My phone rings, and it’s Arthur. I answer the call. “Where are you?”
“Alex and I just picked up the kids,” he replies, “and we’re parking.”
“Wonderful. But make sure you park down the street because he knows your car.”
“Will do. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I end the call and text Amanda.Where are you guys?
She immediately responds.Jeff just arrived and Dad is feeding Oscar. Then we’re heading for the car. ETA: Fifteen minutes. I’ll text you when we’re two minutes away.
I thumb a reply:Awesome! Make sure you come in the back door so that he doesn’t see the decorations out front. And tell Connor not to let anything slip. He’s terrible at keeping secrets!
I set down my phone and prepare to wrangle everyone into the walk-in cooler.
The cool, crisp air inside the cooler was refreshing at first, but we’ve been hiding in here for almost two minutes, and we’re all starting to shiver.
I’m at the back. Hugging my arms around myself, I rise up on my tiptoes and look for Graham. He’s at the front, just inside the door, and he wraps his arm around Becky and rubs furiously at her upper arms to warm her. They’ve become close friends since I began workingat Oblique, which is fine with me because he’s a good man. Being an incurable romantic and an optimist, I can’t help but anticipate something more happening between them. Eventually.
A drop of condensation lands on top of my head, and I look up. I hear voices and drop my gaze. It’s Nate and the kids in the kitchen.
The air inside the cooler is dense and still, filled with the muted hum of the cooler’s motor working to keep the temperature low. We all remain silent, despite our shivering. Then the latch clicks and the door swings open.
“Surprise!”
Nate jumps back and lays his hand over his heart. He starts laughing. “Thank God!” he says. “The kitchen was empty, and I didn’t know where everyone went. I thought you’d all quit on me!”
“Never!” Graham shouts. He steps out of the cooler and hugs Nate. “Happy birthday.”
Becky hugs him next.
“Happy birthday, Flapjack,” Arthur says, and Alex, Andy, and the twins hug him, followed by the employees.
I stand back and watch it all with profound contentment.
“I didn’t expect this,” Nate says, and then his eyes meet mine. “Babe. Come over here. Let me kiss you.”
Everyone cheers and whistles as he takes me in his arms and kisses me—hard. I laugh when he steps back.
“I’m a lucky man!” he shouts.
I glance to my left and notice Jeff giving Amanda a kiss on the cheek. She looks up at him with affection, and it’s sweet. First love is so important, and thankfully, the bar has been set high for my daughter.
“Wait until you taste the cake,” Graham says to Nate. “Mary Jane did something special. You might want to consider it for the new menu.”
Nate raises an eyebrow at his talented pastry chef, who’s been with us since the beginning. “I’m eager to dig in,” he says.
He holds his hand out to me, and we all saunter to the dining room for the first official reboot of the Palmer Birthday Brunch tradition.
Tonight, the restaurant is crowded as always. The lights are dimmed, and the white marble bar is aglow above warm ambient lighting, topped with gleaming glassware and bottles of premium spirits. It’s past nine o’clock, and every guest on the reservation list has been seated. The pressure is off, so I move discreetly between candlelit tables, checking on plates and drinks and making sure all guests have everything they need and desire.
This is the time I like best. For me, as house manager, it’s the other side of the uphill climb. The reward. The fulfillment of joy, laughter, and good conversation among our guests. I delight in watching each of them marvel at the exquisite culinary presentation on each plate that is set down in front of them. This is a setting for special occasions, and my husband has created a dreamy and intimate background for moments that will live forever in our guests’ memories.
Isn’t that what makes life meaningful? These precious moments of joy and love, to be remembered and appreciated?
I’m grateful that life, though tough and cruel at times, has taught me this.
The front door of the restaurant opens. It’s almost ten o’clock, and the kitchen won’t expect any additional orders, but sometimes patrons come in off the street to make reservations for another night, or they’re simply looking to have a drink at the bar.
