* My daughter (Spanish)
* Thank you (Spanish)
CHAPTER 27
Tara
The lunch rush is finally fading, and we are entering that brief, golden lull between chaos and cleanup.
Lola, Papi’s sous chef, is talking animatedly to a produce supplier on the phone. Papi is at the bar having a heated discussion with the bartender about what is better: mezcal or tequila. My vote goes to mezcal.
In the dining room, the guests are either finishing up lunch or waiting for their checks. Well, except for our table of regulars, three old men in Dodgers caps arguing about baseball while sharing a bucket of beers. They come in when we open at eleven in the morning and leave when we close at ten in the evening.
I’m wiping down a table when the bell above the door jingles. I look up, ready to tell whoever walked in that the kitchen’s closed and we’re only serving drinks.
I smile wide when I see who it is. “Aubert!”
He seems taller, which is absurd since I saw him only a few weeks ago.
He hugs me, lifting me off my feet for a second. “So good to see you, Tara.”
I laugh, breathless. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” he says simply.
I lead him toward the bar where my father is. “Papi, this is Aubert.”
My father wipes his hands on a towel and reaches over the counter to shake Aubert’s hand. “So, you are also here all the way from Paris?”
Aubert nods politely. “Yes, sir.”
“Call me Juan.”
“Nice to meet you, Juan, sir,” Aubert repeats with a grin.
“Get the boy a drink,mija.” My father chuckles as he walks back to the kitchen.
“Only non-alcoholic for you, Aubert.” I pull a glass from the shelf. “Drinking age is twenty-one here in the States.”
Aubert sighs dramatically. “And that would be the only drawback of studying in America. I took a tour of USC this morning and wow! I really want to go there.”
“So, you’re officially done with yourbac, huh?” I slide a tall glass of lemonade toward him, condensation already beading down the sides, then lean my elbows on the bar counter in front of him.
“Yeah. I’m interviewing for an internship at theL.A. Times.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but I can see he’s practically bouncing at the idea of working at an American newsroom. “It’s at the sports desk! Not exactly world-changing journalism, but if I get it, I get a press badge and free coffee.”
“You just want access to the Lakers locker room,” I tease.
“Oui!” Aubert admits. “And maybe meet LeBron.”
I laugh, and it’s easy, like it always is with Aubert, as it used to be with Gustave.
Then his expression softens. “Tara, Papa told me what happened with the Louvre and your job in Philadelphia. I’m so sorry. How are you doing?”
I half-shrug. “Fine.”
He tilts his head knowingly. “I’m so sorry. Maman can be…vicious.”
Giselle had made it sound like Gustave was the one who’d fired me, but it was Simone.Still, Gustave could’ve stopped it. In fact, heshould’vestopped it.
