by Aubrey Irons
“Ollie, listen to your father, okay?”
“Laura?” I say sternly, my eyes staring lasers at her, “Out of my kitchen, right now.”
I jolt back as Barney shoves me, slamming his drink onto the counter. “Oy! You watch your fookin’ mouth there boy! You don’t talk to your mother like that.”
The whole kitchen goes dead silent, and I can feel every muscle in my body tensing as I turn back to him, my eyes narrowed right at him, “She’s not my mother, dad.”
I can feel Chloe’s hand on my arm, and I let my breath out slowly, feeling her back there. My dad looks like he wants to hit me, and I almost hope he does, but he seems to hold it in and lets his face get even redder instead. “Oy, send ‘im the veal, Ollie.”
I glare at my father. “The veal is tired and old, I told you this. And I’m going to send him what he fucking ordered.”
“Just cook it, Oliver; everyone likes it.”
I feel the rage building inside as he tries to bully me, and I throw it right back. I push him back, back out of the pass to the other side of my kitchen line as I step right after him, “I’m going with the octopus, like he ordered, dad.”
Barney’s jaw clenches and he steps right into my face, “Now you listen to me, son. You do the veal or you get the fuck out of my kitchen?”
I hoot, “Oh, it’s your kitchen is it?”
“THE VEAL, OLLIE!” Barney roars in my face. I take a step towards him, raising my fist before I can even stop myself. There are hands on my arms, multiple hands and I whirl to see both Chloe and Marco yanking me back. Ian stands behind Laura by the door to the dining room, quickly shaking his head back and forth.
My dad roars with laughter; “Oy! You gonna take a swing at me are you?” He spits at me, “You ungrateful, spoiled little prick! I fuckin’ set you up here!”
“I set myself up here!”
I take another step towards him, but hands grab me back again, and I can hear Marco muttering in my ear, “Oy, leave it, mate.”
“Yeah, you listen to your little friend there, boy-o.” Dad points at me, his face red. “Now send that fucking prick the fucking veal, or so help me God-“
“Okay, okay, hang on.” It’s Chloe, stepping forward with her hands raised, “Barney, why don’t we all just-”
“Oh this piece of work, eh?” My dad whirls on Chloe, his eyes narrow as he grins and shakes his head at her. “You just save it sweetheart. You think I don’t see what goes on here?”
He laughs and an icy chill starts to creep up my back.
“You think I don’t know about the two of you fuckin’ around like a couple of disgraceful perverts!”
“Barney!” Laura’s face looks aghast, as she darts her wine-soaked eyes back and forth between Chloe and myself. Neither of us says a word, and suddenly her whole face is falling; “Chloe?”
“It’s vile is wot it is!” Barney spits, shaking his head at the two of us.
“Watch it, dad,” I say quietly. My fists are clenching at my side, and this time, I can feel Marco’s hands just let go of my arms as he steps away.
“Oh what, protecting your little girlfriend Ollie? Standing up are we for your sick little perverted-”
Barney goes reeling backwards as my fist connects with his jaw, but then he’s roaring as he rushes right at me. We go staggering into stacks of clean plates, smashing them to floor with a crash. I’m shoving my dad off of me, grunting as his fist connects with my gut before suddenly we’re crashing right past Laura, right past an almost screaming Ian, and right out the fucking door into the dining room.
Barney gets one more hit in before I shove him off, and then there’s Ian and Marco, grabbing him by the arms and hauling him away from me.
The whole fucking room is dead quiet.
The whole dining room, I feel I should add, including the food critic from the Times.
Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-FUCK.
Barney wrestles out of the arms holding him back, spitting at me and straightening his collar. He glances around the dining room at the staring eyes, the cellphone cameras, and the white face of the critic sitting by himself in the corner. He turns back to me, shaking his head, “Ollie, you’re fired.”
He jerks his chin at me, “Get out.”
“Gladly,” I mutter, getting to my feet. I turn towards Chloe, who’s standing there in the kitchen doorway with tears in her eyes. And I want to go to her, I want to grab her and tell her it’s fine.
But I can’t right now.
Right now, I just need to get the fuck out of here.
I turn and storm silently through the dining room, dropping my apron by the host stand, and walking right out the front door into the chilly London night.
I’m running through the restaurant before I can even stop myself, ignoring my mother, and Barney, and the staring eyes of the dining room full of scandalized guests as I follow Oliver out through the front door.
There’s a brief moment of zen as I stumble into the street where I realize that it’s the first time I’ve actually passed through the doors on this side of the building, and the fact that I’m leaving through them almost seems darkly poetic.
Oliver jerks his head around when he hears me and shrugs, “Well, what do you think he’ll give us?”
“Huh?!”
He grins. “The reviewer. ‘Three stars; would come back for the mozzarella and pine nut salad appetizer and the ring-side seats again’?”
He winks and me as I walk towards him, shaking my head, “You don’t think you’re being a little bit too cavalier about what just happened?”
Oliver shrugs again, and for some reason, it irks me this time. “Eh, it is what it is. What are you gonna do, right?”
“No, Oliver do you not get how big of a deal that was?” And suddenly, in my head, I’m ashamed to say that it’s not the knock-down fight Oliver’s just had with his own father in the middle of the restaurant, it’s the words his father barked at the two of us back in the kitchen before that has me reeling.
‘You think I don’t know about the two of you fuckin’ around like a couple of fuckin’ perverts!’
It’s the words that slice through my heart, and slice away all the bullshit padding I’ve been wrapping around myself to protect me from what I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about. That what Oliver and I are doing is wrong. So very wrong.
‘It’s vile is wot it is!’
And now everyone knows it. Everyone we work with, half the strangers in that dining room; MY MOTHER.
I shake my head, trying to stop the sting of shame and tears that threatens to run down my cheeks at any second.
“Hey, hey!’ Oliver’s arms go around me, and even though I know we shouldn’t be doing this - even though I know that it’s now far past time to stop this and put an end to this whole thing, I let him bring me in.
“Oy,” he whispers, tilting my chin up, “It’s all going to be okay, luv.”
And then he’s kissing me, and for one second in time, everything else drops away. For one second, as the wind whips around us on that cold, cobblestone street by the Thames, I can forget all of it and just be there in that moment with him.
“Oh. My. GOD!”
The sound of a voice in the night shatters the moment, and I jerk away from Oliver to see Delia standing outside the restaurant with her jaw dropped and her eyes wide, “Oh my God, it is true!” She squeals, wrinkling her nose at us, “That is so gross! You’re - EW - you’re his sister!” She sneers at me, shaking her head and making this horrified face at me.
“No, Delia-”
“Uh-uh, ew, stay away.” She starts to laugh, shaking her head at us, “So gross, Chloe; so gross.” She shakes her head again before turning and waltzing back into the restaurant.
“Oh my God, Oliver-!” I turn, feeling the panic rising inside of me feeling the world start to rock a little under my feet. “She’s- she’s going to tell everyone what she just saw!”
Oliver rolls his eyes, “So?”
I stare at him. “SO?!”
“Yeah, so, Chloe,” he frowns at me. “Fuck her, and fuck ‘em all.” He takes my hand and pulls me close, “This is real; the rest of them can just-”
“No, Oliver!” I’m yelling then, shaking my head and feeling the tears start to well out of my eyes as he frowns at me. “No it’s not just ‘fuck them’, this is MY LIFE! This is real!”
“Why are you so fucking upset right n-”
“‘Fuck them’? That’s your answer to all this?!”
“Chloe!” His hands are on my shoulders as he leans in to my face, “I told you, it’s going to be fine, luv-”
“You need to stop calling me that,” I say sharply, shaking his hands off of me and stepping back.
“Chloe-”
“No,” I’m shaking my head, and I know I’m about to do something terrible; something I won’t be able to take back and something that’s going to really, really hurt.
But I also know that it’s something I have to do.
“Chloe, let’s just-”
“I said NO OLIVER!” I scream, and this time, he shuts his mouth. “I- I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just pretend it’s all going to be fine while you just act like a tough-guy bad-ass about any real problems that hit your life!”
He narrows his eyes at me, “And just what the fuck is that suppose to-”
“It means I’m done, Oliver! It means I’m done with this place and this city, and all of this!” I’m crying then, because I know I’m making a mistake, even if it’s the only one I can make right now.
“And I’m done with us,” I say quietly, “Whatever we are.”
He’s opening his mouth, but I’m turning and running down the street before he can say a word.
Please don’t follow me, please.
And he doesn’t, and that may be the worst part.
I nod at Rajeev as he passes me another beer and tosses a quick smile my way. I’m not sure why of all the places in the entire city of London I come here, but here is where I am.
Familiarity maybe?
“So,” Rajeev says in his thick Indian accent as he raises an eyebrow at me, “Rough night in the kitchen?”
“You could say that.” I’m still wearing my chef’s whites, but he seems to take it in stride. I’m suddenly wondering how many times he’s seen Oliver in here in this very condition and dress before I quickly push that thought out of my mind.
Rajeev shrugs, “Life is complex sometimes.” He looks down, chopping something peppery smelling before glancing back up at me. “Okay, so take for example when I immigrated here from Bangladesh.” He shakes his head, “You know, it was a big change coming here from what I had there and setting up this curry house.”
I nod, taking a sip of my beer and giving him a sympathetic look, “Were you like a doctor or something back home?”
Rajeev frowns at me, “No, I owned a curry house,” he says sharply. He shakes his head, “Why does everyone always think I was a fucking doctor?”
“Sorry.”
He grins, “No worries. Anyways, it gets better.”
“What does?”
What, getting over Oliver? Getting over my feelings - feelings I can’t even bring myself to say out loud or put a word to - for the last man on earth I should be having them for?
“The pain; the feeling of letting it go and the loss that comes with it.”
I raise a questioning brow at Rajeev as he shrugs and goes back to chopping. “Rajeev, you’re sure you weren’t a doctor?”
He laughs, “Let us hope not,” he says, grinning as he spins the sharp chef’s knife in his hand before slamming it point down into the cutting board and winking at me.
It takes another beer after that one before I finally get up the courage to go home and face the music; whatever tune it may be.
I step into the darkness of the townhouse, shutting the door behind me. But it’s when I see the knocked over coffee table in the living room and the glasses shattered around it that hit full panic mode.
“MOM?!” I scream, suddenly backing up against the front door with my eyes wildly looking around the dark entryway, “Mom!?”
“I’m here, honey.”
I burst into the kitchen to see my mother sitting on one of the bar stools hunched over with her face in her hands and a glass of wine in front of her.
“Mom?”
“It’s over, honey.”
Oh not now, not from her.
“Mom, I’m so sorry I-” I sigh. “I don’t know how to tell you. But it’s over, I ended it.”
She looks at me sadly, “Oh, no, honey, I mean Barney and I.”
“What?” I stare at her in disbelief. “Oh God, because of-“
“Oh no, honey,” she smiles sadly. “He was cheating on me with that waitress, Delia.”
“WHAT?” I stare at her, incredulously.
She nods and takes a small sip of her wine, “I had my suspicions, but I walked in on the two of them around the corner right after she told us about you and…” she trails off and looks down.
“Oh, God! Mom, I’m so sorry,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her close.
“I’m so sorry for all of this, honey,” she whispers, hugging me fiercely.
“No, mom-”
“Look, I know I make mistakes, and I know I drink too much, dear.”
“Mom-” I hug her tighter, “I know.”
“I just miss your father so much sometimes.”
I squeeze her, feeling her arms go around me and holding me tight before she lets go and I pull away to sink on the stool next to her.
“So what was the whole thing with Barney? I mean…” I raise my brows and gesture around the absurdly decorated kitchen with the framed pictures of lingerie models on the wall by the window.
She sighs, rolling her eyes, “Oh I don’t know, I guess I thought he was a nice man.”
“Well, he’s an asshole.”
“He’s got rough edges, I suppose.”
“Mom.”
She laughs, “Okay! Okay! You’re right, he’s a fucking asshole!”
It’s literally the first time I’ve ever hear my mom say that word, and I can’t help but giggle.
She pushes her glass of wine away and sighs, “This could’ve been a nice life for us,” she says quietly, looking down. She raises her eyes to me, “Oliver?”
“It’s over.”
She starts crying.
“Mom?”
“Oh, honey, it’s just-” she sniffs. “You’re a lover, just like your father, you know. You’ve got a big heart.”
I nod, looking down.
“I mean, he is a bit...crude.”
I snort, “I know.”
She smiles at me, “There’s no talking you out of baking or the kitchens is there.”
I look up at her miserably and shake my head.
“I was afraid of that,” she laughs. “Just like your father.”
I choke out a laugh as she brings me back into a hug, nuzzling my face into her shoulder.
“Sorry?”
“Don’t be. Don’t ever be,” she says firmly, “You remind me of him every day, and that’s enough.”
I look up at her, “So, now what?”
She raises a brow at me, “There’s…nothing you want to do in London?”
I shake my head.
“Nothing at all?”
“No,” I say quietly, hoping the words cover the sound of my heart breaking.
“Then I guess that’s all there is.” She gives me one more questioning look before she brings me back in for another hug
“Let’s go home, mom.”
“You did what now, mate?”
Danny is laughing his ass off while I sit there looking at the bar top of the Rusty Knot, fiddling with the pint in my hand.
“You’re serious? In front of the fuckin’ dining room?”
I slowly nod my head, “Yep.”
Danny hoots and pounds his fis
t on the bar, “In front of that little shit from the Times?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He whistles lowly as he shakes his head, grinning at me. “Oh Jesus did I create a fuckin’ monster with you.” He snorts, “Christ, Ollie,” he says, shaking his head. “You got a temper, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I take a deep pull of my beer.
“No, mate, I mean it’s not always a bad thing; it means you’ve got balls. But you just have to stop thinking with them so much, you know?” He grins as he pats me on the back.
“Yeah, gee wonder wherever I could’ve gotten that from,” I say, shooting him a sideways look.
Danny laughs and ruffles my hair, “So, what’s with your pops now then?”
I roll my eyes as I drain the last of my pint and then raise it up to signal the bartender for another. “Well, Danny, I’m pretty certain my dad just fired me.”
He snorts, shaking his head, “Well, that’s gonna make for an interesting Christmas dinner now isn’t it.
“No shit.”
“About as interesting as you fucking your stepsister, yeah?”
I whirl on Danny, who grins and holds his hand up, “Oy, no judgement, mate. That one’s a keeper, you know.”
I frown at the new pint as it’s set in front of me, my jaw tightening, “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
I shake my head. “Naw, mate, I’m through with that shit now. Besides, that whole ‘one girl’ game’s never been my style anyways. The world’s a fuckin oyster, like you always say, yeah?” I toast to no one with my glass and take a big gulp.
Danny sighs and shakes his head.
“What?”
“Nothin’, leave it.”
“What?”
He turns, frowning as he jabs a finger at me, “Look, boy-o, you want to keep trying to be me, be my guest. Keep fucking waitresses and bartenders and never settle down.” He barks out a laugh, “End up old and alone like me.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re really struggling with those three Michelin stars and different model every night,” I shake my head at him.
“Trust me, boy-o, it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, “Look, you want to know what the move is? Find that someone, and hang on.”
