The meal before service, when the restaurant was closed. Responsibility for the staff meal rotated. It was an opportunity for Chef to try new recipes, for Ray to use up leftovers from the night before, for Constanza to make her killerasado de bodasand tortillas. Being asked to cook was an honor, an accolade, an assurance I had a place in the kitchen.
I belonged.
Here.
My smile started deep inside and grew and bloomed. “Yes, Chef.”
CHAPTER 8
Meg
The sky was still dark outside our kitchen windows as I made my way downstairs. John was already up, making breakfast with the twins.
“Pancakes, Mommy!” Daisy announced with glee. “I help.”
“Frozen toaster waffles,” John said, before I could speak. “I figured they had enough fun with flour when Trey was here.”
I smiled. “It smells wonderful, whatever it is.”
Like butter and syrup, like the Saturday mornings of my childhood. DJ was coloring at the table, a purple crayon gripped in his stubby fingers, singing softly to himself.“Wish you a merry Kissmas...”My heart melted.
“Coffee.” John handed me a mug. “I figured you’d need it to face the farmers’ market.”
“Thanks.” I took a sip, hot liquid and guilt scalding my throat. He was being so nice.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked.
I swallowed. “The market’s open until two.” After that, I needed to drive to the farm, feed the goats, make the bank deposit... No, thathad to wait until Monday. “I’ll be back before dinner. In time to get ready for Sallie’s party.”
He nodded.
“We haven’t had a night out in a long time.” I tried another smile, hoping for a response. “It will be like a date.”
“Don’t go, Mommy,” Daisy said. “Eat pancakes wiv us.”
I kissed her forehead. She smelled delicious. “I wish I could, sweetie. But Daddy will take good care of you. There are apple slices in the fridge,” I told John.
“I was going to feed them Tater Tots and ketchup,” John said. “That’s two food groups, right?”
A joke. I smiled, relieved. “At least. Thanks for watching the kids.”
“They’re my kids, too.”
“Sorry, honey. You’re a wonderful father.” He was. But being their mom was my job. This house was my surrogate work world. It was surprisingly hard to let it go. I offered him a weak smile. “I guess I’m just used to being in charge.”
John’s jaw tightened, the way DJ’s did when he was frustrated. “So tell me what you want me to do.”
I hesitated. John’s mom, Cheryl, had worked like a dog to provide for her boys: second jobs, third shifts, whatever she had to do. No one to pick up the slack, ever. Except John. He was only nine when Cheryl started to leave him alone to watch his brother. Too much responsibility, I’d always thought, for such a little boy.
But he was willing to help. If I was willing to accept it.
“Maybe,” I suggested, “if you see something that needs doing, you could just... do it? Like the other night, when you took the kids up for their bath without asking. That was really thoughtful.”
John stared at me a moment. He nodded once, confident now that he had a mission. A plan. “I could help with the Christmas shopping. Buy presents for the kids.”
I blinked. Christmas shopping? But why not? Did I really think it would stunt our children’s development if John bought them a toy?
“That would be great,” I said. “Thanks.”
