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46
Sometimes, just when you least expect it, everything lines up right again.
I couldn’t hide my smile as I went through the courses that night, trying to concentrate on the squash risotto, the conversation with Julie running through my head. Thankfully, every plate was a success, so there were no patterns in the trash to report to Chef Z.
Still, when Chef Z walked over after the first dinner service was completed, he seemed annoyed.
“What’s with the joy?” he said.
I shrugged. “Everyone either loves everything tonight or they’re very hungry.”
“Well, which is it?”
I shook my head, forgetting for a minute he had no sense of humor. “I was just being silly. Everyone has loved everything this evening.”
“Fine,” he said, not a smile on his face. “No need to get so celebratory. That’s the way it’s supposed to go.”
I still had a stupid grin on my face. Who cared? Let him fire me. Let him show me the door.
He pointed at his own turned-down lips. “This is what I mean when I say stop celebrating.”
“Chef, I’m just happy to be here,” I said.
“Be happy quieter,” he said.
“Cooking from Scratch, huh?” Ethan said. “That’s not bad.”
I’d been way too excited to go home—especially when that home happened to no longer be mine—so I drove over to Ethan’s after work.
We went out to the docks, put our toes into the water. It was one of the perks of living in Montauk. That late-night peace. The moon crawling down over the horizon, everything a gorgeous shade of blue. The sailboats resting in the harbor, the docks quiet and serene.
Ethan reached into his cooler, pulled out another beer, handed it over. “Non-alcoholic,” he said.
I clinked the bottle against his. “Thank you,” I said, taking a long sip.
“So you’re going to do it, right?” he said.
“I think so,” I said. “It would be pretty crazy to turn it down.”
Ethan paused, hearing something in my voice. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling,” I said. “And maybe asking.”
“Why? What does it matter what I think?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a little hard to trust yourself when you’ve made such terrible decisions in the past.”
He took a long sip, considered. “Does it make you happy? To think about doing it?” he said.
“Well, I’m at war with my husband, and my sister hates me. And I’ve been squatting in your girlfriend’s house for the last couple of nights. So you know, happiness is a bit of a lofty goal.”
He laughed. “That’s really the only goal.”
“How do you figure that?”
Ethan moved closer. “The issue with what you did before isn’t that you hurt anyone else. It’s that you were so unhappy. I mean, that’s no way to live, embarrassed by who you are,” he said. “Though I guess we’re all doing that a little.”
I smiled. “I’m not sure why I’m asking you for permission to say yes,” I said.
