"I am so glad you decided to cook with us. We heard Atlas had taken quite a liking to you," Aunt Lizzy said.

The lady was nothing like I imagined, and neither was Aunt Erika.

Even Adele would be home in the big old kitchen filled with every modern convenience yet retaining a touch of that rustic, homey, old-fashioned air.

"Animals either love or hate me; there's no in-between. Mom was never into pets, and I only had a goldfish at five, but the neighbor's cat got in the house, and that was that."

"Do you feel like peeling a few potatoes?" Lizzy asked, frying onions to start a traditional Bobotie, a half-Malayan dish adapted by South Africans.

"Mother!" Jeanette pretended shock.

"What? Mercedes, do you have a problem peeling potatoes?"

Barry's mother winked naughtily, and I knew we'd get along like a house on fire. That saying always seemed so odd.

"That's about the only thing Mother thinks I'm good at."

"Do you not cook?" Erika, Jeanette's mom, asked, dusted in flour up to her elbows, kneading out dough for the fresh bread and buns served with every meal.

"Speaking in general," I corrected, "My mother has little faith in my stellar ability to succeed. Despite holding a job with Harris for three years, she treats it with little more consideration than if I flipped burgers at McDonald's."

"And what did she say when you landed the lead role in a movie?" Lizzy asked, and Jeanette gave her a little warning glance, which she blatantly pretended not to see.

I loved the relationship between mother- and daughter-in-law, not minding Lizzy's honest curiosity.

"Well, I didn't say anything. Adele would assume I got talked into doing something or think it was a joke, and even if she could be convinced it was neither, she would not hold her breath that I would succeed. That "go-getter" vibe my sister has, was apparently not installed in my operating system."

"That must have been tough on you, growing up," Erika said with her daughter's perception.

"Not that it did wonders for my self-esteem, but she's overly protective of me in her own way. I think she doesn't realize the consequences of essentially telling me not to bother trying because I'd suck, to protect me from getting hurt if I tried and failed."

"That's not healthy," Lizzy said, a frown tugging at her perfect dark blond brows as I peeled potatoes with the diligence taught by a woman who hated waste.

Jeanette placed a glass of red wine beside me and sat across from me, getting ready to peel onions.

"Have you ever tried telling her that her way of trying to keep you from getting hurt is hurting you?" Lizzy asked, sipping a dry white wine as she prepared a charcuterie board filled with sweetmeats and cheese for us, and my stomach grumbled a little.

"Until Harris offered me this movie deal, it was as if I were asleep my entire life. Happy to be in Kelsey's shadow hiding from the world. He awoke something in me with this opportunity that I didn't expect."

Until then, I hadn't considered any of this, almost fearing it might still flop if I put my hope in it. Was I doing to myself what Mom always did to me?

"So, how did this go in your head, Liefie? Were you just going to wait until the movie posters popped up all over the internet and everywhere else?" Erika asked.

Liefie was Afrikaans for love/lovey, I learned from Dean at some point.

"Mercedes doesn't deserve any of this and never wanted it. At least, that's what she thinks," Sherise said from the door, and Jeanette motioned for her to join us. "Now she does want it, and she fears it might go away even if she reaches for it."

She sat down, almost too short for the bar stool.

"Just don't ask me to peel, cut, or cook anything because I'm not wired correctly for such things."

Jeanette poured her a glass of wine.

"Your company will be enough. Mercedes has the potatoes handled, and Jeanette has the onions under control," Lizzy said, pushing a stray hair back under her hairnet.

"Don't you have a machine for those?" Sherise asked, wrinkling her nose at the potatoes.

"Yes, but we use the peels to make chips for the movie later," Jeanette said.

"Oh, gross, I've never had that," Sherise said, sounding unconvinced.

"Then you've never lived."

Erika put the dough into plastic bags to rise, and the aromas in that kitchen were heavenly. This was the way I imagined an old-fashioned manor kitchen would smell.

"She's not a very adventurous eater. Inviting her to dinner will be the cheapest meal you'll ever serve: Rice, beans, and mash as sides with hake or chicken for mains."

I added another potato to the growing pile in the water-filled container to my right on the slick wooden countertop.

"And you?" Lizzy asked, curious.

"Don't like innards of any kind. Mother calls me a cretin, but I can't stand the taste or scent, and I'm also not very fond of extremely spicy food. If I can't taste the flavors past the burn, keep it."

"Well, maybe your mommy just didn't cook the tender bits right," Lizzy suggested.

"Her mother's Chef Adele Benoit," Jeanette casually mentioned, confirming that the others didn't put two and two together.

Had I never used her name in their company?

"What?" Sherise asked, an odd tone to her voice.

Lizzy adjusted the heat under the stew. "Why didn't you tell us?" she asked.

"I thought you knew."

"No, I didn't. Even though you always speak of your mother, you never said she's famous!" Sherise said, a frown furrowing her brow and a pout on her lips.

"I really thought I did."

"Darling, I would have remembered and made you get a table at the LA restaurant."

Her feelings were hurt, and I felt like an ass.

Did I really go to such lengths not to tell people?

"I'm so sorry, Sherise."

"As long as you book us a table the second we get back."

"There's no need to book a table. I just call in advance."

"And have you ever?"

What was with the slight aggression?

Was it my imagination?

"No, I have not. It seems wrong that other people must go on a waitlist, and I need only show up on time."

"Dude, your mother is the owner. Technically, it's your restaurant."

"No, it's her and Kelsey's restaurant; I'm just extended family."

"Is that how they feel or how you do?" Jeanette's perception struck again.

"Honestly, I don't know anymore. How do you want these cut, Chef Lizzy, or do you want to handle them yourself?"

"Cut them into eight pieces, and you don't have to 'Chef' me. We're informal, but it has a nice fancy ring."

"Don't inflate her ego," Erica warned, and Lizzy winked at me.

"Can I get a proper knife, please?" I asked, and Jeanette motioned toward the cutting block filled with an impressively expensive set of knives.

"It's possible my fears skewed my view of Mother."

The sudden silence caught my attention, and I glanced up to find everyone watching me chop potatoes with rapt fascination, my knife skills telling a story of its own.

"What was it that Jeanette told us Mercedes said when she asked if the lady could cook?" Erika enquired with a raised brow, mixing velvet cake batter while waiting for the dough to rise.

"Something about not burning water," Jeanette provided, pretending to narrow her eyes at me.

"Anyone who can handle a knife like that knows their way around a kitchen," Lizzy said without a doubt.

"Yes, I cut the veggies and stuff. Mom and Kelsey cooked." They were not buying it. "I sometimes cooked alone, but mom was so intense about food preparation that whenever we did it together, she invariably reduced me to tears. She's a perfectionist, and I don't do pressure well."

"Bullshit," Jeanette pretended to sneeze the word. "You handle Druscilla, and Pagliani is intense, but Harris can be tough; you've never caved before them."

"With all due respect, they are not Mother," I admitted, the knife hovering above the cutting board. "I loved preparing food with Betsey, Mom's sous chef. She'd been with us from the start and could have started her own restaurant eons ago, but she loves working with Adele. Recently, Mom offered her the executive chef position at the LA venue; I've no idea whether she accepted the job.

"With her, I could be at ease and try things until I got them right without being micromanaged and constrained. If not for her, I would have probably hated cooking." I continued chopping, proud not to have lost my touch.

"At the restaurant, she does everything how Mom wants it. At her house, where I spent lots of weekends when Adele had to leave town, she had her own way of preparing dishes, and I love her style."

As I cleared the board and added more potatoes, I shrugged.

"Now that I see life through different eyes, I wonder if, like me, she thinks herself not good enough and settled for the safe bet."

Did Betsey take that position? Did she take a leap of faith like I did? What made me choose to come here when it was a decision so contrary to most of the things I'd done?

Dean's face briefly flitted through my mind, but that wasn't it.

When Harris proposed this, it felt right, and for the first time, something enticed me into leaving my comfort zone.

How often have I done things I never pictured myself doing over the last few months, like coming to Africa? Being the leading lady in a movie. Taking my place and living my life, and yet, I still hid the truth from Mother.

Even though I wasn't being timid and staying in my lane, I still feared her censure, although I made a few new friends and felt like I fit in my own skin.

When did I stop hating being me and feeling like I couldn't stand the woman in the mirror? When did I make peace with who I am?

Although it didn't happen all at once, it did.

Somehow, I wasn't stuck anymore or spinning my wheels and going through the motions.

Here I was on the adventure of a lifetime, and not hiding in a corner or praying no one would see me. Where was the girl hoping no one would point me out and make fun of me? Without realizing it, I shed the cocoon and morphed into someone else.

This was such a mind-blowing revelation, and the weight that had settled on my shoulders my entire life lifted away.

"If you wanted to dice veggies in a kitchen, Mercedes Benoit, all you had to do was return home," a familiar, cool, sharp voice interrupted these thoughts, and I almost cut my finger before I froze. "A little birdie told me you bit off more than you could chew."

Did Druscilla do this to me? It could only be her. Who else would do something so calculated and hate me so much? My lips pulled in a thin line, and tension settled between my shoulders like cement.

Why did I feel like crying?

(Version 2