For some reason, that harmless question hit me hard and I could feel my eyes begin to water. I knew he was just curious about what I was up to and making conversation, but I was here because of my mom’s death, not because ofcollege.
I wasn’t going tocollege.
This was my first real attempt at being social since the funeral. I didn’t know how to respond and I wasn’t prepared to talk about my mom and her death at the very first table I waited on. It was alltoomuch.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled as I rushed back to the bathroom, bumping into someone on the way. I didn’t care. Just like I didn’t care when I heard Gwen loudly whisper to Mitch as I walked away, “What did youdotoher?”
I just focused on getting to the bathroom as quickly as I could before I made a bigger scene than I already had. I missed my mom so much and had no clue what I was doing with my life. Everyone back home was going off to school; everyone here was going off to school. Here I was, living with the dad I barely knew in a state that was frustratingly familiar and unfamiliar at thesametime.
I should be doing something with my life, and yet I struggled with getting through the day most of the time. Maybe my dad was right, maybe this was the push I needed. Unfortunately, I still felt lost in somanyways.
No one came in the bathroom as I cried, a small mercy for sure. So, I allowed myself to really cry. The tears fell and I let out a few frustrated sounds as I stood hiding in the bathroom stall. I even smacked my hand against the door a coupletimes.
The bathroom was like the rest of the restaurant. Charming and old fashioned, but in need of some serious TLC. The grout between the small tiles on the floor was black. There was a little graffiti on the door. But for all the disrepair, it was mostly clean. At least I didn’t need to worry about picking something up while I bawled my eyes out like anidiot.
After letting it all out, I took a minute to wipe my eyes and blow my nose before looking at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were still puffy from crying. I hated that about myself. It didn’t matter if I cried for a minute or an hour, it would be obvious to anyone looking at me that I was upset. My skin would take on a reddish tint and skin around my eyes would swell. There was nothing I could do about it and it always took forever to get back to normal. So I swallowed my pride and gathered the courage to gobackout.
“You okay?” Gwen asked as soon as I exited the bathroom. She had been waiting just outside the door. So much for beingsubtle.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a long summer and I’m still getting adjusted. Thanks,though.”
“No problem.” She replied before dropping her voice a little lower. “Trust me, I know all about hard adjustments. Maybe we can get coffee sometime and talkaboutit.”
“Yeah, that would be great.” I said automatically. The way you’d respond to someone you haven’t seen in a long time after they suggest getting together. You wouldn’t necessarilymeanit.
Coffee would be great. I just wasn’t sure about opening up. I didn’t want to scare off my only potential friend with my excessivebaggage.
“Awesome. Well, in the meantime, do you think you’re ready to learnsomemore?”
“Sure.” I responded quickly and knew my voice lacked conviction. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to work anymore that day after my outburst, but I had only been working for an hour. I wasn’t going to give up soeasily.
“Okay, great. Then, I guess it’s time for us to go explore the kitchen.” She leaned over and stage whispered in my direction. “It’s called the back of thehouse.”
“Who comes up with this? Why not just call it thekitchen?”
She shrugged. “Who knows. But these guys are your best friends and you want to keep themhappy.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. They are responsible for getting your food out fast. Or, horror of horrors, let’s say you forget to get an order in right away. Happy cooks are more likely to get food out on the fly, which means fast. And,thatmakes your tables happy. And,” she put her hands out dramatically, “happy tables mean better tips.” She finished her little rant with a smile. “Come on, let’s gomeetthem.”
She led the way to the kitchen. I followed her through a door that opened in both directions and stopped short at what I saw. I knew the cook. I would have recognized him anywhere, even without the warning frommydad.
JulianAlvarado.
He was the same, but not. His changes weren’t dramatic likeMitch’s.
Julian had always been long and lanky growing up, all knees and elbows, so his lean frame wasn’t surprising. I could see glimpses of the boy I knew in the man who stood in front of me. Even though I could only see pieces of it sticking out from beneath his baseball cap, I could tell his hair was the same shade of dark brown as the boy Iremembered.
But it was his eyes, those eyes that were currently staring back at me, that were the biggest contradiction. They were the same as I remembered when it came to their color, the lightest shade of brown that almost looked fake in contrast against hisdarkskin.
But they were…different. I struggled to name what hadchanged.
I could hear Gwen’s voice as she introduced us. I gave Julian a tentative smile, even as his mouth remained straight and unmoving. He didn’t acknowledge knowing me, which was surprising because I was pretty sure he recognized me too. For some reason, I followed his lead, and also pretended this was our firstintroduction.
“You’ll probably see Julian a lot,” Gwen continued, oblivious to the uneasiness between us. “He’s one of two full time cooks here. We have a couple of part-timers. But with school starting, it’ll be more of us and lesssummerhelp.”
“Good to know,” I said, dragging my eyes away from Julian, unsure of what had just happened between us. After Mitch’s cheerful response to seeing me, I was disappointed my reunion with Julian went the way it did, confused by his and my ownreactions.
