I make an awkward face, and Zora seems to read my answer from it.
“No,” she breathes. “This meeting?”
I nod. “I hoped to play it cooler than that, but yes. I flew in to meet you. I’ve been following your career for a long time, and you’ve inspired me more than I can tell you.”
“Oh my God, you are so kind. Thank you.”
We talk for a little while longer about my friendship with Josie and my time in school—and I think she’s loosening me up.
“Did you intern at any restaurants?” she asks, sipping from her straw.
“I did. Uh, at Chambre Blanche.”
Her face falls. She sets her coffee down. “With Chef Davis?” She says his name like it tastes bad. “He is the most insufferable, pompous ass I’ve ever met. That must have been hell.”
A weight lifts off my chest. All this time I’ve worried I made up his personality in my head, or that I blew it out of proportion. It’s affirming to hear her say it.
I clear my throat. “It was a horrible experience. It really . . .” I trail off. “Well, I’m still recovering.”
She reads between the lines. Her brows furrow as she studies my face. “I’m sorry. This industry . . . it’s not always kind. Especially not to women. Though few industries are.”
“Josie might’ve told you about the restaurant I’m helping start?”
“She did.” Zora smiles. “Sounds incredible. And it got me in my feelings a bit about my first restaurant. There was so much joy in it—but also a lot of fear and inadequacy. You’re miles ahead of where I was, having your culinary degree and having done an internship.”
“I don’t feel miles ahead. I’m scared to death I’m going to run it into the ground because there’s no way I’ll be able to command a kitchen like Chef Davis did.”
She scoffs. “Chef Davis runs his kitchen like a coward. Only insecure, small-minded people belittle others to gain power.” She leans forward. “Listen, Madison. I’m tough on my kitchen crew, and I expect a lot from them—but never at the cost of their dignity. I want people to give me their best work because they respect me, not because they’re scared of me. And you have the unique opportunity to begin your reputation as an executive chef the same way if you want.”
I expected Zora to highlight her successes during this coffee,but instead she spends most of it laughing with me about her most embarrassing moments. Like the time she forgot to pay the electricity bill during her first month in her New York restaurant and the lights cut off halfway through dinner service. There was no salvaging it. Everyone had to leave, and Zora absorbed the cost of their meals. She and Josie lived off Top Ramen, PBJs, and the restaurant’s leftovers the rest of that month.
I am a sponge, soaking up every story, feeling fuller and fuller by the minute.
As our time winds down, Zora gives me her personal number and tells me to call anytime. I almost cry. Actually—fine—I do cry a little. But Zora doesn’t make fun of me or call me weak. She squeezes my hand and tells me she’s been in my shoes. She understands.
“Okay, any last burning questions before we leave?” she asks. None of my original timidity remains, but my awe of her has doubled.
“Actually, yeah.” I look into her confident eyes. “Does the feeling of inadequacy ever go away?”
She smiles. “No. At least not for me.” Her gaze drifts, searching for the right words. “I think some people reach that point, but only if they’re content to stop growing in their craft. I’ve always been the type to want more. To change. To experience new things.” Her eyes sparkle as they meet mine. “I get the impression you’re the same way. So no, the feeling doesn’t fully go away.But,” she says with emphasis, “it gets easier to manage. It becomes a friend that pushes you to be better, not a chain around your ankle.”
I’m buzzing as we leave the coffee shop and step onto the sidewalk.
We hug again and then, almost as an afterthought, Zora asks, “Do you want to come see the kitchen?”
The knot in my chest that had loosened tightens again. The last thing I want is to taint this incredible day with a panic attack.
“I would, but I’ve got to get back to meet my . . . friend,” I say, though the word doesn’t settle quite right. After this trip, James feels like so much more. But will that last when we go back home?
And that desire Zora mentioned—to change and experience new things—I’ve always seen it as a flaw. But she framed it as something beautiful. Maybe it’s not something I need to chisel out of myself.
For now, Rome is where I want to be. It makes me happy. It’s where I’m the most driven. But will I always feel that way? I don’t know. And I want a partner who won’t be afraid to take risks with me—to explore, shift, grow.
Could that be James?
Before our flight, I needed to take care of one more thing.
“You sure?” James asks from beside me as I drop to my knees on the grass.
