Together.
Thesewords bounced around in my head, waiting for a solid definition. My brainwanted to give them boundaries and boxes and take away the fluttering in mychest that felt like so much more than a crush, lust, or anything I was readyfor.
Ourwaitress, Kim, appeared. She was one of the pillars of Lilou. She’d worked hereas long as any of us and could handle whatever the restaurant threw at her. Shesmiled at me, and I introduced her to my parents before ordering drinks for thetable.
Darius,the bartender, and I were good enough friends that I knew his specialties andthe favorites that Ezra had made him remove recently to fit in with theprohibition-era trend sweeping the country. Ezra wanted a list filled with newtakes on gin fizzes and Old Fashioneds, Moscow Mules and French 75s. Darius wasworking on infusing jalapeno into tequila. He’d dip the glass in acinnamon-cayenne-salt blend to make a spicy, sweet, delicious paloma that wouldblow minds and start beverage revolutions.
I orderedone for my dad, and a lemon, rhubarb gin thing for my mom.
Formyself? Dirty martini. Also gin—preferably Irish Gunpowder if he had it. Extradirty. Extra blue cheese stuffed green olives—like the good Lord intended.
Whatcan I say? I liked a cold beer as much as the next girl, but in heels likethese? I needed a drink James Bond would be proud of.
Assoon as the drinks were dropped off at the table, I ordered appetizers frommemory. I wanted my parents to get the most well-rounded experience possible. Ialso wanted them to have the meal of their life. I wanted them to see what Idid and be impressed by it.
Knowingtheir taste, I ordered the smoked trout toast with avocado cream, the asparagusI’d just finished mentally raving about and the hand-rolled pistachio andsaffron crème gnocchi.
Ifelt like standing up and mic dropping, but we hadn’t even gotten to secondplates yet. I decided to hold back until they asked me to roll them out of therestaurant.
Kimsmiled at the order and disappeared to put it into the computer.
“That’sso much food,” my mom complained. “Was that all just appetizers?”
“Youdon’t have to eat everything,” I assured her. “I want you to try as much aspossible. It will be worth it, I promise.” I shrugged, feeling like I needed toadd, “Besides, it’s my treat.”
Mydad’s brow furrowed immediately. “Oh, we can’t let you pay for—”
Iwaved him off. “It’s not a big deal. I want you to have the full Lilouexperience.”
Mymom’s shrewd eyes scanned over the menu again. “Maybe we can split somethingfor the big meal.”
“Mom,”I groaned. “Please accept that I’m a big deal here. I’m not living paycheck topaycheck anymore.”
Myparents stared at me, trying to pull hard facts from my ambiguous statement.Dad’s curiosity won out. “You’re really top of the food chain here?”
Ismiled. I was. It wasn’t first place, but it was a damn good place to start. “Iam. The one and only sous chef. I’m second in command in the kitchen.”
“Isit stressful, honey?”
Theyalready knew my title and position, but until this moment, I didn’t think theyunderstood exactly what that meant. It was a word without a definition untilthey’d seen it in a real-life setting. And they knew that I worked a lot andthey probably could have assumed that my job was stressful. But I had neververbally admitted that part to them. I wanted them to get the message of howmuch I loved this career, this position. If you’d have asked them beforetonight what my life was like? They would have come back with some version ofrainbows and butterflies.
“Sostressful,” I agreed. “But worth it. This is what I love. And I’m lucky I getto do it in one of the best kitchens on the planet. I don’t take that forgranted.” Or I wouldn’t any longer. Starting now.
Thinkingback to my ungrateful attitude over the past ten months, I wanted to hide myface in shame. I had taken my success for granted. I’d disregarded Wyatt’strust in me and let my entitled attitude nearly ruin one of the bestexperiences in my life.
Dad lookedat my mom. “We asked her to leave this for the diner.”
Mymom sniffed the air, untouched by guilt or remorse. “I want her close to home.I’m not trying to take her dreams away from her.”
Butthat was exactly what she was asking me to give up. My dreams. My aspirations.My future. “There’s nothing for me in Hamilton, Mom. I belong here.”
Kim approachedwith two waiters from the kitchen carrying our appetizers, forcing us to dropthe conversation until the first plates were set before us. My dad’s eyeswidened in awe at the intricacy of each dish while my mom glared at eachcomponent as if it were personally responsible for keeping me away from her.
Istarted plating for them, letting the argument hang in the air for a fewminutes. My parents were cultured, but they weren’t foodies. Besides, this foodwas fussy and took some explanation for even well-versed fanatics.
“Isthis what you make?” my dad asked after he’d devoured his trout toast.
“Um,sometimes. It depends on the night and who else is working. I’m mainlyresponsible for proteins, by choice. But I’m the one that suggested pistachiofor the gnocchi.”
