“He wakes up like this. Imagine choosing to be like this before sunrise.”
Julien signs the delivery slip.
“We don’t have to imagine.”
Henri leaves with the air of a man personally wronged by competence.
We move the fish into the walk-in, each crate labeled and placed exactly where it belongs. Julien works beside me without needing direction. That is the rhythm I prefer: two people doing the work, no unnecessary talking, no need to narrate common sense as if silence might frighten someone.
By 6:31 AM, the fish is checked, logged, and stored.
By 6:33 AM, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.
Julien glances at it before I take it out.
“Claire?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You know that without looking?”
“No one else begins a campaign before 7:00 AM with this much confidence.”
I pull the phone out. Claire’s name lights the screen. I reject the call. Julien watches my thumb press the red button.
“That was mature.”
“I agree.”
“She will call me next.”
“I know.”
“You could answer.”
“I could also return to medical school and become a dermatologist. Both seem unlikely at this hour,” I say sarcastically.
“You were never in medical school.”
“That’s one of several obstacles,” I reply.
Julien takes the prep list from the clipboard beside the walk-in and scans it. He lets the silence stretch long enough to become deliberate, which means I am about to be bothered.
“Claire is trying to do her job,” he says.
“I know.”
“She is good at her job.”
“I know that as well.”
“She would be better at it if you occasionally let her.”
I close the walk-in door and look at him. “Are you finished?”
“No.”
“A shame.”
