AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She nods a greeting and pushes around me. I watch her disappear behind the corner into the alley that leads to the main street.
I check my watch. It’s way too early for her to leave. And she was crying. I’ve completely forgotten why I stepped into the kitchen in the first place. Now I understand the shouting.
The bastard must have fired her. And then he decorated the fucking plates as if nothing happened.
* * *
I slept poorly again. It seems a theme of my stay on the East Coast. The few weekends in LA I squeezed in are not helping. I’m suspended in a perpetual jetlag and other feelings I don’t want to address. At least, last night I spoke with Sebastien for almost half an hour. I miss him so much.
I shuffle downstairs and find my mom sitting on the sofa in the family room. She’s wearing her robe. I don’t think she’s changed at all in the last few weeks. Perhaps since the funeral. Shit. I should spend more time with her, but we’ve never forged a bond.
I was a teenager when I left home, resenting everyone. More my father than her, but she missed out on all the milestones in my life and I don’t really know her. Not as an adult woman who would want to share her life with her mom.
Seeing her like this, lost in her own world, adds to all the regrets I’ve been collecting through my life. And if I’m good at something, it’s making stupid decisions—most of the time driven by circumstances, but still very poor choices—and then regretting them.
“Good morning, Mom.” I lean in, my hands on the backrest of the sofa and I kiss the top of her head.
She reaches out to grab my hand and squeezes it. I think this is the first physical show of affection she’s awarded me since I arrived and I don’t know what to do with it. I circle the couch and sit down next to her.
She pats my thigh and leaves her hand there. It’s warm, small and wrinkled. I don’t know if her hands were always this small. I turn my head and study her profile. She still seems frozen in the moment. The lines on her face are more profound, as if the grief has wrinkled her up.
I wish I loved my father as much as she did. I wish I could forgive the way he treated me back then, but I know it won’t change much. It wouldn’t ease her suffering if we both grieved him the same way.
I want to tell her about Sebastien, share with her my joy and happiness, but some topics are hard to broach after so much time apart.
“I have to go to work, but let’s spend Saturday together,” I say instead, though I can’t imagine what we’ll do. “If you want to stay in your robe, we can have a pajama day together.”
We used to have those when I was younger. She turns her head and her lips curl up slightly, softening her features. Her eyes flicker with recognition and I’m not sure if she’s found the same memory as me or if she’s just realized I was sitting next to her.
“I love you, Mom.” I push the words out with more struggle than a daughter should. It’s not like I’ve been saying them on a regular basis, but the difficulty comes from the realization of how much I really do love her. Regret sinks its teeth into my heart immediately, reminding me of all the lost time. Time we didn’t share.
I lean over to kiss her cheek and squeeze her hand. “The nurse is coming shortly. Don’t forget that Saturday is a pajama day.” I grab my things and leave.
I get off the subway two stops early because I want to walk. Clear my mind, or maybe just delay my arrival. I should address Massi’s behavior last night and I don’t want to. While I don’t approve of his leadership style, I need to accept that he’s free to hire and fire anyone he wants.
I may wish he’d treat people with more respect, but who am I to judge? Part of my job in smoothing out the restaurant’s image is to ensure that, under no circumstances, these episodes reach the dining room like last night. Massi won’t listen to me though, so I need to talk to Phillip and Mila. That’s probably for the best.
I can’t face him again. Not after the moment we had last night. Was it even a moment? It got stomped all over when I saw the saucier. Good. I don’t need to develop sympathy for him. Or any other feelings.
I walk the few blocks, thinking, but also admiring the streets. A lot has changed since I was a student, but a lot has remained the same. I haven’t had a chance to appreciate how much I used to thrive off the energy of Manhattan. I didn’t even realize I was missing it. But now, being here, a part of its pulsing energy, flurry of activity and the vibrant scene of art, culture and life, it’s hitting me hard that I love the city.
Something I don’t want to examine guides me to the back entrance. I turn into the alley, wondering if I’m detouring from my usual entrance to glimpse Massi or if I just feel more like a team member so I use the employee door. I tell the little devil on my shoulder it’s the latter, but we don’t get a chance to argue the point.
As I turn the corner I see the saucier, Massi and Lena by the door. The cook is sobbing and Massi is giving her two large bags and patting her on her shoulders. I stay rooted to my spot on the sidewalk, trying to comprehend what’s happening.
“Thank you,” the saucier says.
“See you soon,” Massi replies and disappears inside.
The woman walks past me and smiles through her tears, balancing the two bags. We say hi and I watch her again walk down the alley.
“Good morning, Gina.” Lena is propped against the wall, smiling at me.
“Good morning.” I move closer to her, still stealing glances at the empty space behind me. “I thought he fired her last night.”
She narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “Why would he fire her? She’s fantastic at her job.”
“But she left crying and all the patrons heard him yell ‘get out.’” I keep stupidly looking back as if the saucier might reappear to collaborate the story.
