Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Later, it became a metaphor for my life. That I could be broken and still make something worthwhile out of myself.
My father didn’t understand that. He let me cook because he wouldn’t let me learn music. It was a good way to keep me quiet and docile while preparing me to be a good mafia wife.
But he never saw what I saw.
He never knew that while he stormed through the house, I was learning the delicate science of balance—of salt against acid, of heat against time. I was building a world that made sense, one meal after another.
Now, as Belinda’s fingers move gently across the piano, coaxing out every tender note of Debussy’s masterpiece, I close my eyes and let myself fall back into that sacred place—a place where things don’t always hurt, where chaos can be contained, even made beautiful.
Like food.
Like music.
Like maybe, someday, me.
My phone buzzes on my hip. I move away from the conservatory door to answer it. It’s Vinnie.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Hey, sorry to bug you.”
“No bother. Believe it or not, I’m still standing at the door listening to Belinda play. She’s been playing for two hours, and I’m captivated.”
“Damn. I hate to tear you away from that.”
I smile. “It’s okay. Once I start culinary school I won’t have this luxury, so I’m indulging myself. What do you need? How is Raven’s father?”
“We haven’t seen him yet. For some reason, they decided to require IDs, even for family members, to see the old man. And Raven was so excited she forgot her purse.”
“Oh, damn.”
“Yeah. Could you grab it and bring it over?”
“Yeah, except…”
“What?”
“Natalie went with Phyllis to do the grocery shopping. I’ll have to bring Belinda with me.”
“I hate to take her away from her practice.” He pauses a moment. “Tell her I’ll take you all out for dinner afterwards. We’ll go to that place that has those ice cream sundaes Belinda loves.”
“I’m sure that will help.” I look around. “Did Raven tell you where her purse is?”
“Hold on.”
Pause.
“She says it should be on her dresser in the bedroom.”
“All right. I’ll grab it. If it’s not there, I’ll call you back.” I open the maps app, check the traffic. “The roads look pretty clear, so I should be able to be there in about half an hour.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I hate to leave the beautiful music Belinda is playing, but I walk up the stairway and head to the master bedroom.
Sure enough, Raven’s Gucci crossbody bag is still sitting on her dresser. I run my fingers over the pebbled leather. I had a Gucci bag similar to this back in Colombia. My father may have let his friends and associates abuse the hell out of me, but he did at least spoil me with nice things.
Designer clothing, handbags, shoes.
I would’ve gladly given them all up just to be a normal teenage girl. To go to a normal school, have normal friends. Not be forced at gunpoint to sexually satisfy strange men.
I didn’t even have friends my own age to confide in. I was tutored at home. Never went to a typical school.
In a way, I suppose I should be grateful. My education was far superior. My au pair and my tutor were both American, and I learned English from them. I speak American English without an accent, which has certainly helped me assimilate into the culture here. I also speak fluent Spanish, of course, along with French and German.
Most Colombian girls my age only speak Spanish and perhaps a little English.
So yes, my education was top-notch, and I’m grateful for that.
Would I trade my life for anyone else’s?
I don’t know. I have an amazing life now. I’ll be going to culinary school soon. Even though it’s always been my dream to study at the Cordon Bleu in Paris, and Vinnie offered me that, I want to stay here in Austin. I don’t want to be far away from Belinda. I believe she needs me, and I need her too. Sometimes I feel more like a mother to her, sometimes a sister.
It’s an odd relationship, to be sure, but she and I have so much in common. I believe I can help her. I’ve told her she can talk to me about anything, but she has yet to reach out about any of the abuse that she endured.
One day, I believe she will.
And when she’s ready, I need to be here.
I’ll be studying at the Beaux-Arts Culinary Institute here in Austin. Maybe one day I’ll work as a chef in a fine restaurant.
Or maybe I’ll fall in love and get married and simply cook for my family.
Honestly, I’m good with either outcome.
Though… Could I ever be a wife? I’m kind of broken. I’ve never actually had sex for love.
It’s always been painful, difficult, and life-draining.
“For the love of God, Daniela,” I say out loud. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I grab Raven’s purse and head back down the stairs.