Devil's Food at Dusk

by Anna Martin

  “But you want a real relationship? More than a maybe?” Remy asked. It was what he wanted. He didn’t even know the moment when his mind and heart had made the switch.

  “I want to let myself fall the rest of the way in love with you,” Joe said. He leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to Remy’s mouth. “I know I’m already more than halfway there.”

  Remy’s heart pounded hard. If someone had asked him two weeks before if he wanted to hear that from Joe, hell, even a week, he would’ve said no. But not anymore. He wanted it. Every part of him wanted it.

  “I am too,” he answered.

  “And you’d want me to be here? As much as I can?”

  Remy slid his arms around Joe’s neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. “Yes,” he finally said, breathless. “That’s a yes.”

  * * *

  By the time they were dressed and out of the shower, it was nearly lunchtime. Remy’s stomach was growling. He wasn’t a big fan of missing meals. Remy had learned a big appreciation for food from a very young age.

  “We’re going to get breakfast, right?” he called in to where Joe was shaving. “I believe I was promised croissants. I’m collecting.”

  He wanted eggs too, and maybe some of that spicy chorizo he’d tried the other day at the farmers’ market. But he didn’t want to cook. Remy loved cooking more than just about anything, but he needed a break.

  “Of course we’re doing breakfast. Where do you want to go?”

  “Have we done the Sunriser Diner? They have breakfast all morning. Greasy, and so, so good.”

  “You want to take me to a diner? A chef wants to go to a diner?” Joe came out of the bathroom laughing. His skin was perfectly smooth and pretty. If Remy wasn’t so hungry, he’d tackle Joe back into bed for more kisses and naked time.

  “It’s a fun diner. More… experimental than most. Amazingly creative omelets.” Remy slid his wallet into the back pocket of a pair of jeans that had migrated over to Joe’s place and perched his sunglasses on his head.

  “So this is creative hipster diner. Does the owner have a beard?” Joe raised his eyebrow.

  “No.” Remy chuckled.

  “Does he have more than one piercing? Tattoos?”

  “Maybe,” Remy said.

  Joe grinned. “I should’ve known it would be more of your people. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

  “You’re starving?” Remy poked him. “I’m the one whose stomach woke him up at six and got grump face telling me to go back to bed.”

  “Grump face?” Joe was outright grinning. He looked so relaxed, so easy. His smile wasn’t practiced, his hair wasn’t neat, his jeans had a hole in the knee, and he had Vans instead of dress shoes. Remy liked this Joe. He seemed more like the real him rather than the buttoned-up slickster he’d met at the beginning.

  “You were totally grump face. C’mon. Let’s go feed me breakfast.”

  “And me.”

  “You’ll be lucky if I don’t eat your toast.”

  * * *

  They laughed and talked and held hands all the way to the Sunriser, which was a charming little diner, vintage in a cool, ironic sort of way, decked out with vinyl booths and pinup girls with sailor tattoos. It smelled like heaven. Joe hadn’t ever gone to places like it in LA. He assumed they existed—probably not in the neighborhoods he moved in but somewhere they had to. He’d felt like a poser when he’d first started coming out with Remy to the places owned by his friends, who were too cool for Joe but way more friendly than he’d have ever expected.

  They slid into a booth and were greeted from a shout over the kitchen partition. “Rem! I’ve got some new shit in. You’ve gotta try it.”

  Remy grinned and nodded.

  “You’re not even gonna ask him what it is?”

  “Nah. Josh is a fantastic chef. I rarely even order when I come here. He just brings me stuff and I eat it and it’s great.”

  “Um, can I order?” Joe asked. He loved Remy’s adventurousness, and his was growing, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He wanted to at least see what there was to offer.

  “Of course.” Remy hopped up and grabbed a menu from the main table. He hugged the server and kissed her cheek as though she was his little sister, and then scooted back into the booth.

  “Do you know everybody in every restaurant in town?” Joe asked. Because seriously. It seemed as though he did.

  “Of course not.” Remy laughed. “I don’t talk with the chefs at the highbrow places much. But the indie places, we all kinda have this little unofficial club. Kind of a mutual admiration thing. We cook for each other, trade sources, talk shit about the corporate assholes at Chez Stick Up My Ass kind of places.”

  Joe thought about how Sal said Remy could get a job at any of the best restaurants in town. Obviously that wasn’t one of his life goals. Joe should’ve guessed. “You don’t want to cook in any of the big restaurants? Your, um, mom told me a few were interested in you.”

  Remy snored. “Is that so?” He picked up his paper napkin and tore a tiny piece off the corner. “The answer is no, obviously. Like, they make the same shit all the time. Boring, pretentious bullshit for the paparazzi crowd. Do I look like I want to be scooping caviar into poached eggs for the next twenty years?”

  Joe couldn’t imagine Remy somewhere like that. It would suck the soul right out of him. He couldn’t believe he’d actually considered it when Sal said that a few weeks before. It was just not anything Remy would ever want.

  “No. It’s not you.”

  “Never.”

  Joe felt ill. Literally ill. He thought of what he’d said that morning, the words he’d meant to keep to himself but somehow couldn’t. Then he thought of the signed papers in his briefcase back at home, the papers Tom had asked him not to tell Remy about just yet, and wanted to throw up the food he hadn’t even ordered. If he could’ve called Tom at that moment and told him the deal was off, e-mailed Howard and told him to look for another property, then he would’ve. Remy might be “fine” at a bigger restaurant, he sure as hell had the talent for it, but that wasn’t where he belonged. Lumiere was part of his home, and Joe finally got that he’d be taking it away from him.

  Fuck.

  And they were going for dinner later to tell Remy all about it.

  Double fuck.

  All of a sudden, Joe wanted to take off running, get on the first airplane, and get as far as possible from the detonation that was counting down.

  * * *

  Remy knew something was up as soon as he and Joe got to his house. Grace was chattering along as usual, and Andre didn’t seem to be in an odd mood, but Sal was there. On a weeknight. And there was something off about his father’s demeanor. Tom was usually warm and boisterous, talking over everyone and laughing and singing just like Andre. Andre was such a mirror of their father. Usually. His dad was acting weird—like really weird. He was at the table, waiting, instead of bustling around getting in Sophie and Estelle’s way. He and Sal had their heads together, talking quietly, which in itself was odd, and they both looked up at him when he walked in. And they looked at Joe. Sal didn’t look worried, but his dad—his dad was all wrong. He had a bad feeling about why.

  “Hey, guys,” he said. He waved at his family.

  Grace bounded over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I told Mom and Dad,” she whispered and grinned at him. “They’re cool with it.”

  Remy kissed her on the crown of her head. “I’m proud of you, Chicken.”

  He was. It had to be a bit easier, knowing his parents weren’t going to be the type to try to make her change her mind, say it was a phase, or judge her for it—but still. It was scary making that big of a statement, even if she knew it was going to be well received.

  “They did say I couldn’t sleep in her room anymore. It’s not ‘appropriate,’” she grumbled.

  “Sis, you’re fourteen. You had to know they’d think that. Do Susannah’s parents know?”

  “In about an hour they will. She
took them to dinner. She says she’s pretty sure it’ll go fine.”

  Remy reached out and ruffled Grace’s hair.

  Plates started appearing on the table—pasta with clams, garlic bread, salad, fruit, steamed shrimp with Cajun spices. His mom’s best recipe. A bit much for a Monday night. They usually toned it down after the typical excess of Sunday brunch, had some leftovers or something. And that’s when he noticed it. His mom. She looked weird too, just like his father.

  “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Remy asked. Joe froze next to him. He felt it the moment it happened, and chill dread slid down his spine. No. They didn’t.

  “What do you mean?” Grace asked. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “Actually,” Tom said. “If everyone will sit down, there’s a few things I’d like to talk to the family about.”

  “I’m not going to sit,” Remy said. He pulled his hand out of Joe’s grip. Joe flinched. “What’s going on? Just say it.”

  “Sweetheart, your dad and I are just trying to do what was best for everyone,” his mother started.

  “What did you do?” Remy looked between his dad and Sal, then he turned and looked at Joe, who’d gone completely ashen. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Son, can you please sit?”

  “No. Just… just spit it out.” Grace and Andre watched Remy, wary. He knew Andre was starting to get it. Grace, sweet trusting thing, still hadn’t.

  “The building needed too much work, Rem. You guys had no chance to give it the facelift it deserves,” Tom said.

  “That sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” Andre finally said. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

  “I decided it was in the entire family’s best interests, including you, Remy and Andre, for us to sell Lumiere to Pineapple Joe’s. You two can be much more successful elsewhere, and it wasn’t going to take more than one more good storm to knock that building to pieces.”

  “How could you make that decision for us?” Remy said. He was floored. He’d known it was coming, he’d felt it in his gut from the moment they’d walked through the door, but to hear his father just say it like it had already been decided and things were just going to be that way? It hurt like hell. “Don’t sign those papers, Dad. Andre and I can make Lumiere more profitable. It’s been getting better every month.”

  “They’re already signed,” Joe said quietly. “The deal is done.”

  Remy turned and pushed Joe. Physically pushed him away. He didn’t even want to feel the heat from his skin. “Don’t talk to me. Fuck. How could you? After Sunday, after this whole month. How?” Remy looked around at everyone. His mother’s face was soft and contrite. Andre looked like he was about to start throwing punches. His mouth kept opening and closing. He probably had no idea what to say. Grace just stared sullenly at their parents.

  “I’m going to go out to the back garden. I can’t talk to any of you right now. Please don’t follow me.” He turned to Joe. “Especially you.”

  The garden was quiet, at least, even though it had been so tense inside that a crouton off the salad could’ve dropped and sounded like an atomic bomb. It wasn’t the right kind of quiet, though. Outside was. The sound of the city was muffled by high walls and branches and his grandfather’s garden. Remy missed his grandfather. He’d have followed Remy out to the garden no matter what he’d said, put an arm over his shoulder, and somehow made him believe everything was going to be just fine even if his entire life was being pulled out from underneath him.

  Remy sat back against the bench and closed his eyes. Everything that had seemed so amazing that morning was all of a sudden a fucking mess.

  It took him a while to come inside, but since Remy didn’t want to be a sullen teenager for the rest of the night, he eventually got up from his bench. He was still angrier than he’d ever been in his life, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he figured he kind of had to since his entire future had just been uprooted and he had no idea what he was doing that week, let alone for the rest of his damn life. He’d had so many plans for Lumiere, and they were just barely starting to happen.

  When he got back into the dining room, the whole family was sitting there, picking at their dinners silently. Joe was conspicuously gone. Which was good. Remy really didn’t want to fucking look at him. Ever again, pretty much. He sat, but he didn’t get any food because he honestly felt as though he was going to throw up. The one next to him was glaringly empty. He’d started getting used to having Joe around everyone. He put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his hands. Remy wished more than anything that he had his own apartment to escape to. He’d never seen Sal’s way of looking at things, but at the moment it was sounding really attractive.

  “Remy,” his dad started.

  That was enough to have bile coming up in his throat. “Dad, I don’t know if I can talk to you right now. I thought I was going to… but I can’t.” Remy went to get up. Sal slammed his hand on Remy’s arm.

  “Sit.”

  “You know what? Fuck you. What does this even have to do with you?”

  Sal glared at him. “I have this family’s best interests in mind too, you know.”

  “I don’t know a damn thing about that. Could’ve fooled me.”

  Sal’s glare went condescending. “When I met with Joe about it, he was concerned—”

  “You met with Joe?”

  “Of course.” Sal shrugged. “It took a while to hammer together an agreeable deal. This wasn’t last-minute or anything.”

  “You’ve been meeting with Joe about this?”

  “Yes. Until I had something good to take to Dad.”

  “How long?” Remy, who thought he couldn’t get any angrier, felt his pulse slamming in his forehead. He wanted to kill his brother, kill fucking Joe, even his parents who thought this was for his own good. He had no idea what about this they thought was good for anyone.

  “Weeks. We had to go back and forth a bit, wait until Dad was ready to consider it.”

  Oh, fuck them. Fuck them all.

  Remy pushed his chair back and stood from the table. “I’m going upstairs.” He shot a look at his father. “Is there even a restaurant for me to get up and open tomorrow?” he asked.

  Tom gave him a sad look. “We’re open for two more weeks,” he said. “And then Pineapple Joe’s takes over the building.”

  “What were you thinking?” Remy snapped. He’d never talked to his father like that in his life, but he couldn’t believe he’d gone behind his back and done something so irreversible.

  “Remy, you can cook anywhere. You are amazing. You deserved more than some building that was falling apart around you.”

  “What about me, Pa?” Andre said. Remy felt for his little brother. He had to be feeling just as betrayed. Lumiere was his baby too. “You screwed me over too, and I don’t have restaurants all over me like Rem does.”

  “You’re just as good as your brother. Find a restaurant somewhere. Get some experience, and in a few years you’ll make it.” Tom reached over and patted his son’s hand. “I promise. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

  “Make it where?” Remy spat. “Somewhere like La Rochelle? Clune?” He named two of the restaurants that had called asking for him. He’d never even considered saying yes. “I’d hate that. You know I would. That’s not my world, and I don’t even want it to be.”

  “Rem—”

  Remy held up his hand. “No, you know what? I’m going to go up to bed and try to get some sleep. I have to get up early and run my restaurant for the few days left that I still have it.”

  He turned then and walked toward the back stairs out of the kitchen and up to his third-floor bedroom. He didn’t want to make a dramatic exit. He just wanted to be gone.

  * * *

  Remy barely slept all night, tossed and turned and stared at his ceiling as his headache grew by the minute. Finally he did fall into a fitful sleep and woke up a few hours later to about fifteen text message
s on his phone, mostly from Joe. He didn’t want to read them. Remy just turned his phone onto silent and resisted the urge to fall back into bed and say fuck it to the entire world.

  Every day for the past few years, his entire goal was to pick the best ingredients for the best dishes to make Lumiere the success he knew it could be. All of that had been completely blown to shit with one signature. Part of him wished his father had just closed the restaurant down right away. Every day of the next two weeks was going to be interminably painful.

  He struggled his way out of bed and into his fish market clothes. He didn’t want to go. Andre was sitting downstairs, still in the same clothes from the night before. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and looked like he’d been there for a long time.

  “How you doing, bro?” Remy asked.

  “Fucked. What am I supposed to do, man?”

  Remy reached out and squeezed Andre’s shoulder. “I don’t know what either one of us is going to do. I’m not going to go work in some highbrow celeb-studded photo-op. I wish I’d known this was coming. I could’ve saved some cash up to buy us another place.”

  “Yeah, right.” Andre snorted. As though either one of them had even close to the money to get another restaurant to run. Remy had been pouring so much of his savings into Lumiere, he doubted he’d even have the money to get an apartment, which he was seriously considering.

  “I know. It’s fucked. I’m going to the fish market. Wanna come, get your mind of stuff for a little while?”

  Remy had been letting Andre go to the market for him more often lately, when he’d been too busy falling for the backstabbing asshole who’d taken their life from them. At least he’d given his baby brother some experience while he was getting fucked in all the worst ways.

  “Yeah. Let’s go. I’m not going to sleep, and I don’t want to be around here when Dad wakes up.”

  “Me neither. I’m just going to go straight to the restaurant after.”

  * * *

  Remy was exhausted. He’d barely slept and had been up since dawn. And he’d made the mistake of putting up a sign to let the customers know about the impending closure. He didn’t say anything to Magnolia. He didn’t know what she knew, and Remy couldn’t bear to be the one to break the news to her if his father hadn’t had the balls. He only hoped he had. Logically, he knew they’d already given Magnolia a good start in the city, but she felt like family. And this felt like abandoning her just as much as it was abandoning him and Andre.