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“I’m going to help,” I say as she brushes past me. “I’ll put my bag in the back, and help.”
Gratitude swims in her expression. “Are you sure, my Gina? You don’t need to be somewhere taking pictures?”
Marti has never fully understood what I do for a living. I can’t blame her since sometimes it’s hard to wrap my head around it.
I fell into the role of being an influencer shortly after I graduated from NYU.
I amassed a huge following online because of a video I was in that went viral. It wasn’t anything salacious. I was leaving a New York Yankees game with my brother when a player approached me.
He wanted a date. I wanted a quicker way out of the stadium because there were flashing cameras surrounding me.
By the time I woke up the next morning, someone had tagged me in a video taken by a fan of the team. That resulted in a flurry of new followers, so I decided to run with the opportunity.
I started posting content about my clothing choices, makeup routine, and life as a single woman in Manhattan.
The first time I received an offer to advertise an eyeliner brand I was already using, I was shocked. It only ballooned from there.
The degree I had worked so hard to earn in behavioral science was pushed aside to pursue a career as an influencer.
“I need to be here.” I grab her hand and squeeze it. “You’re short-staffed, aren’t you, Grandma?”
She nods. Her reddened cheeks hint at how busy she’s already been, and it’s not even noon. The preparation required in the kitchen for the lunch rush is immense. She’s always heavily involved with that while others take care of the front of the house, including waiting on the diners.
“Cere had jury duty,” she explains. “I knew that, and it was okay because I thought Alfie was going to be here, and you know how he handles everything.”
I glance around but don’t spot the man she’s referring to. Alfie has worked in the kitchen for decades, and whenever my grandma needs food taken to a family member, Alfie handles it. He’s also the person who manages the front of the house when Cere isn’t around.
“Is Alfie all right?” I ask with concern in my tone.
Alfie is like an uncle to all of Marti’s grandchildren. I consider him an honorary Calvetti.
“He’s fine,” she reassures me with a faint smile. “He had dental surgery booked and marked it on the calendar two months ago, but I forgot. I forgot.”
The fact that she repeated that twice means she can’t believe her memory slipped.
“Grandma.” I look into her eyes. “You need to call me anytime you need help.”
“You’re busy,” she says. “I know your life is busy. Look at you. You’re going to a fashion show, aren’t you?”
I glance down at the green dress I’m wearing. I paired it with sky-high black heels and a necklace I’m being paid to hang around my neck. It’s not even my style.
“No,” I answer honestly.
I don’t elaborate because how am I supposed to tell a woman who has worked her fingers to the bone seven days a week for decades that I’m dressed like this in case a follower snaps a picture of me?
Since I already took a heavily staged selfie in Central Park with the necklace in full view and posted it to all of my social media channels thirty minutes ago, my work is essentially done for the day.
I stopped in here to see her and grab something to eat. My plan after that was to head home to change into a T-shirt and jeans.
“I’m staying.” I glance at the few patrons who have already wandered in to guarantee they have a table for lunch. “I’m here until closing.”
Marti’s bottom lip trembles. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll handle the wait staff and greeting customers. You worry about the kitchen staff.”
“Okay,” she agrees with a soft nod, even though we both know regardless of how busy she is in the kitchen, she can’t resist sneaking out to speak to the people who took time out of their day to come and eat her food.
“I’m going to put my purse in the office.” I point toward the kitchen since the office is tucked behind it and always locked unless Marti needs something from it. “I need the key, Grandma.”
