"Hey, Joel.” I choked. “Welcome home. When did you get in?" My voice finally found its way out.
"Just this morning. It's great to be back, and seeing the whole family here together is just... awesome." Joel smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks for letting us use the café. Grandma told me earlier that you own it now."
"Yeah, technically it’s mine since it was Mom’s, but my aunt and uncle manage it with me. It's become more of a family business.”Shit, I was rambling. “Do you want to take a seat? We're going to start serving soon." It was all I could say before I excused myself to go back to the kitchen.
I walked through the double doors leading to the back but went to the opposite side to the standing office. There was a panel that separated the area from the kitchen, so I was able to lean against the wall and go unnoticed, hoping to get a hold of myself.
Jesus, what was happening to me? My heart was racing, and my hands suddenly felt clammy, but there was also this odd sensation of rightness. There was no time to figure out what it all meant, and this definitely wasn't the place. Both our families were counting on me to deliver a good meal, and that's what I would do. I wanted to honor the memory of my mother as well as Joel’s parents, Sílvia and Gary.
By the time I came out of my hiding place, all the guests were seated and patiently waiting for the appetizers to arrive.
I looked for a spare seat at the long dining table, and when I found my spot, I looked over toward the kitchen and nodded at the staff to begin serving the starter. I sat down, and when I looked up, I realized that Joel was sitting right across from me. He looked slightly flushed, and his smile seemed a little more nervous, a contrast to his earlier demeanor. Was he feeling as discombobulated as I was?
I ran my hands through my hair and smiled back, hoping my expression read "let's be friends" rather than "I think I'm stupidly attracted to you."
"So, Joel," Aunt Teresa said from a few seats down, "how long are you staying with us? We haven't seen you for such a long time and we were hoping we’d have the chance to see you at the café as often as possible."
"I'm staying for a few weeks. I'm hoping to catch up with the whole family and also fit in a bit of exploring," Joel said, his eyes landing on me at the end with what looked like a hopeful gaze.
Hopeful? Did he want to reconnect as much as I did? I wanted to talk to him, ask him why he hadn’t come back, what his life was like in New York. I wanted to tell him what his mom did for me when mine died, and I needed to hug him and tell him I was sorry for his loss. But I couldn’t, not now. I just hoped I’d have the chance later.
Everybody settled into a comfortable conversation during the starter, praising the food, which made me immensely proud.
"It's nothing to do with me. I'm using mom's recipes, so you really can't go wrong," I said, hoping to deflect the attention.
"Oh, my goodness,” Aunt Teresa said, “I remember when Paula went to our mom, who was hopeless in the kitchen, and said she wanted to learn how to cook. Of course, that didn’t work out.”
I smiled to myself, having heard this story before.
Avó Violeta, Joel’s grandmother, continued. “And then she started sitting with me in the kitchen every day when I was cooking our dinner, and she'd ask so many questions. I didn't realize what her plan was until she'd been doing it for weeks, so I started teaching her the basics. She was so talented and had such a good knack for flavor."
My chest felt tight as I listened to the memories of my mom. Sometimes, I wished I could access everybody's minds and capture all those memories for myself. People who knew my mom often talked about her, sharing bits here and there. It felt as though she was still here with me, and I was so proud that she was a well-liked and respected woman who fought hard against the single mother stereotype by building a thriving local business. I wondered if, wherever she was, she was proud of what I’d done with the café. I hoped so.
As the main course was served I took a moment to look around and watch everyone as they tried my food.
"Do you remember when Sílvia and Paula went on a school trip to Ovar and they had some Pão de Ló? When they came back, Paula spent days trying to bake one, and both she and Sílvia nearly ended up in the hospital with food poisoning because they had used old eggs and the cake was undercooked." This story came from Joel's uncle talking about a particular Portuguese traditional cake that has a soft center. "It was hilarious. They were so ill and swore they would never eat another cake ever again. That lasted about a week!" There was laughter all around as they remembered the two best friends fondly.
I looked up at Joel, who looked as though he was wrapped up in all the stories and lapping it all up.
I guessed that Joel wouldn’t have heard some of them before. I felt sad for him. While I had a constant reminder of my mom by courtesy of all the local acquaintances, Joel hadn't been as lucky. Being away for so long, Joel had missed out on seeing his mom in her home environment, surrounded by the family she’d grown up with.
Joel would have different memories of his mom living in a whole new continent, a different culture, and also in one of the most exciting cities in the world, New York. I sincerely hoped I would have a chance to hear about that part of his life while he was here.
I would have to find a way to get close to Joel again, and as I dug the dessert spoon in the lightness of my chocolate mousse, I realized I had the perfect excuse.
Throughout dinner, there were many conversations and people to catch up with. Earlier today, Avó Violeta had called to ask if I could cater for two more people. I’d said yes, of course, and then was pleasantly surprised when I saw Chico and Mariana join us, without the twins who apparently were at a sleepover.
Chico was a good friend and a local mechanic. Aunt Teresa used him exclusively when her car needed something done to it. His services were often exchanged for custard tarts or celebration cakes. Unfortunately, I didn’t see Mariana as often because she owned a clothing shop and worked long hours.
I spent so much of dinner catching up with Chico and Mariana that I barely spoke to my aunt and uncle.
Aunt Teresa was visibly proud of the food quality and the ambiance of the gathering. She had a keen eye for business. Something both she and Mom had in common. Even though this was an event for family and close friends, I knew that word of mouth was everything, and I could see the hope in my aunt's smile that our service would be recommended to other friends.
My uncle, on the other hand, was a different story. I felt, more than saw, his eyes on me throughout the meal.
Our relationship had never been the best. We worked together, and that was that. My aunt never understood why we didn't get along that well, but, then again, she didn't know what had happened years ago that cemented the end of my relationship with him.
It was already after ten o'clock when guests started making their way home. First, those who lived further out, followed by Joel's grandparents and great-grandmother.
