“I agree,” Mebel says shamelessly. She takes another roll and bites into it. My god, but she has surpassed her every expectation.
“This is worthy of a Michelin restaurant,” Gemma says, picking up another roll. “This is so good. Oh man, seriously? They are going to beg you to work at Canard et Vin.”
“Yes, they will,” Mebel agrees happily, “but I won’t go. Because you deserve to go.”
Gemma’s smile withers, and she puts down her half-eaten roll. “No, Mebs. I don’t want to. I’m happy where I am, shooting cooking videos for my channel.”
“I don’t understand,” Mebel says, frustration coloring her voice. “You are such gifted chef. Why you quit the program halfway through? What a waste of money. And no offense, Gemma, but you clearly don’t have money to spare.” Mebel gestures around her at the tiny house.
“Wow,” Gemma says, and now, finally, she looks angry. “No offense? Why is it that people only ever say ‘no offense’ when they know they’re about to say something offensive as hell? That hurts, Mebs. Sometimes, the things you say are really mean.”
“Sorry,” Mebel says in a soft voice. “I don’t mean like that, like not having enough money is shameful or anything. Is not. Let me tell you something. I am wealthy.”
Gemma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we all know that. The wardrobe full of Gucci and Fendi and all that other stuff was kind of a dead giveaway.”
“I never work a day in my life. My parents send me to school, I don’t really work hard, I just work hard enough to get by, and then I marry rich man for rich family and done. My son, he works for his father. I don’t think he knows what is like to work for a living. We are all soft. If one day our money goes away, we won’t be able to pick ourselves up and rebuild from the ground.”
Gemma purses her lips, her eyes softening as Mebel continues to talk.
“But you are different. You are not brought up like that. I admire you. You work so hard, you put yourself through school, and I don’t think is easy to save up enough money to go to culinary school, am I right?” Mebel says, her eyes searching Gemma’s.
Gemma gives a small shrug. “I mean, this house was left to me by my grandmother, so it’s not like I’m starting from absolutely nothing.”
“Yes, and that is very valuable, but what about culinary school? How you pay for it?”
“I worked different jobs and saved up.”
“You see?” Mebel says triumphantly. “You do it yourself.You work hard and you save up. So why you suddenly just throw it away like that? What happen?”
“Nothing happened,” Gemma says, and her voice trembles, threatening to break.
Mebel pushes harder. “Something must have happen. You leave so suddenly, you don’t even tell me, or anyone else, and when you leave, everybody go crazy. Doesn’t make sense, you tell me right now what happen, why—”
“Chef Alain hit on me!” Gemma cries, and it is so loud in the tiny space and so sudden and unexpected that there is total silence for the next few moments.
Then reality crashes back, and Mebel says, “What?”
Gemma bursts into tears. “I’m sorry!” she sobs, covering her face with both hands.
“Aiya, why are you sorry?” Mebel says, moving the container of food off the couch so she can sit next to Gemma. She strokes the young woman’s back. “Why are you sorry? There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, silly girl.”
“Because you’re so in love with him?” Gemma wails. “And isn’t this exactly what happened between you and your husband? He left you for a much younger woman? Someone my age?”
“Well…” Mebel bobs her head sideways. “Got some similarities, yes. But I’m not in love with him. And you are saying that Alain hit on you? Did you have relationship with him?”
“No!” cries Gemma, her head snapping up. “God, of course not. I could never do that to you. And no offense, Mebs, but he is way too old for me.”
“Hmm, you know, someone wise once say: Why do people always say ‘no offense’ before they say something offensive?”
Gemma laughs through her tears. “Sorry.”
“But you are right, he is too old for you. He is too old for me, even.”
Gemma laughs again. “God, I don’t know how you’re able to make me laugh right now. I feel like shit.”
“Why you feel like shit? I don’t think you do anything wrong.”
Sighing, Gemma pushes her hair back from her face. “I did do something wrong. The truth is, I was so eager to prove myself in the school that I was seeking out Chef Alain privately to ask for his advice on the lessons. I have all these recipes, you know—”
