‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ her grandmother replied, clearing her throat. ‘This is just what sixty years of smoking sounds like. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘You could quit,’ Charlotte said, knowing it was useless but saying it anyway. ‘The lungs can recover remarkably quickly.’
‘Quit? You’d deny an old lady her one last pleasure in life?’
Charlotte sighed and retrieved some of the other ingredients she needed, her ear still pressed to the phone. She didn’t point out that her grandmother also drank vodka every night before bed and ate sugary desserts as if it were her last day on earth. Smoking was hardly her only pleasure, or her only vice.
‘Grandma, is everything okay?’ Charlotte asked. ‘You’re not calling to tell me?—’
‘Oh, I’m fine, it’s nothing to worry about, but I do have a favour to ask.’
‘A favour?’ Her grandmother never usually asked her for anything. All she ever wanted was to hear her granddaughter’s voice on the other end of the phone, and Charlotte had always been more than happy to oblige.
‘I have a woman coming to drop something to your restaurant today. I was contacted by a lawyer who has something for me, and she wanted to hand-deliver it. Apparently, they’ve been trying to track me down for some time, and I asked them to just give whatever it is to you. I’m sure it’s nothing important.’
Charlotte set down the butter and herbs she’d been carrying. She took her phone from under her ear and held it instead. ‘What kind of something? Has something been left to you from an estate?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, but I thought it would be easier for her to just drop it to you, whatever it is. The woman’s name is Mia, and I told her to come nice and early, before you get busy with lunch service. It all sounded a bit mysterious, but I’m sure it’s nothing very interesting.’
‘She didn’t give you any details about what it is?’
‘She said something about it being left for me when I was a child, and they had your great-grandmother’s name, too. I’m almost certain it’s nothing, but I was curious enough to want to see what it is, without incurring any postage costs to Norway, of course.’ Her grandma coughed again. ‘But if it’s an inconvenience?—’
‘Not at all—anything for you,’ Charlotte said, pausing for a minute before saying, ‘I miss you.’
‘Then come to visit! Who knows how long I have left?’
Charlotte nodded, even though her grandma couldn’t see her. If only it were that easy.
‘Your father would love to see you, too. I know you don’t think so, but he misses you, Lotte. We all do.’
She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears that always seemed to come when they spoke about her father. ‘Soon,’ she said. ‘I promise I’ll come home soon, I’ve just been so busy, and?—’
‘I know, darling. I know,’ her grandmother said. ‘I’m going to let you get back to your morning, but promise you’ll call me when you’re finished for the day. I want to know what this parcel is all about.’
‘I will. I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’
Charlotte kept the phone to her ear for a moment, before finally slipping it back into her pocket. She hated how complicated things had become with her family, but she did what she always did to forget about her father—Charlotte picked up her knife and began to slice. Cooking had always been her escape; her way of clearing her mind and finding her peace with the world. And this morning was no different. She chopped herbs and whisked eggs with an efficiency that tended to intimidate the younger chefs she worked with, her senses coming to life as she pressed garlic and reached for a roasting dish. The kitchen was silent—there were no playlists or other chefs, no clang of plates or hum of patrons outside—and it was just the way Charlotte liked it. She craved the intimacy of being alone in the kitchen as much as she thrived on the busyness of service later in the day.
She prepared her sauce, placing her ingredients in the pot and stirring it as it slowly began to bubble on the stove. But the single tear that slipped down her cheek as she reached for the chopped herbs told her that perhaps she wasn’t quite as good at making her feelings disappear as she’d thought.
One day she’d go home to Norway. One day she’d make peace with her father. But that day wasn’t today, and she wasn’t even sure it was next month or next year, either.
Today, she just wanted to focus on creating brunch for the people who’d become like family to her, the other chefs who’d stood shoulder to shoulder with her this past year and followed her instructions with the dedication and care she’d demanded. Today, she wanted to enjoy her last day of standing in this kitchen.
She could think about her father and going home another time.
2
When one of the waiting staff called out that there was a woman asking to see her, Charlotte had forgotten all about her scheduled visitor. She nodded and finished plating up, taking a moment to appreciate the food spread out in front of her before wiping her hands clean.
The other chefs were due into the kitchen within minutes, and although she’d hoped to eat with them one last time, to gather round in the kitchen for one final meal before the first service of the day began, she knew her grandmother was counting on her.
She turned back at the last minute and took two of the plates, her stomach rumbling after so long cooking and not eating. She’d been up since before five, and so far she was running on coffee and little else.
