Coming Home to Texas by Allie Pleiter

Brooke’s eyes wide. “Foodie groupies? Really?”
    â€œI ran the man’s internet fan page, for crying out loud.” Ellie leaned in. “I ran all the chefs’ fan pages, actually. Which means I know how to take Derek’s down in flames, if I wanted to... If I were a lesser woman, of course. I’m trying to take the high road here, but I won’t say I haven’t been tempted. He is, as you say, a cheating louse.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t publicly defame him.” Brooke paused. “Would you?”
    Ellie went back to stitching. “No. At least I don’t think so.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I mostly just want the whole thing to go away. I ran into my high school friend Dottie Howe today, with her happy family and her solid high-school-sweetheart marriage and her lovely but ordinary life, and I felt like some sort of failed social experiment. Local girl goes to big city and gets burned. She was so nice, but I couldn’t help thinking she was looking at me like I’m some sort of social charity case. She invited me to dinner with the family and to girls’ night out for pedicures at Wylene’s.”
    Brooke stuck her swollen feet out in front of her. “Someone rubbing my feet while they soak in warm water? Sounds so wonderful. I’ll go if you don’t. I may need a pair of those slippers before the month is out just because I won’t fit into any of my shoes anymore.” Brooke sighed and wiggled her pudgy toes before setting them back down on the porch boards. She gave Ellie a pointed look. “Do you know, yet, how it all fell apart with you and Derek? Do you have a sense of what went wrong?”
    Ellie tucked her legs up underneath her and kept stitching. “I still love him, I think, but I also think I was in love with the idea of him more than the man he was. Part of me was drawn by Derek’s huge personality—the talent, the notoriety, the intensity, all that stuff.” Ellie turned a row, and the memory of Derek flooding her desk with roses the day after he proposed rose bright and vivid in her mind. He was enthralling, she’d give Derek that much.
    â€œAnd that part of me blinded me to the bad side of his over-the-top nature—the tantrums, the need for attention, the blowups at even the smallest criticism, all those ego things chefs are known for. For a long time the roller coaster was fun—exhilarating, actually—but then when I had work pressures or wedding details that needed attention, he’d act like my problems or needs were too much for him to handle. As if it were my role to support Derek but not his role to support me.”
    â€œDid you fight a lot?” Brooke asked, picking up the green ball of yarn again and stroking it with such an air of maternal love that Ellie could only smile.
    â€œI didn’t think we argued more than any other couple, but looking back I suppose you could say yes. I expected Derek to pull his weight in the relationship, and I don’t think he saw marriage that way. Work made it worse, too. My job at GoodEats was to support him, bolster his image, tout him to the press and all. His job was to be spectacular and promotable—and believe me, he was.” She let the knitting drop to her lap. “It’s just that he seemed to think those roles should carry over into our personal relationship. He’d get mad when I’d call him on dropping the ball on something. He wanted a fan, not a wife.”
    The deep truth of that realization caught her up short, raising a lump of pain and regret in her throat. “I guess he found one in Katie. She is a sous chef at another of our restaurants, and I always felt she was a little starstruck by Derek, but I didn’t...” Suddenly she didn’t want to finish that sentence. She wiped one eye with the back of her hand and sniffed as she picked up the knitting again. “Well, you