The Chicken Sisters - K.J. Dell'Antonia Page 0,142

and took a look at the contracts the participants signed with the network before filming. You, of course, have the right to frame the footage you record into any narrative you wish. But there’s no requirement that anyone here will do anything specific in the way of continuing a conflict or not.”

Sabrina turned, furious, to her head cameraman. “Is this true? Do we need to double-check this?”

“It’s true, love,” purred Simon, although he took a step away from Sabrina’s stilettos as he spoke.

“Confirmed,” agreed Gordo, remaining safely behind the camera. “They do what they do, we get to film it, you get to cut it however you want. That’s the deal.”

“That’s the deal,” said Sabrina, sticking out her perfect bottom lip and tapping her shoe thoughtfully. “From their contracts. Which I had nothing to do with. And Simon? Doesn’t he have to vote? I thought he had to vote.”

“I’ll worry about me, love,” Simon said.

“Well, then.” Sabrina shook her head a little, curls bouncing, and turned back to Mae and Amanda, this time with that same old friendly smile, so perfectly brought off that Amanda nearly stepped backward in shock. “You took me by surprise, but that’s fine. We’ll make this work. No, we’ll make it great. Why don’t you all come up here together, in front of the chefs’ table.” She stepped back and had a look, then began arranging them as though into a family portrait, tucking Jay unobtrusively behind Mae and moving Andy between Mae and Amanda with a wink, moving Nancy over to Mae’s other side and bringing Barbara to stand next to Amanda, then flanking them all with Gus and Frankie.

“Wait,” she said, and turned to one of the many minions just offstage. “There were other kids, right? Get the other kids.” Amanda saw Mae glance quickly at Jay, and he shrugged as Jessa handed Ryder to him as Madison, released from behind the cameras, ran to her mother. Sabrina surveyed the girl critically, and Mae smoothed the hair that was so like hers and placed her daughter on her hip.

“Perfect,” said Sabrina. “If you’re going to do it this way, we’re going to make it look good. Just one minute.” She stepped away, took her bag off a table, and began the now-familiar routine of freshening her lips and makeup. Mae took a lipstick from her own pocket with her free hand and did the same, then passed it to Amanda, who hesitated.

“It’s just a tinted balm,” Mae said. “You can’t do it wrong.”

Amanda smeared it over her own lips, capped it, and then—why not?—handed it to Barbara, who took it even more reluctantly than her younger daughter had.

“Go ahead, Mom,” Mae urged.

Frankie took the balm, smiling. “Hold still, Grandma,” she said. “It will just look nice. Brighten you up a little.”

Barbara submitted, then turned back to Amanda, looking over at Sabrina. “She’s not ready yet?”

“No,” Amanda said. “She takes a while.”

“Hmm. Not a natural beauty, then.” Barbara smiled, and Amanda, a little tentative, smiled back, and, as their eyes met, laughed.

“Nope.” Amanda laughed, too. She felt warmer toward Sabrina than she had in days; she might be an asshole, but she was clearly surrounded by them as well. Better her than Amanda.

“Her and Mae,” said Barbara, shaking her head. “All this complication. Not like you and me.”

You and me. Amanda nodded, conscious of the cameras, wanting to hug her mother but not quite sure they were ready. She put out her hand instead, and Barbara took it. But her mother was still looking at Amanda as though she wanted to say something. “What?” Amanda rubbed her finger over her front teeth. “Did I get that stuff on me?”

“No,” said Barbara. “No, not that. It’s just—I was wondering if you wanted a puppy.”

“Oh—” Now Amanda did hug her mother. Hard, and probably smearing lip balm, or whatever, all over her shoulder. “Yes. Yes, I do want a puppy.”

Sabrina swirled back into their midst, pointing them back into their places, then went to stand between Simon and Cary. “Let’s turn this into good television, people.”

Sabrina held her practiced pause, bringing on that manufactured smile, but it was Mae who jumped in one last time, stepping out in front before Sabrina could even draw in a breath. With the faintest, fastest possible glance back at Amanda, Mae shot a wholly genuine grin at the camera and spoke. “And, we’re back.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m not going to lie, I thought about not having any acknowledgments. The risk, no, the probability that I will leave someone out is overwhelming. How can you thank everyone who makes it possible to do work you love? Start with the carpool and go from there, I guess.

Thank you to everyone who drove any member of my family anywhere ever, especially during NaNoWriMo 2017, when I first drafted this book, or over the next year and a half, when I was madly revising it. And thanks to those who helped mightily in that revision process, in particular my agent, Caryn Karmatz Rudy, and Jennie Nash and the Author Accelerator team. Down the road, thank you to beta readers Sarina Bowen, Lisa Belkin, and Wendi Aarons.

Thank you to Margo Lipschultz, who is proof positive that editing is alive and well and who made this whole story—as well as writing it—much more fun, and to her entire team at G. P. Putnam’s Sons, whose enthusiasm for “the chicken book” brought me much joy. You’re just the right number of cooks in this kitchen.

Into the writing of any book some rain must fall, and in the summer of 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There is nothing about that sentence that is not a cliché, but none of it felt like a cliché at the time. Thank you to the doctors, nurses, and radiation therapists at the Norris Cotton Cancer Center at Dartmouth-Hitchcock for being relentlessly and rightly optimistic, even when it must have been obvious that I was not entirely receptive to your good cheer, and for, we all hope, so thoroughly removing all traces of cancer that I will never again fall into your clutches. Thank you to Dwight Sperry and Kimberley Moran for providing unexpected support when I answered the question “How are you?” too honestly; to Mimi and Jason Lichtenstein (and Trevor) for striking just the right balance between understanding and distraction; to Kendall Hoyt for many much-needed walks, and to Sheryl Stotland, Nancy Davis Kho, Mary Laura Philpott, and Liz McGuire for being Team KJ in the form of cards and gifts and snark. That’s my love language, crew.

Thank you, too, to our Spanish family, Eva, Miguel, Ici, and Paula, for becoming such a joyful part of our life during that strange season; to Holly and to Judi, Nick, Natalie, Kira, and Tia for putting family and friends above everything else; and to Kristyn, Greg, Lyn, and Brittney for doing a whole lot of farmwork so that I wouldn’t have to.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for never, ever not encouraging me in following this inexplicable career path, for supporting me at every turn and reading every word, although when it comes to that terrible novel draft from 2011, I really wish you wouldn’t. And thank you, Mom, for resisting the urge to tell me the real story behind Chicken Annie’s and Chicken Mary’s. I guess it’s okay now.

Thank you to Jess and Sarah. I probably could do it without you two, but I wouldn’t really want to.

And thank you to the best possible husband and partner for me, Rob. I’m still sorry about your baseball glove. Finally, thank you to Sam, Lily, Rory, and Wyatt for apparently just accepting that some days, the people in my laptop would be as real to me as the ones outside it. I hope you all know there is no one more real, or more important, than you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

KJ Dell'Antonia is the former editor of Motherlode and current contributor to The New York Times, as well as the author of How to Be a Happier Parent. She lives with her family on a small farm in Lyme, New Hampshire, but retains an abiding love for her childhood in Texas and Kansas.

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