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A few minutes later, my anxiety morphs into alarm, as a figure barrels through the door.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Rowan puts up his hands, huffing and puffing as he slides to a halt. Today, his sneakers are bright red, matching his cheeks. “Couldn’t find parking.”
The chef purses his lips. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Kind of,” Rowan pants. “Family emergency. It’s just me. I’m taking my sister, Lyndsey’s place. If that’s ok. And my brother-in-law can’t make it.”
I’m running to him before the chef has time to even tut disapprovingly. “What emergency? Is Grace alright? I forgot my phone. Oh God, she must’ve tried calling, and… Is Grace at the hospital? What happened? Is everyone okay?”
“Whoa, whoa, easy there.” Rowan’s hands settle on my shoulders, his eyes softening as he meets my frantic gaze. “It’s just some puke and a low-grade fever. Lyndsey should probably send a strongly worded letter to the FDA, though.”
Breath heaves from my lungs in rasping gasps. “What do you mean?”
“She ate some raw cookie dough. Thought it was the kind you can just eat from the packet. She’ll be fine by tomorrow, and she’ll probably think twice before licking a bowl clean again. Lynds would’ve left the situation with Oscar, but he’d already gone to his reunion thing. He thought it was tomorrow night, but turns out it was tonight.” He’s smiling, and I can’t understand why. My brain isn’t catching up to what he’s saying. I mean, I can hear what he’s saying, but my mind is still playing out every worst-case scenario, and the blare of sirens coming from the street outside isn’t helping.
I watch my palms press against his chest, instinctively reaching for something to steady myself. “She’s… okay?”
“Sure she is.” He squeezes my shoulders. “She’ll be spending most of the night with her head in a bucket, but that’s nothing none of us haven’t done before. Usually, we’re a little older, but hey, she’s always been an old soul.”
I try to relax, try to actuallyhearwhat he’s said, but the kitchen is too warm and there are too many eyes on me, watching my internal meltdown in real time. It’s a weird symptom of lasting grief. When someone is sick, even if it’s just a cold, I catastrophize. Just the other week, my usual delivery guy texted to say he’d be late picking up paintings because he’d been in a fender-bender, and my mind flooded with images of smoke and crumpled metal and missing limbs, blood everywhere. I had to lie down for an hour before I felt normal again although my delivery guy was totally fine.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Rowan whispers, his smile turning serious.
I nod slowly, fighting for air.
“Sorry, chef.” Rowan turns to the man in whites. “Looks like you’re going to be a few short for this cooking course. My girl here isn’t feeling so good, and her stepdaughter is green around the gills, too, so it could be catching. Whatever we owe you, send me an invoice and I’ll make sure you get paid. Hope there’s no inconvenience.” He whips a business card out of his wallet and slides it into the chef’s hand.
The chef glances at the card, raises his eyebrows a little, and offers a polite smile to Rowan. “Of course not. We’ll be in touch, and I hope Miss DuCate feels better soon.”
Miss?The limbo of being married but not married, single but not single, with a new surname that doesn’t fit right and an old one that’s two sizes too small, never fails to make my head spin.
Rowan steers me out, and I let him. My legs are leaden, my breathing brittle, my mouth dry, my thoughts swimming as we pass concerned diners on our way back to the street. But there’s no fresh air to be had once we’re through the restaurant exit and onto the sidewalk. The rain is still pouring, but the humidity is what truly turns the air liquid, making it hard to suck into stressed lungs.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to rasp.
Rowan frowns, like he doesn’t understand the question. “Lyndsey sent me in her place.”
“Yeah, but why areyouhere?” My tone is off. Everything is coming out like an accusation that he doesn’t deserve.
“I was going to hang back and help out at the sick-den, but Lynds told me to come anyway,” he explains hesitantly. “She didn’t want you thinking she had totally bailed, I guess. Is it… not okay that I’m here?”
I lean back on the nearest wall. Jazz spills out of a bar up the street, light and breezy and easy to listen to; no experimental clash of instruments, fighting for a melody. I close my eyes and the lighttap-tapof the rain joins the percussion, adding a soothing layer to the music.
“It’s fine that you’re here,” I say, at last, the jazz a balm to my jittering soul. “I’m sorry. I… got a shock, back there, and I… I’m sorry. I’m not usually such unpleasant company.”
To my surprise, Rowan laughs. “No, I know. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re pretty good company.”
“You must have a very short memory.” I crack an eye open. He’s beside me, sharing the wall. “I think this is the second time I’ve acted like a dick toward you. Unless, you’re a sucker for punishment?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “The other day was my fault. Tonight is probably my fault, too. I shouldn’t have led with ‘family emergency.’ Should’ve just said that my niece was throwing up a pound of raw cookie dough.”
“Maybe. Can’t say it would’ve helped the overreaction.” I laugh drily, determined to take some responsibility.
All week, I’ve wondered if I should get in touch to apologize for running out on him. At the very least, to thank him for the pastry and the return of my purse, and to assure him that he didn’t need to send baked goods to apologize for something he didn’t need to apologize for.
I take my opportunity, albeit a few days late. “Thanks for the pain-au-chocolat, the other day. You have no idea how much I needed it.” I pause. “And I’m sorry, for a second time, for my terrible way of saying goodbye at the café. It was rude, and you were just trying to be nice, and you didn’t deserve to see me sprinting away from you like you had sprouted a second head.”
“Seriously, it’s alright. I just need to revise my notebook of what’s appropriate, these days, and I’m thinking of starting a new one solely for you. First page—don’t spook her. Second page—don’t spook her. Okay, full disclosure, it’s just going to be a whole notebook filled with those three words, in many different contexts.”
