The Chicken Sisters(5)
“The one who can’t come inside, yes. Amanda, this is Andy.”
Amanda didn’t need any guy’s hand lingering on hers, but she could see his appeal, especially given how few men there were in Merinac whom Amanda and Mary Laura hadn’t known since kindergarten. She’d be willing to bet Andy could see his appeal too, and that he had a long history of making good use of it.
Did Barbara know she’d brought a fox into the henhouse, or maybe, given the lack of employed straight single men in Merinac, the other way around? Amanda couldn’t tell. Her mother’s interest had shifted from her protégé back to Amanda, and Amanda was glad of an excuse to turn her attention away from Andy’s deep brown eyes and their appraising gaze.
“Well, you didn’t come by to meet Andy,” Barbara said, glancing back into the kitchen. The screen door had drifted open, and she reached out to shut it again, firmly. “Or to see me. So what’s on your mind?”
Amanda ignored the jab and plunged in. “I was wondering if you guys—Mom, if you—if you would be in a restaurant competition with Frannie’s. On TV. It’s called Food Wars, and they want to come, you know, kind of see how we compare, judge the chicken. It would be fun, and it’s good for everybody. It doesn’t really matter who wins.”
Andy, who was leaning against the building, smiling generally at them both, probably enjoying an unexpected break in the day’s work, suddenly stood back up. “Oh man, I love Food Wars. They really want to come here? How did you do that?”
Amanda wasn’t sure how to respond. She preferred to think she did not need Andy’s help, and further, she hoped to downplay her own level of instigation, letting her mother assume that somehow, through the magic of the Internet, perhaps, or just magic in general, Food Wars had happened. She hesitated, feeling, as she always did, the presence of the building itself, no longer the comforting refuge it had been when she had painted the large Chicken Mimi’s sign still prominently displayed beside the door. Like her mother, Chicken Mimi’s resented Amanda’s defection and always would, and yet there was still a link that made Amanda feel as if she had both betrayed them completely and somehow never been gone at all. Certainly that was what her sister thought. You can’t even leave right, Mae scoffed, and it was true. Amanda hadn’t even known she was leaving, and God knew she hadn’t gotten far.
Okay, focus. Her mother had just hired Andy—wasn’t that maybe a sign that she, too, was ready for some change? Amanda kept going. “There’s a cash prize, of course. A hundred thousand dollars. For the best chicken.” And a lot of other stuff, but if she made it sound like just the chicken, at least her mother could believe Mimi’s had a shot. “I think a lot of people watch the show.”
Barbara was staring at her, her mouth a little open, her face unreadable. She frowned a little. “So is this something you want to do, then, this Food Wars?”
What to say to that? Generally, the last thing Barbara wanted was to do anything Amanda wanted. But maybe Nancy was right; maybe this was the one thing they could all share. “I just thought we could all use, Frannie’s, too, a little boost, something to get more people to try us out. It’s just—you know there aren’t as many people coming to town anymore, and this would help.” If only she knew what her mother wanted to hear. She could hear herself babbling, but she just didn’t seem to be able to stop.
“It would help the whole town. They just want to come film for a few hours, to start. Just get to know us, and that’s probably it. Not a big deal, really. Except it might bring in business.”
Barbara crossed her arms. “The trouble with you, Amanda, is that you never know what you want. Do you think this is a good idea, or don’t you?” She turned to Andy. “It sounds ridiculous. You like it?”
Amanda held her breath. It might seem like Barbara wanted their opinion, but in Amanda’s experience she never did. Andy should shrug, maybe, leave it up to her, let her decide. She tried to send him thought messages. Tone it down, keep it light.
Which is exactly what he did not do. “Are you kidding? I love it. And it’s totally a big deal! It’s awesome. Seriously, Food Wars? Here?” He looked at Barbara, who was still standing with her arms crossed, then back at Amanda, as if expecting her to share his enthusiasm. “So do they want to do a full thing, like all three competitions, or just the food taste-off?”
Had this guy not figured Barbara out at all? This was not the way to get her on board. Amanda backtracked frantically, trying to make it seem as if Food Wars still had to be earned, as if it was a challenge. “They just want to come check us out to start. Probably nothing will come of it. I mean, once they see this place . . .”
Her mother, who had been looking thoughtfully at Andy, swung her eyes back to Amanda, squaring her shoulders. Too far, damn it. Andy started to speak again—really, for a probable meth head with tattoo sleeves and as many piercings as he had, he was a strangely bubbly guy—and this time Amanda shot him a deadly glare. He needed to shut up, and he needed to do it now.
The expected explosion never came. Instead, Barbara took a very visible deep breath, then looked from Amanda to Andy, as if weighing their relative merits. Her eyes narrowed as she asked the question Amanda had been praying would not come up. “What does Mae think of all this?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t asked her.” And she wasn’t planning to. She didn’t need Mae’s help with this one. In fact, she needed Mae to stay far away, which shouldn’t be a problem.