I’d never been so fucking grateful to have been wrong.
“Oh.” I couldn’t summon a better response.
Maya reached for me, her eyes shining with concern. I shook my head, reminding her that our parents still didn’t know we were dating.
She pulled back, but her frown lingered until I gave her a reassuring nod.
I was fine. I just needed time to process.
This evening was turning out to be an even bigger mindfuck than I’d anticipated.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Neal demanded, his face etched with disbelief. “I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have—dammit, Michel, I wouldn’t have accused you of betraying me if I’d known.”
“I had to make sure Whitaker wasn’t lying first.” My father’s gaze slid to me again. “I didn’t want to give anyone false hope in case he was. Plus, I was insulted you’d think I’d choose Whitaker over our friendship.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The man can’t even properly pair wine with his steak. He asked for achardonnaywith his filet.”
Neal snorted. “I don’t eat steak, and even I know that’s a travesty.”
“Exactly!”
And just like that, the cold war between them was over.
Maya and I didn’t speak for most of dinner. We let our fathers catch up, their conversation meandering from business matters to bullshit about other Valhalla Club members. But every so often, I’d catch her eye, she’d smile, and that was enough—for now.
After dinner, my father and I parted ways with the Singhs. I asked him to walk with me to Madison Square Park, and we fell silent as the city’s energy pulsed around us.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?” The headlights of a passing cab swept across us, illuminating my father’s frown.
“Why did you almost ruin your friendship with Neal for me?”
He scoffed. “What a ridiculous question. You’re my son. I did what I had to do.”
“You could’ve gone about it in an easier way. If you’d told him the truth, he would’ve kept your secret. I wouldn’t have known.”
“I didn’t want to risk it.” He rolled his shoulders. “What’sdone is done. There’s no use playing the what-if game.”
“I don’t get you.” I stopped to face him, frustration creeping up my neck. “One minute, you’re the father who’s sneering at my dreams of becoming a chef and trying to discourage me every chance you get. The next, you’re sacrificing a lifelong friendship to… what? Make me feel better about the one thing that might’ve convinced menotto be a chef?”
Dealing with my father was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I never knew which version I was getting.
“People are complicated creatures,” he said with another shrug. “They can be many things at the same time.”
“Don’t feed me that cryptic bullshit.” My teeth ground together. I wanted to scream. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to me running a kitchen if you knew—if you suspected—Wellgrew’s death wasn’t my fault. I get that toiling in a restaurant isn’t the same as signing fucking papers in the C-suite, but you built your empire off restaurants. You, of all people, should respect the work that goes into it.”
“Of course I respect it! That’sexactlywhy I don’t want you there!” My father finally exploded. He glared at me, his nostrils flaring as he switched to French. “The food world is cutthroat. So is the corporate world, but you’veprovenyou can handle it. You haven’t proven you can handle the pressure that comes with beinga chef. I remember how devastated you were after Wellgrew’s death. I remember finding out my only son was in a fucking jail cell in Prague. One incident, and you spiraled so hard that I woke up every morning wondering if that was the day I’d get a phone call telling me you weredead.” His jaw locks into a sharp line. “I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason for feeling the way you did, but that’s part of the job. What happens the next time someone gets sick at your restaurant or has an allergic reaction? Those instances are rare, but they happen. I couldn’t see you break again. The kitchen is unpredictable. But the office? It’s safe. I was trying toprotectyou.”
Our breaths sounded too loud in the sudden stillness. A car honked in the distance; a passing subway rumbled beneath a nearby station. It was nighttime, but the lights were bright, so bright it almost hurt my eyes to look at them.
I was reeling again, my mind trying to jam his explanation into a different jigsaw puzzle than the one I’d spent years building.
I hated that he made sense. I hated how perfectly his fears mirrored mine—the fear of accidentally hurting someone and not being tough enough to handle it. I thought I had thick skin, but what if I didn’t? What if I put myself out there and the experience flayed me alive?
The possibility kept me up at night, but it didn’t compare to my fear of being stuck in perpetual limbo. I didn’t want to go through the motions of life, merely existing. I wanted tofeel. Perhaps I’d be the worst chef to hit the kitchen since kitchens were invented, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried.
“Maybe that’s true, but no one has ever made their mark on the world by playing it safe,” I said. “I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t handle Wellgrew’s death well, but that was a lesson I needed to learn. I can’t hide away in an office my entire life because I’m afraid of what’s outside. Even if I fail, I have to try. You have tolet me try.”
I didn’t yell or curse him out. I stated the truth, and hopefully, that was enough.
