
Monday morning, I start by attending the Brooklyn Memorial Day parade. There is nothing like a parade—for any occasion—to make a huge city feel like a small town.
Even though it’s 10 AM and the air already hints at the heat and humidity to come, watching the veterans and Cub Scouts march by reminds me so much of the Christmas festivities in Creekville.
After the parade, I buy a bike because I liked using one at Oak Crest so much. Then I ride it to Lookout Hill in Prospect Park. The landscape there feels more like Oak Crest than any place I’ve found in the city, and I park my bike, find a bench, and unpack the notebook I brought with me, because of course I have a notebook to impose order on the chaos Sawyer tried to introduce in my life.
THE SAWYER RECOVERY PLAN
I write the title and stare at it for a long time. Ten minutes pass, and the paper is still otherwise blank. Then twenty. When my Apple watch buzzes to remind me to be active, I pull myself together and set my pen to paper. This is ridiculous. Sawyer isn’t an unsolvable problem.
I cross out the title and rewrite it, going over the letters again to make sure my brain understands what I expect it to do.
THE SAWYER RECOVERY PLAN
THE SAWYER RECOVERY PLAN
Every time I think of Sawyer, sing a distracting song. Pick an earworm.
Use a daily affirmation.I am happy with my life as it is.
Develop a new hobby. Macrame? Maybe make plant holders for Xmas?
Every tenth time I think about Sawyer, find a match on dating app.
Every twentieth time I think about Sawyer, go on a date with someone else.
