THE NEXT DAY
Becca
I’m facedown in the bathroom sink—a sink filled with ice water. The frigid water is burning my pores. I emerge, mouth open, and gasp for air.
Lara, next to me, hands over a towel and then inspects my eyes after I pat the water from my face.
“Definitely better. Nothing gets rid of the crying puffies from the night before like ice water. Maybe one more dunk?”
“Forget it.” I shudder. “That’s my fourth dunk and I can’t feel my eyeballs.” I toss the towel into the hamper. “It doesn’t matter if everyone at work knows I’ve been crying. I’m leaving anyway.”
A tear trickles from my itchy eyes, hot against my hypothermic cheek.
“Becca.” My sister-in-law comes toward me in hug mode, her arms out. I grip her wrists to stop her.
“Please. Don’t hug me. I’ll dissolve.” After I called Dax last night I felt three simultaneous emotions. Longing. Love. Regret.
I messed up. I’m a ginormous chicken. I called not to tell him that I was fleeing to New York, but to ask if he’d reconsider my living in Ohio. Then he answered the phone and after only a few seconds, I could tell it’d never work. I felt the distance between us. He might as well have been on Mars.
It wouldn’t have been fair to ask to intrude on his life. I bet he would’ve said yes. He lived with his mom for months to help her clean out her house and be there for her while she grieved her late husband—Dax’s father. Then he let Barrett move in, and I found out last night that he still lives there. Dax has a habit of putting what he wants on the back burner to make everyone around him comfortable. Why would I be any different?
I can’t do that to him. I can’t ask him to put me first and ignore what he wants. He said I deserve great things—well, so does he, dammit.
Realizing I’d lost him for good cut like a thousand razor blades. And when I said that final goodbye, I could tell it was final.
“New York will be a great beginning for you.” Lara doesn’t hug me, but she’s unable to keep from stroking my arm in sympathy. “You never know, Bec. Maybe your true soulmate is in NYC. You could meet the man of your dreams. What’s meant to be will be. Right?”
“Right.” I’m not sure I believe that, but I have to hold on to hope or I’ll curl into a ball and cry enough to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool, and honestly, who has the time?
“Are the tears done completely? I’m not bothering to do your makeup until they’re dried up.”
“Dry.” I sniff mightily and square my shoulders. “Mojave Desert over here. Waterproof mascara just in case, though.”
“Oh, that was never not an option.”
I sit on the closed toilet seat. While Lara applies my makeup, I busy my brain with recipes and ingredients. I mentally slice, dice, prepare, and plate them.
Anything to avoid thinking of the phone call last night. To avoid thinking of Dax at all.
THE DAY AFTER THAT
“Here they are.” Tad strolls into the office and plunks down a small stack of printed menus. “All we have to do is slide ’em into plastic.”
I lift a one-sided menu and run my fingers over the thick paper. Two of my recipes will be served in my brother’s restaurant. The achievement is nothing short of monumental.
“I thought I was done crying yesterday,” I tell him, my voice watery. “I’m leaving you high and dry after I promised I wouldn’t! I’m a horrible sister. The worst.”
“Bec. We talked about this.” He sits in his usual spot at the corner of the desk. “Your food isn’t good. It’s beyond. You’re wasting your talents serving this sort of high-end fare to people with pedestrian palates. Like me.” His smile is one of good humor.
I return it with a weak one of my own.
“I want you to be happy. I can’t pin this on you. This is my business. My responsibility. Plus, Dominic about shit himself when I asked if he’d like more responsibility and more money.”
“Thanks for that visual.”
“Hey, I’m the lucky one who will profit off your amazing creations. Those fried cheese nacho thingies?” He mimes a chef’s kiss, making an okay symbol with his fingers and kissing the air. “Superb.”
My smile is real for a change. Lately real smiles have been few and far between. “Thank you, Tad. For everything.”
“Don’t act like you’re not coming back to visit. You will. Your old room will now be our guest room. Limited time, though. Lara and I have restarted our baby-making endeavors.”
“Eww.” I make a disgusted face, but he knows I’m kidding. Tad and Lara make beautiful babies. And if they give me another niece or nephew, I’ll be overjoyed.
“What time do I need to have you to the airport tomorrow?” he asks.
“No, no. I can’t ask you to do that. I can take an Uber. It’s not a big deal.”
I’m flying in for an interview at the restaurant in New York and taking a few suitcases to my new shared apartment. I’m scheduled to fly back a day later, when I’ll rent a U-Haul and hook it to the back of my Toyota and take the rest. I can’t believe it. Back to the city. I blink, but my eyes are too dry to cry any more tears.
“It is a big deal,” Tad argues. “My baby sister is chasing her dreams. Again.”
I sock him in the arm for the dig, but follow it by standing from my chair and embracing him in a huge hug.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out like you wanted, Bec.” He rubs my back gently, and I learn that there are more tears. Fabulous.
“You didn’t like him anyway.” I pull away and swipe the hollows of my eyes, trying like hell to hold myself together.
“I like him less now. He broke my baby sister’s unbreakable heart.” Tad gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I’d better go back out there. Dom is behind the bar, but Anna called in. We don’t have a server today.”
“I can help.”
“We’re okay for the moment, but I may need you to run food. I’ll let you know. Since the mountain’s full, we could have a dinner rush.” He strolls out of the office and I set aside the menu I helped create.
Two hours later, I take a break from incoming bookings and cancellations to stretch my arms overhead.
“Need you, Bec.” Tad sticks his head in the doorway.
“Are we full?”
“Filling quickly. Can you help bring food from the kitchen?”
“On it.” I steal a drink from my largely ignored water bottle and lock the office door behind me and then hustle to the kitchen to find that Steve, the line cook, and Eric, on cold side, are buried. Baskets of food with tickets resting on top line the shelf as they race to fill more orders.
I make quick work of delivering basket after basket to the dining room. The restaurant isn’t quite full, but close. After three trips, I’ve nearly relieved the kitchen, so I head back for more.
“Bec, can you take this special order to table seven for me?” Tad, who is on the other side of the line next to Steve, pushes a basket into the window in front of the others.