When I got home I had a text from Gabe:Sorry. Ipromise I’m an open book now. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.
I stared at the screen for a moment before typing out:The night of your Halloween party, why did you say you missed me?
But reason got the better of me, and I deleted it before hitting send.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted Gabe to like me, but I also wanted to get into La Mère. And I wasn’t sure I could stand out without Natalie’s letter. This was also the second thing Gabe had hidden from me.
I finally wrote back:I get it, you were worriedyou’d be treated differently. But you don’t have to hide things from me.
I’d have to see if Natalie treatedmedifferently after this. School was more important than Gabe. Especially since Gabe had a boyfriend.
A boyfriend he wasn’t spending his Saturday night with, because he was supposed to be spending it with me.
Why did this suck so much? And why wasn’t there a better metaphor out there than having your cake and eating it, too?
Best part about working Thanksgiving: double-time pay. Second-best part about working Thanksgiving and other major holidays: it’s an early brunch shift only, no dinner service, so we’re usually out by two p.m. Third-best thing about working Thanksgiving: buffet!
There’s no order taking other than drinks and dessert. So even when I saw my name listed on a section after running sick trays, I couldn’t be annoyed.
After I returned the sick tray cart to its normal spot by the dish room, I pulled my sleeves down and put on my maroon bow tie as Dante carved more turkey in the kitchen.
‘How is it out there?’ I asked.
‘Fantastic. There was a big rush at the start, but it’s slowing down. We might all be out of here early. Oh …’ He gave a cursory glance around the empty kitchen. ‘Can you do me a favor?’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘Pies.’ He nodded in the direction of the ovens. I moved before he even finished talking. ‘See if they’re done. Roni insists they need an hour, but I say fifty minutes.’
I pulled the oven open, blasted by the heat. The apple pies inside were browned perfectly. ‘Yeah, they’re done. Want me to grab them or just turn the oven off?’
‘Can you grab ’em for me?’
I put on an oven mitt and reached for the first sheet with five pies on it. The weight of the sheet pulled my wrist down and the pies shifted. I spun quickly to a work surface before the pies could tumble off and, letting out a relieved sigh, placed the sheet onto the metal tabletop. It was a lot heavier than I thought.
Something smelled off, though. Like plastic burning. I looked into the oven at the other pies. No smoke. I turned back to the ones I had taken out and saw the pink cutting board, its upper left corner tucked under the hot metal sheet.
‘Oh, shit!’ I pulled the cutting board out from under the sheet, but it was already melting. A string of liquid plastic pulling from the sheet to the cutting board. Without even thinking, I reached out to break the molten plastic. With my bare fingers. ‘Ahh!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Dante asked.
The pink plastic had stuck to my thumb and forefinger. I rubbed them on the metal work surface, trying to peel the melted mess off. It cooled and fell to the table, but my thumb and forefinger burned, throbbing with my heartbeat.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I put it down on the cutting board and burned myself trying to get it off.’
‘Shit.’ Dante walked over and took my hand to look at the burn. His voice turned dark, annoyed. ‘We’re going to have to fill out an OSHA form. And nowI’min trouble ’cause I let you back here.’
‘It’s just a burn,’ I said. ‘I’ve had worse at home.’ I showed him a burn scar on the outside of my pinky from when I once tried rolling out pizza dough onto a preheated stone. ‘I’ll run it under the cold water for a bit, pop the blister when I’m home and put on some antibiotic ointment.’
Dante gave me a skeptical look as I grabbed another oven mitt, making sure there was enough clear space to put the other pies down, and finished unloading them.
‘See?’ I said when I was done. ‘It’s like you’ve never been burned.’
‘No one can know about this, Tommy!’
‘Know about what?’
I walked over to the sink and ran my fingers under the cold water. It throbbed with pain, and I could already see the blisters rising.
