The rest of the night hit hard.
Nella didn’t slow down. Uncle Sal’s threat put color in her cheeks and steel in her voice. She moved faster, sharper, more focused.
At eight, a table near the patio rail tried to wave her over while she was pouring two drinks.
“We’re emotionally fragile,” one woman called. “Do we need the meatball sliders?”
Nella slid the drinks to Shay and indicated the table with the shaker. “Everyone needs meatball sliders. Some people are just brave enough to admit it.”
The woman laughed. “That sounds like a yes.”
“That sounds like two orders and excellent self-knowledge.” Nella called to the pass. “Mari, table twelve has chosen emotional support.”
Mari pushed a tray forward. “Tell table twelve to support the plate when it gets there.”
By eight fifteen, another tray of tomato pie squares left the kitchen.
I carried trays when Mari ran out of patience for physics. I moved a crate of tequila before Shay had to ask. I guided two lost tourists to the takeout window and waited near the patio rail until a drunk man looked at his own table, looked at me, and returned to his chair without needing advice. When Tarynneeded space at the host stand, I stood near the entrance until the crowd remembered lines meant something.
Every time I reached for the old way to do things, Nella’s voice cut across the room and gave me a better job.
At nine thirty, Nella shoved a paper boat into my hand as she passed. “Eat.”
I checked the paper boat. One meatball slider sat in sauce, cheese, and a roll that had no structural chance.
“I’m working.”
“You’re large. You require maintenance.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It’s not. If you faint, you’ll block the walkway.”
I took a bite.
Sauce hit first, rich and hot, then beef, cheese, bread, basil, and enough garlic to make Uncle Sal classify it as an aggressive act.
Nella watched my face while she reached for a shaker.
“Well?” she asked.
“It’s good.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve discussed useless compliments.”
“It’s messy, hot, and dangerous to white linen.”
“That’s the sales pitch.”
“The roll needs to be stronger.”
“I know.” She angled the shaker at me. “I ordered different rolls. They’re late because the bread guy believes delivery windows are gentle suggestions.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t going to threaten him.”
