Page 2 of Riding the Curve

“I can’t right n-now.” My voice cracks.

“We understand, honey. Listen, I’ll let Ryleigh know after we hang up. He’ll want to be the one to come pick you up.”

“Oh, no mom, I’ll just take a⁠—”

“Hush! He’s coming, it’s already settled in my mind. And once it’s set in my mind, there’s no changing it. Now, tell me what time your flight gets in?”

“10 am . . . I’m so s-sorry,” I stutter.

“No need to be sorry, this is what families are for.” My father’s calming voice sweeps through the line. “You stay safe, sweetheart, we’ll see you soon. We love you.”

“Love you both, so much. See you soon.”

Ending the call before I lose it completely, I notice the screen flashes bright once more. The lock screen photo causes my stomach to churn. The couple that stares back at me now seems like a distant memory. We’re smiling, but the light that used to sparkle in his eyes was vacant. How could I have not noticed then?

My head drops against my knees as the chaos of yesterday comes flashing back.

The last thing I had needed yesterday morning was a horrendous fight with my boyfriend.

“Henley, can’t you just call in sick for one night?” Carson had whined. “This is a very important dinner for me. The board members will be there and so will my boss. It’ll look bad if you’re not there.”

“As I told you when we started this discussion, if you would have told me earlier, I probably could have requested the evening off like I’ve done before. Sadie does not respond well to last-minute changes. I’m so close to reaching my promotion. You know that if I called in tonight it would jeopardize that.”

“I need you there. Make the call,” Carson grumbled.

“Did you hear anything that I just said?” I sighed, already exhausted by the conversation. While he continued to ramble on about why his event was more important than my job, I looked down at my watch. If I didn’t leave soon, I was going to be late. I was never late.

“I’m tired of always coming in second to your job, Hen.”

Rage thrummed through me. Every fight we had, always came back to the same moment. He knew my hours as a chef were long when we started dating, and he was fine with it. But now that I couldn’t attend every single one of his events, it was suddenly a problem. “I make every attempt I can to come to every single one of your events, Carson. In fact, that is mostly what we do whenever I have a free moment. I know how important making partner in your law firm is.”

“It’s not enough, Hen. All the other significant others attend every single dinner and party.”

We often attended several formal dinners and social events, where he loved to parade me around on his arm like a doll on display. Outfits, hair, even my make-up went through extensive scrutiny to ensure I looked the part of a partner’s future wife. In the beginning of our relationship, this act felt almost thoughtful. Like he wanted to help make me feel beautiful. But I should have realized that he was carefully molding me to fit into his perfect life, slowly stripping away my identity.

“I’m sorry that I have to work. That is just something I can’t change, Carson.”

“Well, maybe you should change it. I’ve told you time and time again that you don’t need to work. I make more than enough for you to stay home. You can cook for me all you want. You can be my personal little chef, Henny.”

The first time he had spoken those words, I thought it was a joke. I held on to the hope that it was just spoken out of anger and his yearning to spend more time together. After the twentieth time we’d circled around it, I realized he didn’t want to build our dreams together. He wanted me to give up mine entirely to help him accomplish his own.

“Shit!” I looked down at my watch again. I was going to miss my train. “Carson, we can talk about this later, but I’ve got to go now. I’m going to be so late!”

It didn’t matter how hard I ran; I still missed the train. I had to wait to catch the next available one. Already behind by the time I made it to the stop, I ran all the way to the restaurant.

I was never late. Every perfectionist bone in my body despised the notion of it. Since this would be my first time, I hoped that would count for something.

My boss had been considerably harder on me this month. Executive chef Sadie Sinclair was not a “warm and fuzzy” human, but over the four years that I had worked under her, I’d managed to make her smile a handful of times. Even impress her enough to become her sous chef for the past two years and to be offered a chance at a promotion to become the new executive chef of the restaurant when she opened her new venture in a few months.

However, seeing her almost magenta face curl in disgust as I approached confirmed that it wasn’t going to be one of those pleasant days.

“I can’t believe you are thirty minutes late!” Sadie growled, tossing the hand towel she was using in my face. The chatter in the busy kitchen suddenly became silent. All eyes shifted toward us.

“I know, I apologize. You know I’m never late, Sadie, this is the first⁠—”

She stormed over to me and pointed her bright red painted fingertip into my shoulder. “There should never be a first time. You should never be late. You’re my sous chef. If anything, you should always be here before me!”

“Yes, chef. I understand, but if you’ll just⁠—”