“The tortillas are in the warmer behind you,” she says as I hand her the bowls. “Because your dad’s boss offered him a bonus last week if it moves into the final funding phase.”
I place a head of cabbage on a cutting board and slide a large santoku out of the knife block. “Why is he offering him a bonus now?”
My mom shrugs her delicate shoulders. “As an incentive to close the deal, would be my best guess.”
I silently consider the timing of the offer as I thinly slice the cabbage. “And all of this has to do with opening night going well?”
“How do you know it went well?”
My dad’s voice startles me as he walks into the kitchen and goes straight for the cupboard above the dishwasher.
My heart pounds against my chest as I almost slice into my finger. “Ollie told me,” I lie.
My dad loosens his tie with one hand as he uses his other hand to grab a bottle of Modelo Negra beer out of the fridge. I reach into the drawer and toss him the bottle opener. He pours the beer into his glass and rinses the bottle before he throws it into the recycling bin under the sink.
“So, you’re getting a bonus?” I ask casually.
“Why are you talking to her about work?” my dad says, addressing my mom as if I wasn’t the one who asked the question.
She smiles as he plants a kiss on her cheek. “She’s paying rent now. She deserves to be part of money discussions.”
“Thank you,” I say, placing my knife in the sink.
My dad rolls his eyes and holds out his glass of beer to me. “Fine. You want in on this?”
I smile as I take the glass. “Thanks.”
He pours himself another beer and begins helping me set the table. “Your boss submitted the figures for opening day last week and…”
I set a spoon down on the dinner table. “And…what?”
“And this morning, the trustee approved the amendment to their funding contract. They submitted an amendment adding a bonus for me when we reach the final phase of funding.”
My father is practically glowing. He hasn’t looked this alive since before he lost the restaurant.
“What kind of bonus are we talking about?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the number.
He smiles as he takes a bowl of hot soup from my mom and places it on the table. “Six figures.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my skull. “Are you kidding me?”
He looks smug as hell as he takes a seat and begins piling toppings on his soup.
“So, does that mean I don’t have to pay you rent?”
My mom laughs as she sets her bowl down on the table and sits next to me.
My dad looks up from his soup long enough to shoot me a look that says, “Fat chance.”
I shrug as I grab a wedge of lime and squeeze it into my bowl, stirring it into the steaming red broth before I give it a taste. “Whatever. I got paid yesterday, so I was going to text you the rent money today, anyway.”
My dad glances at me a few times as we eat in silence. “If you were planning on spending that money on something important, you can pay the rent next week.”
It’s not as if I can admit to my dad I was planning on using some of my first paycheck to buy some expensive lingerie.
“I’m fine, Dad, but thanks for offering.”
“Of course, mija.”
“Should we open the champagne?” I ask when I’ve drained my glass of beer. “I have something to celebrate, too.”
“Do you?” my dad asks as he reaches for the frosty bottle and begins peeling away the gold foil.
“Yeah, I start training in the kitchen next week.”
My dad eyes me suspiciously as he works on loosening the cork. “So soon?”
“Yeah, you said it yourself. The opening went well, and that’s the deal I made with Ethan.”
“Your boss.”
He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He’s reminding me that Ethan should not be referred to as Ethan. He’s my boss. A subtle but significant difference.
“Yes, the deal I made with my boss was that I would get to train in the kitchen if the opening went well.”
It occurs to me that the deal Ethan and I made in front of Minka’s apartment, when he begged me to come back to work at Forked, was that I could be promoted in ninety days instead of six months. But he never promised I’d get to work in the kitchen if opening night went well. That was something Ethan offered more recently, but my father doesn’t need to know those dirty details.
My dad puts down his spoon and sits up straight so he can look me in the eye. “Why are you blushing when you talk about him?”
“What?” I say, reaching up to touch my cheeks. My skin is indeed on fire. “I’m not blushing. This soup is spicy!”
His mouth is pressed into a hard line. “Don’t lie to me, Alice. Are you—” But before he can finish his question, his phone starts ringing. He slides it out of his slacks and sighs. “Hello?” he answers as he rises from the table and heads toward the kitchen door to take his phone call outside on the back patio.
I hold my breath until he’s gone, then I turn to my mom. The smile on her face catches me off-guard.
“What are you smiling at?”
She shakes her head. “Opening night went well?”
I shrug, unsure where this question is leading. “I guess. Why?”
“Tell me about it. Tell me everything.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Only if you promise to talk some sense into him. I know he thinks there’s something going on between me and Ethan, and there’s not.”
She nods. “Sure. I’ll talk to him.”
By the time I’ve finished telling my mom about opening night—everything except the kiss—my soup is cold, but I don’t care. I hardly feel hungry anymore.
“That was nice of him to stand up for you like that,” my mom says, grabbing my bowl as she takes hers to the kitchen.
I follow behind her. “It was. It… It felt really good to be taken care of without being expected to give something in return.”
She places the bowls in the sink and turns to me. “You mean, unlike the way your dad takes care of you?”
“I didn’t say that. I know you guys can’t afford to support me. And dad takes care of me in his own way.”
She tilts her head as she studies me. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. He’s my dad.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about your dad.”
My mouth goes dry as my mind clambers for a response to this, another half-truth, but I’m drawing a blank. I’ve never been able to lie to my mom.
She knows. She always knows.
“It was just a kiss,” I insist.
She smiles as she places a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your dad.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
My mom waves off my promise. “Be careful when you step on a wet floor. Don’t be careful with love.”
I smile at this reminder of one of my mom’s favorite sayings.
“But you have to promise me one thing,” she says, fixing me with a serious expression.
“What?”