1
Truett
My phone rings, waking me up. Seeing it's my mother, I pick it up off my nightstand.
Yes, I may be an asshole, but I don't ignore my mother's phone calls. That has to count for something, right?
"Hello?" Blurry-eyed, I sit up, my feet touching the hardwood floor of my cabin nestled in the foothills of Big Bear Mountain.
"Truett? Honey, you should be up by now. It's nearly seven o'clock."
"Mom, seven o'clock in the morning does not mean I should be up by now."
"I know dear, but the early bird gets the worm."
"Mom, I'm not looking for any worms."
"What are you doing though, sweetheart? I worry about you. I was thinking, maybe I should come for a visit."
"A visit?" I croak, rubbing my eyes. Coffee. I need coffee for this conversation. Outside, I see it's going to be a gorgeous fucking day like every one out here. It's a goddamn paradise. "Mom, did you call for something? It's really fucking early."
"Language, Truett."
"You kidding me?"
"No," she says, "well, maybe. I don't know. Honey, I was thinking I should come see you. I just worry about you out there all alone."
"I've been out here for three years, Mom. It's not like this is something new."
"I know, but I thought I could make you a good homecooked meal. When's the last time you've had someone cook for you?"
"It's been a while," I say, as I begin to prepare a pot of coffee. Basic black coffee. Sure, I like a fancy dinner, but my morning joe? Basic, simple medium-ground filtered coffee.
"You know, everyone's been buzzing about this new restaurant in LA. Have you heard of it? Perfect Pair?"
"Yeah, Mom. I've heard of it. Everyone’s been talking about it."
"Oh, so you are talking to people, just not your mother?"
"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"
"Sure, you are, but–"
"Mom, really?"
"Well, who were you talking to about the restaurant?"
"Not talking, I guess,” I clarify. “I was just reading about it. You know, food blogs, the internet, news sources."
"Well, I heard it was supposed to be a really secretive place."
"Not so secret if you're reading about it in Colorado and I'm reading about it out here in the woods."
"I suppose not. Well, what if we got a reservation, you and me? Wouldn't that be so fun? We could get a table and I could fly down and you could drive in and we could have a little dinner date. Mother-son bonding. It's been a long time, True. I miss you, baby."
"You really don't need to call me baby. I'm nearing 30."
"I know, your birthday is in a month. Should we do something? Take a trip? Maybe Sedona? You know, I heard Arizona is a really great place to meet single women."
"You're looking to meet single women?" I ask, deadpanned. God if she could see my face.
She cackles. "Truett, you know what? I'm getting too old for this. I need grandchildren and I need them now."
I chuckle. "Mom, I know you do, but I'm really not in a place to settle down and knock up some single Arizonian woman."
"Oh, True. All I have is your poor father and he's working all the time. Besides, this place is too big for just the two of us."
"You could sell the house, Mom. Why don't you move somewhere smaller, closer to me?"
"Everywhere's expensive in California. And we love living in the Rocky Mountains. It’s where we’ve always lived, out here on the river. It’s where your father and I grew up, we love how peaceful it is."
I understand, I love their property, and would hate the thought of them selling. It’s nestled next to a big river, where my dad goes fishing, and my mom has a big garden. It was living out there, in nature, that I learned techniques that helped propel me to fame, making me a “mountain man chef”.
"You could always move to Arizona," I tell her, humoring her. God, I love my mother, but she does drive me insane.
This woman, though, she's the one who knocked sense into me three years ago when I was on the edge of collapse, working myself into the ground and for what?
I wasn't happy. I was miserable. Living a life I never wanted.
Opening restaurants left and right, writing cookbooks. I was making television appearances, late-night shows, daytime shows. I was on the covers of magazines. At 23, I was allegedly the hottest thing the food industry had ever seen.
By 26, I could do anything I wanted. But what I really wanted was a break. I needed one. I couldn't take it. It wasn't that I was weak or that I didn't have the ability to just go, go, go, but I didn't want to. I never wanted all that fame and attention. I wanted to go to culinary school to make a fine-ass steak.