I don’t come here as often as I used to. Somehow, these visits became a reminder of what I lost, and stopped bringing any solace. Stopped healing me.
I decided to cut down on my visits after I realized it was holding me back. Not that I moved forward afterward.
But being here today feels therapeutic. Like the moment I decided to do something for myself, I freed up some energy to allow myself closure.
Like that tiny step forward—God, I hope the date will be exciting—gave me hope. Hope that I can forge a sliver of my own amid a life driven by circumstances.
“Well, duty calls. I’ll come again. I enjoyed our chat.” I snort silently and walk away.
The peace of the cemetery lingers when I walk into the bistro. Sanjay greets me while he steams milk for a cappuccino. I’m relieved to see we have a quiet pre-lunch hour.
It’s going to be a good day.
Putting on the apron, I dive into lunch prep, taking stock of morning deliveries. We offer salads, wraps, and sandwiches here, and one meal of the day. Today it’s a curry, and I cooked that yesterday, so the prep is on the lighter side.
“Boss, do you have a minute?” Sanjay leans against the door frame, monitoring the floor.
I’ve heard this line enough times to recognize the pattern—the question, the pause, the inevitable resignation—and dread coils in my stomach. “Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Soooo…”
Oh shit, he is hesitating. That’s not good news.Sanjay, don’t leave me. I don’t have the mental or physical capacity to cope with everything by myself.
“Sooo?” I prompt him. “Just say it. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I know that money is tight around here at the moment, but I thought maybe I could take on more responsibilities. I’m not asking for a raise right now, butif I prove myself, and it contributes to your bottom line…” He glances at the restaurant. “Shit, sorry.” He dashes to take someone’s order.
I follow him and wave to a couple of our regulars. Sanjay comes back and starts preparing the drinks.
“Have you just offered to work more for the same amount of money?” The skeptical me is looking for the catch.
“Look, Cora, I think there are things we can implement that would bring in more customers and revenue. If you allow me to take on a bigger role, I will prove that to you. Then we can talk about my cut.” He shrugs, smiling, while he glides behind the counter, preparing coffee, tea, and lemonades.
“I don’t have money for investments in improving anything, Sanjay.”
“I get that, but some of it is just a question of investing some time. To modernize the process, the menu presentation, and special offers. I would take care of that. Let me test some of my ideas for a month or so, and if you don’t see the impact… well, I’ll be embarrassed, but you have nothing to lose.”
I blink a few times. I should be excited about his willingness to put in more effort, but I’m still half-skeptical. “Okay. But answer one more question. Why?”
He sighs. “My wife wants a baby. And me, too, but I need to make more money. I went through manyhospitality jobs, and you’re a good boss. I value that more than anything. And one day I would like to open my own place, so you’d really give me free training.”
I know there are minor changes that might lead to better financial performance, but there is a part of me that wants to keep this place the same as my dad left it. Like I’m preserving it for him to return to, which is a silly, unrealistic notion, but I can’t help it.
The mounting bills and the financial mess he left behind have prevented me from doing it as well. And at the end of the day, I don’t have the energy to change anything, so I just plow through, hoping that the same action will produce different results.
“Thank you, Sanjay.” For some outlandish reason, tears prickle behind my eyes, so I go hide in the back, blinking them away.
Accepting help is akin to a root canal to me. Why? I wish I knew. After years of doing everything solo, I’ve developed a co-dependent relationship with my own stubbornness.
I hate that Sanjay noticed the financial struggle and assumed that’s why we’re stagnating. Yes, that’s a big part of it.
But…
Every time I even think about changing something, it feels like I’m betraying my father. Like adjusting themenu or having a happy hour equals admitting he failed. Or worse—I did.
I know that’s ridiculous. I know the bistro is outdated, that it’s barely surviving on nostalgia and caffeine.
But the truth is… stuck feels safer than risking something new. At least stuck is predictable. Familiar. Exhausting, yes, but I know how to survive in it.
