“I didn’t take you for a villainous type,” I jest.
“Maybe I should be. The dark-haired villain always gets the girl in the end. Do you think you could make time for some villainy in your schedule?”
I furrow my brow, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. There’s a certain broody barista that has me all booked up.”
Dominic shakes his head at me in amusement. “I love you, Hoot.”
“I love you too, Dom.”
We stroll out of Biblio & Brew. Together.
Decaf
Seven Months Later
Dominic
I kneadout the dough with so much vigour that Bianca, the pastry chef, claps in my face yelling something in Italian that I’m sure roughly translates into “you’re over kneading the dough, you fucking idiot”. I pull back and apologize, wrapping the dough and putting it aside to rest. Chef Angelo comes around, sees that my hands are free, and directs me to some dishes that need to be sanitized. He barely speaks, but he’s an incredible chef. Somehow Delaney held true to her word, pulling some strings at Copertina and got me an interview. Who was I to turn down an opportunity like that? If Lane, Ellora, June, or Celeste have taught me anything, it’s that I need to believe in myself, take risks, and put myself out there to make things happen. I’m incredibly thankful for these strong women in my life.
I get to work on the dishes in a flurry, excited to finish my day and get to Celeste’s house for her birthday. Normally I’d take my time and revel at being in this kitchen, learning under the different chefs, and getting to know the ins and outs, but today—today is about Celeste.
After she had sent off her medical school applications months ago, she asked me if I wanted to send out my applications for culinary school. Honestly, I had no idea if I was ready for that. I still don’t. For me, I don’t have an end goal like Celeste does. I don’t have a dream restaurant that I’ve always wanted to work in, or a specific chef to work under. I just want to make great tasting dishes. I wasn’t ready to uproot my life again, start in a school that I wasn’t positive I wanted to be at—if I could even get enrolled—and pay thousands of dollars to be there. It just wasn’t the right timing for me.
“Tomorrow, I want you working under Chef Francesca, she’s our swing chef and saves our asses more times than I’d like. I want you to learn from her so that I have more back up around here. Got it?” Chef Angelo’s voice is stern but his interest in me is evident. He’d given me a chance, at Delaney’s request, and tasted one of my dishes. I won’t forget the way he scrutinized me with his eyes. I’d never felt so nervous before, having a professional chef taste my food. He took a second bite, rolling the flavours around in his mouth before looking at me. I knew it then, from that glint in his eye and the smallest of twitches at one corner of his mouth, I was in. And I would notsquander it. Mind you, he did tell me that my dish lacked a little seasoning and my chicken was a bit dry but hey, that’s why I wanted to work under him. He knew his shit.
“Yes, Chef,” I say to Chef Angelo, nodding.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nikkie.” He strides off toward the front of house. I bristle at the nickname Delaney has given me that seems to have spread everywhere I go. Whatever. Theycould keep calling me “sei un rompicoglioni” like they did in the beginning. I still don’t know what it means, probably something to do with pasta. Whatever it is, Delaney did me a solid and I finally feel like I have direction in my passion.
As I make way up the little walkway to Celeste’s house, June opens the door, beckoning me in with a warm smile.
“I’m sorry I’m running a little late, I had to finish up at the restaurant,” I say by way of greeting.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Dom. Come in, come in. We’re about to start!” June’s face is bright and full of life. I’m about to ask about the cake I had made, with a huge help from Chef Bianca, when June cuts me off with a finger to her lips and a wink as she points to the fridge where she’s kept it hidden for me. Celeste doesn’t know I’ve been trying my hand at cakes and desserts, so I wanted to surprise her with this on her birthday. I turn to see her crouched in front of Delaney. Lane seems to be fastening a birthday hat on top of Celeste’s head that reads “Birthday Bitch.”I suppress my laughter and wave to Ellora who’s come out of the small washroom and taken a seat on the arm of the chair Delaney’s sitting in.
“Yes, you have to wear it, Pinky. It’s a birthday rule,” Lane chides Celeste. Celeste turns away from her and our eyes lock. My heart flips over backwards at the sight of her. Absolutely stunning. Clad in a flowy summer dress of bright yellow, she looks like sunshine incarnate. I immediately pull her into my chest, leaning down, placing a swift but soft kiss on her lips. She smiles at me then pulls away, turning to pick up the stack of three thick envelopes. Today, on her birthday no less, Celeste will find out if she’s made it into medical school. I know there’s one in particular she’s had her heart set on for a while. I’m not worried about it. She is brilliant and they’d be fools not to offer a chance to see her shine. I hustle to plug in my dead phone in the kitchen, swapping it for Celeste’s so that I can recordthis monumental moment, not just for Celeste but also for me. I inhale and realize how fulfilled I feel, like I have everything I need right here.
“I’m pregnant!”
Celeste
“I’m pregnant!” Delaney yells.
“Delaney, that’s not even funny. First of all, that’s impossible. Second of all, stop stealing my thunder. I willthrow cake at you if you do another fake reveal just to be dramatic. Now shut up and watch me open these envelopes.”
Delaney rolls her eyes but mimes zipping her lips and settles back into the big white chair in my living room. Ellora is perched beside her on the arm of the chair, Mom sitting across from them in the other chair with a steaming cup of tea even though it’s a perfect twenty-seven degrees Celsius May day. I’m standing in the middle of their huddle, a party hat atop my tousled blonde hair that has “Birthday Bitch”scrawled on it, as per Delaney’s request.
I look at Mom with nervous anticipation. She leans forwards and rests her hands atop mine, the stack of my future heldtightly in my fingertips. “Even if they’re all rejection letters, we won’t give up today,” she whispers, just for my ears. Her words, that got us through so much in the past, embolden me. I roll my shoulders back and readjust my party hat.
“Wait!”
Dominic comes running from the kitchen, swiping open the camera app to record this event. I smile patiently as he settles in behind Mom, pointing the lens towards me.
“Okay, everyone ready?” I glance around at their faces, all of whom are anxiously waiting for me to rip open my medical school admissions letters to see if I got in or not.
I hope to fuck I did otherwise this will be humiliating. On my birthday no less. And on camera. Please, our lordess and saviour, Chappell Roan, let me get into at leastonemedical school.
I feel the weight of the envelope in my hands and on my heart. All the countless nights studying, the practice tests, the application process, and then the following interviews in March with each medical program…all of it trickles down to this very moment. Damn, even that stupid essay question led me through some wild dates,The List,heartache,and to a wonderful man I now call my boyfriend. But the answer was always there, and it was simple. Life will always be a balancing act, but it doesn’t mean I have to do it alone. I have a village of supporters who’ve helped me through so much and whom I know will continue to be there for me in every capacity, and for that I am remarkably lucky and thankful. Because, to me, that is the basis of becoming a doctor; helping people along their journey. And a journey, in whatever direction, is rarely done alone.
