I paused to allow her time to comment. Confirmation would have been lovely, but I was really just expecting a snarky retort. When I received neither, I decided to push my luck and continue.
“More than anything, Meemaw, I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me in life. Truth be told, I love you more than anyone else on earth too. But I need you to understand some things. I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman who has already achieved more than most people achieve in a lifetime. And I’m not done. I have big dreams. Big plans.”
She set her glass on the coffee table—from what I could tell, for the sole purpose of freeing her hands so she could throw them in the air in exasperation. “So do I, darlin’! For you, I mean. That’s what I’m talking about.” She sighed as she reached out and squeezed my knee. “Can I be your grandma for a minute? I mean, just your grandma. No business talk.”
I don’t know. Can you?
“Umm . . . sure . . . I guess.” I had no idea what that was going to look like, but I was willing to give it a shot if she was.
“I’m proud of you,” she said in a tone I hardly recognized. It was . . . kind. Comforting. One might even say grandmotherly. “I’m proud of the way you held your head high through that whole competition. Lesser women would have crumbled.”
I decided just to take the compliment rather than argue over semantics, but there was a part of me that wanted to point out that lesser men would have crumbled as well. In fact, they had. I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget the sight of Chef Norman crying and telling Chef Max he was a “meanie-pants” on the first day of taping.
“Thanks, Meemaw.” I smiled and savored the tenderness I had only witnessed from my grandmother on rare, isolated occasions throughout my life.
“But now it’s time to put on your big girl pants and get ready to deal with these bloodsuckers in a way that will really make me proud.”
Well, okay then. Grandma mode had lasted longer than it usually did, at least.
“You need to warn me before you step into your phone booth and transform back into Super Manager. A girl’s liable to get whiplash.”
She chuckled—tenderly—and I was confronted with the terrifying thought that maybe she was still in grandma mode. If that was the case, the rest of my life was destined to be an anxiety-ridden vortex of uncertainty.
“The thing is, Meemaw, that just doesn’t feel like me. You know? I’m sure we can find ways to move my career forward and still let me stay true to who I am through it all.”
Let Hadley be Hadley.
What would that even look like?
“This guy stopped by the studio,” I began hesitantly. I didn’t really know why I was telling her. Probably just to get it out of my mind so I could stop thinking about it—since it was pretty much the only thing I had thought about for most of the week. “At first I thought he was a sniper.”
“A sniper?”
“Yeah. Like, an assassin or something.” She looked at me with confusion and I added, “He wasn’t though.”
“Well, no.” She laughed. “I didn’t figure.”
“Anyway, he was actually a manager. Interested in me, if you can believe that.” I paused, probably expecting her to reply in a way that I’d pretend wasn’t hurtful. Thankfully she just kept listening, so I kept talking. “He only manages people like me.”
“What do you mean, people like you?”
“Chefs, I guess. Food personalities, anyway. He seemed pretty interested in me—I mean, in managing me—and of course I told him I wasn’t interested—”
“What’s his name?”
“Um, Leo.”
“Leo Landry?” she asked, with a whole new level of interest, I noticed.
“Yeah. Leo Landry. You know him?”
“Honey, everybody knows him.”
Well, not everybody, clearly. “Why? Is he good?”
“Leo Landry’s the best. Leo Landry manages the best. If he wants to represent you, he sees something. Something I don’t see.” My eyes darted to my lap so as not to reveal how stung I was, but she quickly remedied my understanding. “Because I don’t know what I’m looking for, darlin’. Don’t you think for a second that I don’t see your potential. I do. But potential for what? I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“Well, I already told him I was perfectly happy where I was, and that I wasn’t the least bit interested. So we don’t need to give another second of thought to any of that.”
“You want to sing at the Opry? Great. Let me make some calls. But if your dreams include anything other than that, you need to sign with Leo Landry. When you have an opportunity like this, you jump on it. And that’s my final word on the matter.”
She stopped squeezing my knee, patted it quickly, and then stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Golly, she was difficult. My entire life, she’d been the thorn in my side. The woman I was always trying to please, who would never be pleased. And the thought of working with someone else was exciting. Terrifying. Exhausting. Learning someone new, letting them learn me. Working out a routine. Giving up more of my money—but maybe having more money to give up? Possibly an end to the New York commutes? Could I actually film in Nashville or had Leo just been blowing smoke?
“Are you going to take me to dinner, or do I have to heat up this lo mein from the other day?” Meemaw asked as she stared into the nearly bare fridge.
I stood and attempted to shake away the conflicting thoughts and emotions flooding my senses. “Why don’t you let me make something?”
In response, she turned to face me. “Are you kidding me? Look at this place. This kitchen ain’t fit for cooking in.”
3. Prepare stock in large pot.
HADLEY
A couple hours later I walked into my apartment and collapsed on the couch. My bags still sat by the door where I had dropped them. I knew I needed to begin the process of unpacking, doing my laundry, and making sure there was no spoiled food stinking up my fridge, but travel, time with Meemaw, and fried catfish for dinner had left me exhausted.
Apart from the commute to Brooklyn, I really did love my At Home with Hadley schedule. At various times throughout the year we’d spend a solid week filming what felt at the time like a million episodes. That week was always difficult—the days were long, I was on my feet for hours on end, and I had to change clothes frequently, so that viewers believed they were really joining me in my home a week later, and not just minutes later, after dishes were quickly scrubbed.
The winter episodes were especially tedious as fall decorations morphed into Thanksgiving, which seamlessly morphed into Christmas. It was enough to mess with the senses and rob a person of the joys of the holidays.
But it meant my time was freed up to focus on the magazine and my restaurants—not that they needed a lot of help these days. They were each finely tuned machines, and I had great management and chefs in place. Even with the increased business, my staff was more than capable.
I couldn’t believe the boost that business had received from the victory on America’s Fiercest Chef. Well, I wish the boost had come from the victory. The comments I received from patrons as I passed by their tables made it pretty clear what had actually caused the boost.