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“Well, you look good,” I tell her as my gaze goes over her once more, this time taking in her cream-colored slacks and her pointy silver shoes as well.
“Thanks.” She gives a sheepish grin. “You, too. You look…”
She pauses as she searches for the right words.
I chuckle. “It’s okay. You can say it. I don’t look like a creep anymore.”
Cathy frowns. “I never said you looked like a creep.”
That’s because she never spoke to me much. She would usually only come over to pick up Trisha when they were going somewhere together. She’d wait for her as she gathered her stuff and we’d see each other, wave and exchange obligatory smiles and sometimes say “Hi” and “Hello” and all that, but we didn’t really have conversations. The one time I tried to talk to her, I just scared her and then Trisha told me to stay away from her. I think she told Cathy to stay away from me, too. She was a moody teenager. Or maybe that’s redundant. Anyway, one day she adored me and the next she couldn’t stand to be related to me.
“But you thought I did,” I say.
“No.” Cathy shakes her head. “I just… thought you were a… nerd, which you were.”
“Ah.” I tap my fingers on my hip. “The truth comes out.”
“Clearly, you’re not one anymore.” She glances at my arms.
I scratch my chin. “Sure about that?”
“Well, at the very least, you don’t look…”
“Malnourished?” I supply the adjective.
“I was going to say thin.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No. You’re…”
I wave a hand. “I’m just teasing you. I know what you mean.”
I’m well aware of how many pounds I’ve gained.
Cathy gives another frown.
“So, how have you been?” I change the subject. “Are you married now?”
“No,” she answers with an edge of impatience.
She must be asked that a lot.
“Boyfriend?”
Cathy rolls her eyes. “You’re starting to sound like my mom.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “How is she?”
“Good,” she answers.
This time, she sounds more convincing.
“How’s yours?” she asks.
“She passed away a few years ago,” I tell her.
Her eyes grow wide. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “She and Trisha must be spending lots of time together now.”
I notice her flinch before she goes silent. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
I clear my throat as I lower my arms. “So, what brings you here? If you heard of my new restaurant and came here to try my food, I’m afraid you’re a few weeks early.”
Cathy’s eyebrows furrow. “Your restaurant?”
“Guess you haven’t heard.” I lean on the nearby counter. “I’m a chef now. And a restaurant owner. This one will be my tenth.”
“Wow.” I see the admiration in her eyes. “I guess you’re a big shot now.”
I shrug. “Big enough to give you a free three-course meal and a bottle of wine if you come back in a few weeks.”
“Well, actually…” She fidgets with the strap of her purse. “I came here about the internship.”
“Internship?” I scratch my beard. “Oh, you mean the management internship. Well, in that case…”
“But I’m not sure I want it anymore,” Cathy adds quickly as she touches the back of her neck. “I didn’t…”
“Did someone say ‘management internship’?” Ken interrupts as she walks into the kitchen.
I glance at her. She looks like she’s in a good mood today. The keys to the bike she proudly calls Cara jingle from the waistband of her jeans. Her hair, which seems to have a fresh coat of purple, is swept into a stylish mess. Her lipstick matches her red leather jacket.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You sorted out the problem with the tables.”
She gives me a wide grin. “Of course I did. Who do you think I am?”
I turn to Cathy. “Cathy, meet Kendra Moore, the best restaurant manager in the world.”
“Almost perfect,” Ken tells me. “Except for the fact that you said my name was Kendra.”
“That is your name,” I remind her.
She glances at Cathy. “Rule number one – don’t ever call me that.”
“She’ll run you over with her bike if you do,” I add.
“Call me Ken.”
Cathy just gives a weak smile.
“Ken will be managing this restaurant,” I explain. “And I do believe she’s looking for an intern.”
“The last one quit last night after just one day,” Ken says. “Admittedly, it was not one of my best days. Still, think you can last longer?”
Cathy draws a breath. “Actually, I – ”
“What’s your name again?” Ken asks.
“Cathy.”
“Short for Catherine?”
“No, just Cathy,” she and I reply at the same time.
I remember my mom asking her the same question and Cathy giving the same answer.
“Well, just Cathy,” Ken turns to her with a hand on her hip, “do you want the internship or not?”
She tightens her grip on the strap of her purse. “I’m… grateful for your offer, but on second thought, I don’t think this will suit me after all.”
