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I didn’t wait for him to respond. It was my turn to slam the door. As I stood on the other side of it, catching my breath, the entire kitchen staff turned to stare at me, and then they broke into a round of silent, but enthusiastic, applause.
63.
Thacker
I dropped defeatedly into a booth at the back of the restaurant. My AA sponsor, a gray-haired hippie named Emily, gave me a quick, sympathetic smile. She slid one of our overpriced cups of espresso across the table toward me and I accepted it gratefully.
“How’s it going?” she asked, though she already knew. We didn’t see each other unless my life was falling apart.
“Not so hot,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I sighed and took a swig of the strong coffee.
“Business seems good,” she said, her pale blue eyes scanning the bustling restaurant. Servers walked up and down the aisle with baskets of fresh bread and bottles of wine. I gazed longingly at a merlot in the hands of my best waiter.
“The books don’t quite agree,” I said grimly, turning my attention back to Emily. Maybe Hope was right. Maybe I had no idea what I was doing, and I should throw in the towel and retire for real. Or buy a minor league baseball team and grind away in obscurity. Running a restaurant was quickly becoming too much to handle for an emotionally stunted recovering alcoholic with a bad shoulder. “I won the bid to cater theCasper Caresgala next week, but with everything going on, I’m not sure I can even handle something that major right now.”
“You can handle it,” Emily said simply. “As far as the business is concerned, hire an accountant.” I shook my head, but then I realized that I probably should have hired an accountant a long time ago when the steakhouse first started earning a profit.
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” I asked.
“Is that sarcasm?”
I shook my head again and took another sip of espresso.
“You’ve just got a way of cutting through the bullshit,” I said, saluting her with the small ceramic cup. Her eyes crinkled in the corners and she nodded at me.
“Now,” she said, sitting up and straightening her shoulders, raising her chin. “Tell me about this girl.”
I bent my head over the tabletop and closed my eyes. I knew I had to talk to Emily about Hope. That was the real reason I’d called her. Everything else, I could handle. The restaurant could fail, and I’d be fine. A little lighter in the pockets, but I’d survive. But Hope…I wanted her too much. I wanted her more than beer, more than bourbon, more than a Michelin star. Everything in my life that I had ever wanted before now paled in comparison to how badly I wanted Hope.
And I knew what that meant. That meant she was bad for me. I was addicted to her, obsessed, and I was just transferring my addictive behaviors onto her instead of alcohol. I needed help.
So I took a deep breath, sighed, and started talking.
64.
Thacker
“Who said you have to be alone forever?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the side and pinning me with that sky-blue stare. She unnerved me when she did this, like she was x-raying my soul or something.
I had no idea how to answer her question. I’d expected her to commiserate, pat me on the back, and tell me I was doing the right thing by avoiding all the baggage, all the drama, that was sure to come along if I let myself get sucked into a polyamorous relationship with my executive chef and her two plus-ones.
“Don’t you think I’m setting myself up for failure if my first real sober relationship involves sharing my partner?” I asked her. To me, it felt like a no-brainer. But her serene mask didn’t crack. She didn’t even blink.
“Doyouthink you’re setting yourself up for failure?” she asked.
“I hate when you do that,” I grumbled.
“Do what?” she asked with flat politeness.
“Turn my questions back around on me.”
“Do I do that?” I was sure I saw the ghost of a smile flicker across her face before she was serious again. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Did she ever. “The question remains. What do you want, Thacker?”
I looked around myself again, taking in the restaurant, my customers and staff. Our reputation hung on that breathtaking woman back there, churning out five-star meals like a machine. I was in awe of her. And I was in love with her. I could at least admit that to myself. It was painful, but I could do it.
What did I want? Why hadn’t it occurred to me to stop and ask myself that question before now? Emily watched me like a mildly interested owl as I tried to formulate an acceptable answer. But acceptable to whom? I’d spent years memorizing the Alcoholics Anonymous dogma. I could recite it in my sleep, backward and forward. I would ace any test you put in front of me on the dos and don’ts of the program. But there was no cheat sheet for my own happiness. The truth was, when I thought about what I wanted, I only saw one thing. Hope’s face, smiling at me. It was a rare sight. I was much more familiar with the fire-breathing dragon she’d been earlier today when she lit into me about the chicken. But we’d had our moments, like that morning at my house, over breakfast, in that quiet, stolen time before her boyfriends started trying to beat down my door.
“I just want to belong somewhere,” I said, surprising myself. I didn’t know where the words came from, but as soon as I heard them spoken aloud, I knew that they were the truth.Thatwas what I loved the most about Hope. She put people at ease. Not me, of course. But her subordinates, new hires, customers. And very occasionally, she did turn that warmth my way.
