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“Well, just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll set it up. You ready to go back inside?”
“Yeah. Hey, Mags?”
She turns around and quirks her brow.
“Thanks,” I say. “I feel better.”
She nods.
“I’m glad. Now come on. Let’s do our jobs, and we’ll figure out the next step after.”
We get up and go back inside, running straight into Trent. By his fuming expression, I’d say somebody overheard us calling him a dickwaffle.
“Oh,” Maggie says as she practically mows Trent over.
“‘Oh’ is right,” Trent says in a deceptively calm voice. “Having a little chat during the busiest part of the evening?”
“Come on, Trent. We haven’t been busy in a while,” I say. “There are about ten people having dinner right now.”
It’s not wise to goad my boss, but I find that I don’t really care. Trent breathes out through his nose like a bull ready to charge.
“In that case, we don’t need that many employees, I’d say. We should really get rid of some of the dead weight. Since your cooking doesn’t attract customers anymore, we should really start making cuts. A sommelier seems useless as fuck, for example.” He slowly turns his gaze to Maggie, narrowing his eyes at her. Maggie might be the second most hated person in this place for Trent. She’s too outspoken for her own good.
Trent looks happier than I’ve seen him in a while. He turns his attention back to me. There’s an expectant look on his face. Like he thinks he’s going to see me beg for my job. He’s in for a surprise, if that’s the case.
I stand silently, looking at him. A small, angry man, and his Napoleon complex.
I’m so tired of this shit.
“You know what? Maybe we really do need to cut some people,” I say. “I’ll even help you with that. I quit.”
Trent’s eyes widen. Guess he wasn’t banking on this outcome. There’s a moment of panic on my end. Trent has been holding the metaphorical firing axe over my head for months now, but it’s all been some sort of stupid mind game for him. I don’t think he was ever expecting me to leave.
I don’t think I was, either. I suppose I was always hoping he’d fire me and cut the cord for me. That way I could get away from this job without feeling guilty for abandoning this place. It seems something inside me got tired of waiting. Still, I didn’t expect the sudden bout of fear that overtakes everything, creeping up inside me, making my limbs feel heavy and sort of like they’re not attached to my body anymore.
I can’t quit. I’m not ready. I have plans and dreams, but those suddenly feel very half-baked. Not even in-the-tin-and-shaped-like-cake baked. No. My plans are batter.
I’m not ready.
“In the middle of dinner rush,” Trent spits.
I shrug.
“Weren’t you the one who told me you were the head chef now when your uncle had his stroke? I think your exact words were, ‘Any idiot can do it.’”
Somebody snorts, and Trent’s whole body seems to lock.
“Get. Out,” he says slowly. “Get the fuck out, you useless piece of shit.”
“Gladly,” I say as I head toward the door.
“You know what? A sommelier on a sinking ship isn’t my dream job,” Maggie says loudly. “I quit, too.”
I shake my head at Maggie.
“Don’t be—”
“I quit, too,” Henry pipes up. He pulls off his hat and drops it on the floor.
