Yes, once she got just a little more space and a little more closure, she would call Richard, Gloria, and Ruben from the comfort of her own home and let them know it wasn’t just the hurricane—she was gone for good. She would explain it all to them, they would make plans to go out for drinks and a raucous night, and all would be well. They would understand, she was sure of it.
She arrived at 108 West Forty-Second Street and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. She was early, and that was precisely her plan: to finish her share of the cooking and leave before anyone else arrived. She went to the uniform closet and reached for her white coat, wrinkling her nose as she pulled it close. It absolutely stunk of fish. She grimaced. Someone must have left the door to the uniform closet open while they were braising a cod fillet.
There was no time to launder it. She started to tug it on anyway and took it off just as quickly when she felt her stomach turning. There was no way she was going to be able to wear it for three hours. She tossed it on top of the uniform hamper and paced over to the menu board to see what they would be serving for the Atlantic Records annual spring soiree. Her brown eyes scanned the listings. Marinated filet mignon, coq au vin in tiny phyllo dough cups, savory onion beignets, garlic asparagus, and poached pears in wine sauce.
It was an easy menu, and Lumi began by dicing the onions for the beignets. She would marinate the filet mignon, fry the beignets, and cook the coq au vin.
Ruben had once told her Julien hated balsamic vinegar in marinade. She remembered this fact as she doused the filet in a liberal stream and then poured on a little extra just in case.
She cringed. Just one night ago, things had been different . . . but that was before she found out that he was who she thought he was from the beginning. It stung to think that in all the moments she felt like there was something special growing between them, she was just being played.
On the other hand, she didn’t know for a fact that he had slept with any other employees. And there had been many moments where he seemed to be saying that he felt there was something special between them.
She thought of his words to her at Miz Suzie’s Island Spice, his sweet eyes pleading with her to be open to what she felt for one night. She closed her eyes and breathed deep and recalled his state of Zen as he woke up and found her at his side. She felt the tightness that had been holding her insides captive since she stormed out of the kitchen soften.
She took another deep breath and slapped her forehead. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself. Shame stung at her cheeks as it became clear to her how much she had overreacted. “I need to tell him,” she whispered, smoothing a stray curl away from her face. Hopefully it was not too late. It couldn’t be. It had only been half a day. She would go to him and they would talk, and she would tell him she was sorry for assuming. As much as he incensed her at times, she wasn’t ready to let go of her feelings for him.
Suddenly, Lumi felt annoyed with herself. “Focus, focus,” she said, tapping her cheeks, bringing her attention back to the tasks at hand. She looked down at her station and began to mix the flour, eggs, water, and scallions for the beignets. Her legs felt strangely leaden as she walked to the stove to heat up the oil. She willed them to walk anyway.
She shaped the dough in small balls and dropped them into the shimmering oil. As she waited for them to be done on the first side, she turned absentmindedly toward the cooling rack and spotted a tray of pastries that she hadn’t noticed there before. As she crossed the space, she saw that they were miniature cheesecakes—for her, apparently, according to the sign warning all others off.
They had a lovely crimson marbling on top. Some of the cheesecakes had sprigs of mint atop them and some did not. There was also a crisp piece of white paper folded under the tray. She teased it out and recognized Julien’s block lettering right away.
LUMI,
YOU HAVE SWEETENED MY DAYS IN WAYS YOU CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE.
PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
AND PLEASE STAY.
JD
Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she hated herself for reacting that way. The distrust in men she had been taught by Inés had come out when she had least expected or needed it. She skipped across the aisle and turned over the beignets, then was back contemplating the cheesecakes. Her chest swelled with emotion as she picked one up and bit into it.
As she did, she nearly choked. Beyond the creamy cheese and cookie crust it tasted exactly like the hair relaxer she had stuck her tongue in as a child in Inés’s salon. There were strong notes of ammonia and alcohol, and in her solar plexus she felt a roiling, a flaring of rage and something that felt as if it were grabbing her by the throat. She heaved as if to vomit, but nothing came up. The blood drained from her face and her mind stalled on one thought: Had he . . . poisoned her? She couldn’t believe it. She grabbed another pastry off the plate and bit it to be sure. To her shock, it tasted of paradise, of ambrosia, of sage, and it started a thrumming electricity that coursed through her body and made her heart soar.
But the first pastry was already working its way through body, and when these two flows of energy met, it produced a clash that rattled her, and she felt herself seizing and suddenly losing control of her limbs. She stumbled away from the kitchen island, but before she could reach for water, her legs gave out from under her, causing her to free-fall forward and hit the handle of the wok, flipping it up onto her.
Her lips moved to form an O and emitted a cry that disturbed no sound waves. She contracted into herself as the scalding oil washed over her face, chest, and hands. Blindly, she stumbled, looking for something, anything, to grab on to, her skin crawling and the burn raging all across it. Without seeing what was in front of her, she hit her head and sank to the floor. The open burner continued to shoot flames toward the ceiling, and the skillet lay on the floor at an angle with her body.
27
Julien
Julien strolled up to 108 West Forty-Second, and he couldn’t help feeling a little proud of himself for paying such close attention. Lumi, strong and independent as she was, was a conflict avoider. If his calculations were correct, he would find her in the kitchen, doing her part so she could leave before anyone else arrived.
He knew she would be angry to see him there, now that he had figured her out. The thought made him smile softly to himself as he punched the elevator button. It would make her angry, but he hoped in a more secret, inner place that she would be pleased. Given that it was three in the afternoon, maybe she hadn’t sampled his little gift yet. He would offer her one himself, with espresso on the side. If she could just sit with him, have a little guava and a little espresso, hopefully she would let her guard down a bit and listen to reason.
But when he swung open the kitchen door, all thoughts of guava and espresso quickly evaporated. Lumi lay on the floor, unconscious while the stove shot flames and the wok lay on the floor next to her. As he got closer, he could see that her face, chest, and hands were engine red and blistering.
“Lumi? Lumi!” He shook her shoulders to no avail.
His heart threatened to explode in his chest. While his mind shouted a thousand things at once, his arms acted of their own accord. They slipped beneath her limp body and lifted her up. He rested her head against his chest, careful not to touch her singed cheek to the fabric of his shirt. His head darted from left to right. It was fruitless to yell for somebody to call 911. He knew good and well that they were the only two people on the fifth floor.