“I’ve been cooking just as long as you have—”
“I’m not going to warn you again, Radhya.”
“Fucking off to Europe for a couple months doesn’t make you Jacques Pépin.” She pauses, like she hasn’t quite decided whether to put a button on it. “It doesn’t make you different than any other man in this city who got a job because of his dad.”
A specific kind of rage boils up under Josh’s skin. His knuckles turn white around the kitchen towel he’s still clutching.
The rest of the kitchen staff breaks into an assortment of under-the-breath curses in English and Spanish and general tittering. They’ve all fully paused their tasks, devoting their full attention to the spectacle of an impromptu face-off.
Josh recognizes how precarious this is. There’s probably a significant portion of the staff who believes Radhya should rightfully be in charge. Any sign of backing down and allowing dissent to flourish would be disastrous—a total loss of confidence.
And he has one trump card left. Or maybe it’s the nuclear option.
Either way, the words fly out before he has a chance to think twice. “You’re fired.”
ARI DOESN’T NOTICEwhen the servers begin resetting the dining room. She’s distracted by Jace and his accent. He’s saying thingsthat would be unremarkable in standard middle-American English, but sound like Neruda poems with the lilt of his accent combined with the whiskey sours he’s been pouring her.
It’s the muffled yelling from the kitchen that catches her slightly inebriated attention, followed by Radhya’s heavy footsteps marching through the dining room, her backpack slung over her shoulder.
“We’re leaving,” Radhya announces, veering toward the bar. “Actually, tequila. Now.”
Jace hurriedly grabs for a liquor bottle and a shot glass.
“W-wait.” Ari gathers her bag and jacket, sliding off the stool, only stumbling half a step. “What’s wrong?”
“He’swrong.” Radhya slams down the shot and turns to face her, eyes watery. Even during the worst of the divorce aftermath, Ari can’t remember seeing Rad cry. “I cooked that duck exactly the way he told me to. I was right, he was wrong, and he fired me.”
“Who fired you?” Ari pushes Radhya’s empty shot glass back toward Jace for a refill. Radhya is constantly outnumbered by aggressive mansplainers in her job so it’s hard for Ari to keep track of every single one she complains about.
When Josh bursts into the dining room a second later, his face red, the pieces start to snap together.
“Youfired her?” Ari asks.
“I can’t work with someone who doesn’t respect my authority in the kitchen.”
“Your authority?” Radhya backs away toward the front exit. “You have an enormous fucking chip on your shoulder.” She turns to Ari and Jace. “He only got this job because the owner’s a regular at his dad’s deli.” She pushes through the door.
“That’s a lie!” Josh says, even though Radhya’s already outside.
Ari slowly turns back to him.
“What is wrong with you?” she asks.
“Me?” He takes a step toward her, gesturing at the door. “I’m not the person who just made a scene.”
“Do you have any idea how hard she’s worked to get here? How many born-on-third-base assholes like you she’s had to deal with?” He opens his mouth, but Ari continues. “You can’t fire someone overonedish.”
“One dish served to a food writer can close a restaurant. There’s no room here for someone who can’t follow the most basic fucking technique. She’s been sloppy and unfocused for weeks. I didn’t spend seven months in Provence masteringsauces mèresto look over Radhya’s shoulder while she fucks up a simple duck recipe.”
“You’d also be a little distracted if you were going through a divorce.”
He appears momentarily caught off guard…possibly even slightly shamed? It doesn’t last. “There are hundreds of Radhyas in this city who could churn out competent food.” Josh wipes his hand on a towel. He stares down at Ari, that know-it-all look in his eye. “I’m not going to argue with someone whose great culinary achievement is microwaving a corn dog.”
There’s a moment where nothing happens. She doesn’t blink or flinch or even breathe. Ari recognizes the look on his face. He thinks he’s won.
So it’s not a surprise that he doesn’t see what’s coming next, when in one swift motion, she grabs the remains of her whiskeysour from the bar and splashes it on his chefs whites and the lower half of his face.
Josh wipes his chin with his rolled-up sleeve.
