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“Come on, man, admit they’ve been doing a great job.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror behind the shelves of bottles. If I was a better man, I’d admit Gina and Mila added some much-needed attention from social media, and that they have some decent ideas about changes we should make. But…
“Particularly their suggestion that I can’t keep staff and thus we lack in service.”
A vacuum cleaner hums in the corner, but otherwise we enjoy a moment of stillness before I need to attack work with all my buzzing energy. Energy that has been consuming me over the past couple of weeks. Ever since that woman waltzed in and robbed me of my peace and reason.
I’ve been avoiding her like the plague, but just knowing she is around has been enough to make me feel all sorts of things. My initial anger—and I’m no longer sure if it’s aimed at her or me—has great company. It fights for my sanity with regret, longing, fucking desire—the most annoying one—and lately melancholy. It all comes full circle to piss me off.
I draw a mindless pattern on the counter with unhealthy dedication, as if the prints I’m leaving on the polished surface are fascinating. It helps me focus. It helps me keep my temper at bay. Oh fuck, who am I kidding? It only aids me in avoiding the inevitable. Admitting my mistakes.
“Don’t be so sensitive.” Phillip punches me playfully in my arm. “Their assessment has its merits.”
“Lena hasn’t complained about my leadership skills, has she?”
“Somehow, Lena is the only person who can handle you. Probably because she’s exhausted from the early morning visits to the market and she knows her gig here is temporary. As soon as she’s ready I’m forcing her to take time off before she starts her own catering business.”
I nod, because there isn’t much I can say. Perhaps I’ve been more lenient with Lena because she’s Phillip’s fiancée, and maybe, just maybe, that led to her being better than anyone else. But then the woman seems to be resistant to stress.
“You work well with Lena and it shows in other areas. What about the rest of it? If you had a team of people equally dedicated to the success of this place as you are, we’d be one of the best restaurants in the world. And I’m not even exaggerating too much. People fear you. I take your temper at face value, but people don’t want to be treated like a nuisance. Do you think you can try?”
I groan. Yes, I’ve been an asshole. But as my therapist pointed out, my anger is a safety net. One that I spread to cope with the other emotions. He believes I find the other emotions too weak and emasculating, so I resort to anger. But what does that prick know?
“I’ll try if you think it would help.” I’m mostly trying to get out of this conversation.
“Good. We can start easy. Perhaps try to thank people at the end of the day? Or point out when they do a good job instead of only when they fuck up? Give them the benefit of the doubt before you destroy them with yourwell-meantcritique?”
“You don’t have to fucking coach me. I’ll make an effort.” I shake my head because I find the whole idea of telling people they’re good at their job preposterous. It’s expected they’re good at something they’re getting paid for. Shouldn’t they strive to excel at something when they spend twelve hours a day doing it?
“Good, glad to hear it. Perhaps start with Gina. You’ve been a mega asshole to her for no reason.”
I slide down from the stool and start toward the kitchen without saying another word. God help me and get me the Michelin star so the woman stops coming here.
“Or is there a reason?” Phillip calls after me, and I—in a mature manner—flip him off before I kick the door open.
The kitchen welcomes me with the scent of thyme, boiling broth, fresh mangoes and something burning. So I pretend that the charred pan in the sink sets me off.
“It’s not even ten o’clock and things are wasted already? We’ll all smell like campers. It stinks in here. Why is the sink full of dishes? The mangoes should be shredded already.” I address my frustration at Lena, who stands on the other side of the prep counter and is the only person brave enough to hold my gaze. The rest of my team scatters and gets busy.
“Where is the fish? Nothing gets done when I step out.” I roll out my knife pouch then pull a cutting board from the shelf under the counter and drop it on the shiny surface with such a bang that Lena flinches. Fuck. So much for making an effort.
Even with the extra time at the gym lately, I can’t control my mood. The longer Gina remains in my orbit, the more I have to fight. Fight with the rest of the world to compensate for losing the battle with my desires. I desired that woman once and it destroyed me. It destroyed all the hope, goodness and happiness I had in my life.
“My late husband was excellent at hiding his true feelings, his genuine needs.” Lena’s voice is soft as she runs her knife expertly around the middle of the mango, halving it.
I pause, my hand in midair as I reach for another piece of fruit. Not only is this the first time since I met her three months ago that she’s spoken of anything personal, but also that she’s mentioned anything other than work. And by the sound of it, she has an uncanny ability to hit the nail on its head. All I need right now is another woman who thinks she knows me.
“It didn’t make him happy, but he still believed that by blaming me for his self-inflicted suffering it would get better. I endured his abuse for many selfish reasons, but he directed it at me because he was unhappy, and instead of fixing his problems he was sinking deeper into them.”
I squeeze the fruit too tightly and the mango juice bleeds on to my board. I plunge my knife into the soft pulp. “These are too ripe,” I growl and throw the smashed fruit into a large bin behind me.
“I think just that one was soft. I handpicked them all. Sorry, I shouldn’t have shared that experience.” She wipes her forehead with her forearm and hands me another mango. This one has an ideal softness, just like the previous one.
“Did your husband acknowledge his behavior and change?” I treat the fruit with more finesse this time.
“Unfortunately, no. He’d accepted his errors shortly before his death. He didn’t get a chance to fully live his own truth.”
“You think I’m hiding something?”
