The entire family gathers in the kitchen, and I’m trying to hear what Jasmine’s saying.
“Mags…” I barely make out over the chatter of my parents and the babbling of the kids. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Hold up, Jas. I can’t hear you.” I give up on trying to take this call with my family around, so I head to the living room and drop down on a couch. “Sorry. I’m at my folks’. Hit me with that again?”
Jas huffs a sigh. “I know you’re supposed to be off today, but Mags called out. What do you want to do?”
“Wait, wait.” The blood starts to boil in my veins. Magsjusttexted me, and now she’s calling out on the night she’s supposedto close? “Did you talk to Mags? What do you mean, she called out?”
Jas hesitates a minute. “I don’t know, Benny. I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. She just called and said she couldn’t come in tonight and she’d work it out with you later.”
“Why the fuck didn’t she just call me?” I ask, my voice rising along with my temperature. Thankfully, Ma didn’t hear the f-bomb I just dropped or the one I was about to.
“Who’s covering lunch?” I ask. “Who’s there right now?”
I check the time on my phone. It’s only eleven, so we’re about to hit the lunch rush. Mags was scheduled to work from noon to nine today.
“Carla and Duncan are covering lunch. Mags just called me about ten minutes ago.”
“She called you?” I’m barely able to control my temper.
“Well, the restaurant, Benny. The kitchen’s swamped, so I answered the call.”
I tighten my grip on my phone. There’s only one conclusion I can jump to, and I know it’s a dangerous one. Did Mags text me before the start of her shift to see if I’d signed that application? Did she intentionally call out to punish me for not doing it? And to not call me like a chickenshit, when she knows the kitchen can’t run through both a lunch service and a dinner with the same crew? I’d be stuck paying overtime for one, and that’s assuming Carla and Duncan would be willing to work through close.
This means Mags knew today was my day off, and she decided not to let me know I’d need to come in. She’s fucking with me. That’s the only explanation.
What doesn’t make sense is why. Benito’s is my fucking restaurant. If she needs reminding, I’ll march her right out front to the parking lot and show her exactly whose name is on the fucking sign.
“I’m on my way,” I tell her. “If you hear back from Mags, you tell her to call me. No. Forget that, Jasmine. I’ll tell her my fucking self.”
Thank God I showered after the fuckfest I had with Willow this morning. I have more clothes in my office, so there’s nothing stopping me from heading right into work. I open up my contacts and pull up my last text to Willow.
Me: Day went to shit, babe. I’ve got to close the kitchen tonight. Late late dinner or rain check?
I have a reply back in seconds.
Willow: Day went to shit here today too. I’ll cook for you tonight. My place? As soon as you can?
I send her back a thumbs-up emoji, then head into the kitchen. I reach past Pops and pull the only frosted cinnamon roll off the display plate. “Can I grab and go? I’m sorry, but Mags called out. I got to go in.”
My pops waves at me to eat, while Ma starts scurrying, trying to make me a plate of the food she’s cooked Eden and the kids for lunch.
“Ma, I’m a chef. I’m going to the restaurant. I’ll eat, I promise.” I jam a bite of the treat into my mouth and talk around a mouthful of food, mostly because I know it’ll rile my mother up. “Duhlishush, Ma.”
“Oh, get out of here,” she says, smirking and waving me off.
Pops walks me to the door and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Benny,” he says.
There’s something quiet in his voice, and I’m again hit with the realization that I don’t really know what’s going on with my parents. Just because Pops hasn’t been back to the doctor, or at least he hasn’t brought it up, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. That there isn’t something simmering that could make the precious little time we have together even more precious.
I can’t think that way. Not now.
I nod and swallow a wave of tough emotions. “Later, Pops,” I say, wishing I could say more, but not knowing what or even how to say it.
I climb behind the wheel of my SUV. When Pops goes back inside, I dial Mags’s number.
Ring.
