Wewalked back to the kitchen and I couldn’t remember being this excited to work.Ever. Not even when cooking was new to me and it was all I wanted to do.
Ihadn’t known what I was doing back then. My adventure was purely discovery.
Today,I knew what I needed to do. So the adventure was in owning.
Verastepped up to her spot in the very center of the kitchen. “Have you had achance to study the menu?”
“Yes,”I answered simply, not admitting that studying the menu was the only thing I’ddone since her phone call. I’d gone to work. I’d slept what little hours Icould. And I’d gone over the menu again and again. I tried to replicate the combinationsof ingredients at home to recreate the menu as it was described on the website.
Itwas hard to cook that blind, especially since menus only told a portion of thestory. But I could say I was familiar with the concept of each of the dishes.
“Good,”she said simply. “Because tonight, I thought you could wait tables.”
All ofmy soaring aspirations came to a screeching halt inside my chest. “Wait, what?”
Hereyes narrowed. “You’ve waited tables before, right?”
“Yes.”I hated my original response. I amended it. “No.” But I felt guilty for nottelling the truth, so I added, “I mean, like my first year of culinary school Iworked at this little Mexican restaurant, but I wouldn’t call that waitressing.There were all of ten tables to take care of and it was almost never busy.”Except for every night. I cleared my throat and let her see my desperation, “Ican’t do it here. Ezra wants his servers to basically have college degrees inhospitality and I don’t even know how to—”
“Don’tworry about a thing. Currently, Ezra isn’t even in the country.” She grinned atme. “This will be fun. I brought a white shirt for you. It’s in the office. Whydon’t you change clothes? After, find a guy named Christian out front. He’llwalk you through everything you need to know for tonight.”
Angerand fear flared to life inside me and I swallowed hateful words that burned mytongue. I’d given up a free Sunday night for this? “I thought you wanted me towork with you, Vera? In the kitchen? Wasn’t the plan for you to tutor me andmentor me and get me ready to take over as the amazingly qualified new headchef?”
She smirked.“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Buthow is that going to work if I’m not back here with you? Learning the kitchen?Learning how to lead it? Learning all the voodoo that you do so well?” I wasnot above quoting Salt-N-Pepa to get my way.
Herarms folded over her chest and she squared her shoulders, readying for theargument we were about to have. “I’m sure you studied the menu, but you don’tknow it. And I’m sure you’ve eaten here before, but you don’t know Sarita’s insand outs, or her deep, dark secrets. I’m sure you can cook the hell out oftapas, but you’ve never cooked anything off this menu. If you want Sarita, youneed to get intimate with her, go down the rabbit hole, find out every singlething there is to know about her. Start with waiting tables and learning aboutthe people that eat here, what walks of life they’re from, what they want, whatthey need from you. Sell the hell out of this menu, be able to recite thedishes from memory, get acquainted with all the dishes. Smell them. Touch them.Taste them. Do whatever the hell possible to become this fucking restaurant. I’mtemporary, Kaya. A temporary chef in a kitchen I want nothing to do with. Ibarely know the menu and I barely care about it enough to make sure it’s doneright. Don’t be me. Don’t be temporary. Be the miracle that will save thistragedy of a restaurant. Do everything you need to do tonight to becomepermanent. Then come back next Sunday and we’ll try something else out.”
Someof the panic drained from my chest to slosh around in my stomach. I hated theidea of not working back here with Vera. Front of house felt like a missedopportunity. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to hurry up and beamazing. As soon as Ezra got back from his trip, he would start searching tofill this position and if I wasn’t game ready by then, I wouldn’t get it. “Thisis some serious Mr. Miyagi shit, Vera.”
Shesmiled again. “You’re welcome.”
Iwrinkled my nose but accepted my fate. I hated to admit that she was right, butshe was. I needed to learn this restaurant. I needed to familiarize myself withthis restaurant gorilla-style, quickly. I needed to work my ass off and dowhatever it took to claim her as mine.
“Goodbye,Kaya,” Vera said in a serious tone. “And good luck.”
Icouldn’t help but snicker as I walked back to her office to change into the whiteshirt she’d brought for me. Vera and I had a similar shape except that she wastaller than me. Her shirt fit fine even if it was a little tight over my chest—butI had been fighting the big boobs versus button-up shirts battle my entirelife.
Pullingout my compact from my purse, I checked out my appearance. I hadn’t wrapped myhead in a bandana yet. My bouncy pink curls were on full display. I’d used myamazing, deep rinse conditioner last night, so the pink was fresh and vibrant.
Andmy curls. They were everywhere. When I first started working in a kitchenfull-time, I’d impulsively chopped all my hair off in an effort to survive theheat and chaotic schedule. But recently I’d wanted a different look. The onlyproblem was my hair took forever to grow out. I was currently somewhere betweenthe edgy pixie cut that had been so easy to maintain and a chin-length bob.Unlike when my hair had been short, blue, and styled straight, my natural curlswere growing in with a vengeance.
Fishingfor bobby pins in the bottom of my purse, I pinned some of the front ones backto give me a softer, 1920s look—something more customer friendly. It was no useterrifying the diners because I looked like I’d just touched a live wire.
Addingcolored Chapstick and cute tassel earrings I found at the bottom of my purse, Ifinally felt presentable. My pants were still kitchen quality and my shoes werestill my clunky Doc Martens, but for the most part, I could pass for every daysociety. At least I hoped so.
Fittingin wasn’t something I had ever cared about. Save for my brief hiatus frommyself when I dated Nolan, I was way more comfortable in my own skin thantrying to squeeze into someone else’s. I loved playing with the color of myhair and the shade of my nails and lipstick and eyeshadow—when I wore it. Andwhen I dressed for places that weren’t Lilou, I enjoyed taking style risks. Ididn’t set out to be edgy, I just didn’t squeeze into a cookie cutter mold.
Mythoughts flickered to Wyatt. There weren’t many things I liked about him, buthis total self-assuredness was one of my favorites. I had never seen himconcerned with what other people thought, save for food critics. I had neverseen him try to cover up his extensive tattoos or worry over his clothes. Hewas perfectly who he wanted to be. And God, I found that ridiculously sexy forsome reason. Maybe I liked a few more things about him than I wanted to admit.
Onthe other hand, there was Nolan. A man so consumed with what the rest of theworld thought of him, he’d let them trap him somewhere he hated. My sisterswere the same way. Claire had stayed in Hamilton even though she hated it, eventhough she was dying to leave. My parents had convinced my youngest sisterCameron to go to the local community college to live at home and save money.Cameron was on board, but she had no idea how much she was missing. And she wasyoung enough not to care.
Oh,well. Those were their choices. I couldn’t live their lives for them, no matterhow much I wanted to help them. All I could do was love my own life. And I did.Even if it was busy. Even if it was hard. Even if sometimes it was lonely. Iloved my job and I love who I’d turned out to be and I loved the people I’dsurrounded myself with.
Iclosed my compact and put it away before folding up my chef coat and tucking itinto my purse as well. My fingers brushed over the cool stainless-steelcounters as I walked wistfully through the kitchen.
Some other day, friend. Somedaysoon.
