I lift my chin and meet his eyes with a stubborn glare. “Then maybe I don’t want to live here anymore,” I say, stomping my way up to my room.
He mutters something about me being difficult and ungrateful, and then I hear the front door slam, once again proving that the restaurant is more important than his daughter. Same story. Different day.
As I get into the shower and wash the remains of the evening off my skin, my mind races, re-playing the events of the last month over and over. More often than not, it’s been lonely. I’ve spent more time feeling in the way and useless than I’ve spent feeling wanted. And the only time I have felt wanted has been whenever I’m around Cillian. Last night made me realize that I do belong somewhere. And that place is not here. It’s not the restaurant. It’s with him.
I’m over being stifled by my father’s rules. Something wonderful is happening in my life, and he’s more interested in trying to force me into a round hole when I’m a square peg, than he’s interested in sharing it with me. I don’t want to grow up to be just like him. When I didn’t make it into college, I was honestly relieved. There is nothing I want to do in life more than I want to be a wife or a mother. Maybe that idea is a little dated, but it’s what I want. I want a happy home. I want to get married to Cillian, and I don’t want to be told I’m supposed to want something more than that. To me, being a wife and mother is everything. Aren’t I the one who decides what it’s going to take to make me happy?
By the time I finish in the shower, I've come to a decision. Dragging my suitcase out from under my bed, I open my drawers and pull out my clothes, throwing them into the suitcase until I struggle to zip it up. I’m not staying here. I have a beautiful and kindhearted man who wants me. Whether my father likes it or not, I’m taking my happily ever after now. He can’t stop me.
Cillian
Before the start of service, after I finish all my prep, I make my way down the small corridor next to the kitchen, rapping my knuckles against the office door while nerves swirl in the pit of my stomach. I don’t expect this conversation to go well. But it needs to be had. When I needed a chance to further myself in this industry, George gave it to me. At the very least, I can sit down and tell him that I’ve fallen in love with his daughter. And that I plan to marry her.
“Come in,” his booming voice calls.
I push the door open with splayed fingers, steeling myself for confrontation as he comes into view. “Can I speak with you?”
“Ah, Cillian. Of course. What’s on your mind? Was everything OK on the home front last night?”
“Everything is fine,” I say, taking a seat across from him and clasping my hands in my lap. “I actually came here to talk to you about your daughter.”
“Why do you want to talk to me about Hazel, Cillian?” he asks, narrowing his eyes and placing his pen on the desk so he’s free to mirror my clasped-hand position. Something about the movement makes me twice as nervous as I was a moment ago. I swallow down hard, struggling to get rid of the lump in my throat.
“I’ve… I’ve been seeing her. Outside of work,” I admit, bringing my eyes to his as I inhale slowly and deeply. “It was just as friends at first, but now…”
“And now she’s spending the night at your house and coming home in your Boston College sweatshirt,” he finishes for me.
I shake my head. “It’s not like that,” I say.
“I see. So that wasn’t your sweatshirt she was wearing this morning?”
“It was, but—”
“She was wearing your sweatshirt, but she didn’t get it from your house?”
“She did. I mean, she didn’t. It—”
“She either did or she didn’t, Cillian,” he fires at me. “Which one is it? Or how about we try this simple yes or no question: were you with her last night and this morning?”
I force my jaw together hard. “Yes. But we weren’t together in the way you think we were.”
“You were just together in a way that involves her staying out all night and coming home in clothes that weren’t hers?”
“I haven’t touched her.” I speak through clenched teeth. “You’re perverting what happened without getting any facts.”
“I’m perverting what happened? You’re the man coming to me, trying to tell me he either wants to, or has already fucked my eighteen-year-old daughter. So, forgive me for thinking you’re a cradle-robbing asshole.”
I pull my head back as if slapped. His words sting, and that’s because there’s weight to them. He’s boiled something really beautiful down to a most perverse version of the truth, and it’s an awful and confronting thing to hear.
“I was trying to do the right thing by coming here and speaking to you as a man, but now I know this was obviously a mistake,” I say, pushing to stand. “Just know this, George: I’m in love with your daughter, and I plan to marry her. There’s nothing wrong or perverted about it. It’s just pure and simple, two-people-falling-for-each-other kind of love.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes like he thinks I’m a joke. It pisses me off, but I’m not going to explode and let him win. “I’ve always known you as a reasonable person. And I’m sorry you don’t agree with this, but I’m not walking away from her.”
He sits back in his chair, his eyes darkening as he glares back at me. I get the feeling he thinks I’m worth less than the sludge they scrape out of the grease trap right now. “Then you’ll have an easy job of walking away from Hunt and Gather. I don’t have a position here for you anymore.”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” I say, nodding slowly. “But I understand. I’ll clear out my locker right away.”
“And make sure you hand your keys to Chef Gordon. I don’t want you thinking you’re welcome to come back here for any reason. You won’t be welcome anywhere I am. And I’m sure as hell not going to let you continue to see my daughter.”
“Well, I think that decision is up to her. You might be her father, but you don’t get to run her life forever. She’s old enough to choose.”
He grunts a response and looks away from me. The conversation is over, and I’m dismissed.
“Thanks for everything, George,” I say before I leave. I get no response this time.
With a heavy heart, I head into the back room, clearing out the locker I’ve used for the last six years working in this place. The majority of my hopes and dreams were born here, working in these kitchens, feeling like a part of an extended family. It feels really shitty getting cast out the first time I refuse to fall in line. I’d have hoped I meant more to this establishment than that. But I guess I was wrong.
I leave my keys on the shelf inside. I don’t have it in me to go into the kitchen and say one last goodbye. I’m barely holding onto my anger as it is. Explaining my sudden departure would just tip me over the edge. I need to get out of here and cool down, so I can figure out what the hell I'm going to do. It’s not like George is going to give me a reference after this. I’m fucked.