The Chicken Sisters - K.J. Dell'Antonia Page 0,132
at Mae speculatively, and Amanda had a feeling that Nancy could practically see Mae’s wheels turning, in part because Nancy’s own wheels turned much the same way. She had never seen it before, but Nancy and Mae were a lot alike. They were always thinking ahead and always making Amanda feel two beats behind.
Nancy was quiet a minute. Amanda expected her to brush Mae off—Nancy didn’t need anyone else’s ideas. But instead, Nancy looked at them both seriously. “It would be too much work alone. And I don’t want Amanda to do it if she doesn’t want to. I think some part of me thought that one of these days, Amanda would take over, and I’d do her job, and she would do mine. I like just managing the front of the house.”
Amanda tried to keep the surprise off her face. Take over the books and the hiring and the insurance and the—the taxes, and everything?
Nancy laughed. “I know,” she said. “I should have known better, right? But that was kind of my plan, and then I didn’t want to mess us up, now that we both seemed to be getting to be okay. I didn’t even mean for it to go on this long. I meant to talk to you about it. I meant for us both to figure out what to do with Frannie’s—how to keep it going, for Gus and Frankie, if we wanted to, or even how to sell it. But it was just never the right time.”
Amanda reached for Nancy’s hand. “Nancy—I didn’t know. I guess I never thought about you not wanting all that work. I’m sorry. I kind of did let you be the grown-up, didn’t I?”
“You had the kids, and things were hard enough,” Nancy said briskly, pulling her hand away and patting Amanda on the arm. “We both did what we had to do.”
“But maybe now it’s time to do what you want to do,” said Mae. This time, Amanda was glad she was willing to rush in where others might hesitate. She still didn’t know where Mae was going with this, but they needed a plan, and Mae had one, which was more than Amanda had. All Amanda had was a sinking feeling that she couldn’t leave Nancy stuck with Frannie’s alone—not now, and maybe not ever.
Mae, though, was beaming at them both. “Okay, here’s my idea,” she said. “We throw our lots in together and beat Food Wars at their own game. Partners, all of us, one single business. We run both restaurants, everybody does what they’re good at. My mom keeps running Mimi’s, Andy runs both kitchens, Nancy does the staff and the front of the house for both places, I keep track of all the details and ordering and stuff. Me, or maybe— Well, that’s another idea. But it’s covered.”
Actually, that was kind of brilliant. Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda checked Nancy for her reaction. She looked—intrigued.
Mae kept talking. “I don’t actually know if anyone wants to do this,” she said. “I haven’t talked to Andy. Or”—she raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, conveying wry doubt—“my mom. But if we could all agree—what would you think? Do you think it’s possible?”
“I’d need time to think about it,” said Nancy. “Maybe. I’m not saying it’s a no. But it’s not something we can just do overnight.”
“But that’s exactly what we have to do,” said Mae. “Because right now, before anybody wins—it’s the only time we can do it and have everybody come in equal, no worrying about the loan or whose money is whose. If we wait, I just feel like we’re going to be back at Mimi’s versus Frannie’s again.”
Jay came out of the kitchen, followed by Kenneth, who was using his shirt to wipe his forehead.
“She’s right,” Jay said, pulling up a chair and planting himself firmly in the conversation. “Do you know we can hear every word you’re saying in there? I don’t know if you two ever brought dates out here in your misspent youth, but your mother was perfectly set up to spy on you. So—combining Mimi’s and Frannie’s. I’m not saying it’s a good idea or a bad idea. This is your baby, not mine. But Mae’s right that you have to figure this out today. You have a unique moment here.”
“Look at it this way,” said Kenneth. “Right now, everybody has pretty much the same shot at having a hundred thousand dollars and the Food Wars