by Adams, S. C.
“Oh, girly, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. You let us know what you decide and we’ll back you one hundred percent,” Grams promises.
We talk for a bit more before finally hanging up so Grams can get to her standing hair appointment. The woman loves a blowout more than I do.
Talking to my grandmother made me feel a bit better than before. I trudge into the kitchen and scavenge for something to make for lunch. My cabinets are mostly bare since I’ve been eating with Nate. I guess, since I’m going to move back home, I don’t have to bother picking up more groceries.
I do have some chicken that’s still good, so I prepare a stir fry with fresh broccoli, carrots, peppers, and rice. It’s the heartiest thing I’ve eaten in a few days. When I take a bite, my stomach doesn’t try to reject it. That’s just another sign that going home is the right decision. I’m already starting to feel better.
After lunch, I figure I should set my plan in motion. My landlord won’t be happy that I’m skipping out on my lease, but she won’t have any problem finding someone else to take this place because it’s such a steal. I’ll call her last and apologize profusely. Hopefully, she won’t be angry with me.
For now, I dial my cable and internet providers and let them know I’m leaving and that they can shut down service tomorrow. I book a train for today up to Boston so I don’t have to spend another night in this awful city.
With that settled, I head to my room to start packing. It feels like just yesterday that I filled the closet and drawers with my clothes and now I’m undoing all that hard work. Maybe I should have just lived out of suitcases. I was bound to fail here. Everyone knew I wasn’t cut out for the New York lifestyle, even my grandmother.
I pick up a shirt and for the third time today, I can’t stop tears from falling. It’s one of Nate’s that I stole to wear after one of our many rendez-vous over the last few weeks. It still smells like both of us.
I throw it in the trash.
The sooner I move on from Nate the better. Getting out of New York is an easy way to start.
Forcing Nate out of my mind and heart will be much more difficult.
16
Nathaniel
Monday
My eyes wander to Alyssa’s empty seat as I try to lecture the class on cooking lobster.
At least she had the decency not to show up today. I take that as an admission of guilt. If she were innocent, she would have come to class and tried to fix things between us. Her not being here just means she really never cared about me.
The thought stings. Even worse, she’s probably with that guy who was texting her. Now that I’m out of the picture, they have more time to hook up.
“Mr. Glover?” A student says. Thinking about Alyssa caused my lecture to taper off.
“Sorry about that,” I tell the red-haired boy. He’s probably around nineteen. His face is still round like a child’s, but his arms are thick with muscle like he’s been trying for years to lose the baby fat. Poor kid. He’ll probably have a young-looking face for a long time. At least he’ll get carded even when he’s in his forties. That’s something to brag about to his friends. “Where was I?” I continue.
“You were talking about tails,” the boy informs me. After a month, I should know my students’ names, but his is escaping me. Is it Ed something? I can’t be sure. The only names I know for sure are Alyssa, for obvious reasons, and Samantha, because her father is a colleague. I’m fairly certain he pulled strings to get her into this class. Her cooking skills aren’t nearly as elevated as her peers’ seem to be.
“Right. Thank you. As I was saying…” I finish the lecture on lobster. I manage to pay attention the entire time without another Alyssa fueled derailment.
After the lecture, I assign the students their dishes. They’ll be working until the last hour of class, which is designated as tasting, questions, and discussion. For the first couple of weeks, the tasting part was the worst. I was worried some of the students were trying to poison me. Last week I saw vast improvements even among the weakest links. I suppose that means my teaching methods have been thus far successful.
“Anyone can boil a lobster,” I explain. “There are even fast food restaurants that offer lobster dishes. Not everyone can prepare a full lobster meal worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, though. I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I expect your dishes to be delicious.”
The class looks wary. This is by far the most difficult thing they’ve had to master. Seafood in itself is hard to get right, and lobster is among the hardest.
“I want you to prepare a baked stuffed lobster tail. You will find the recipe at your work station. Included in your recipe packet are the individual side dishes. These include a salad, a soup, and two vegetables. I know this is a lot of work, which is why you’ll be partnering up for this assignment. Your table partner will be your co-chef. I expect you to equally divide your sides, but each of you will be preparing your own stuffed lobster to be graded. Any questions?”
Naturally, Samantha’s hand shoots up. “Mr. Glover, my partner seems to have vanished,” she exaggerates. “Will you work with me so I’m not all by myself?”
“Sure, Samantha,” I say without fully realizing what I’ve agreed to. “Get to your stations everyone. You have three hours to get everything done, plated, and served.”
The class jumps to action. Most of the partnerships have worked well thus far. I haven’t heard any complaints. This is only our second big partner dish, though. Tensions run high with so much at stake. That’s why I make them each do their own lobster. That way, the biggest part of their grade is coming from them individually.
Working with other people is a huge part of the restaurant business. I’m hoping this is good practice for them.
“Mr. Glover,” Samantha says sweetly. “I thought you said you’d help?”
Crap. Is that what I agreed to? I guess I’m stuck. I should tell Samantha she can cut down to two sides, but it’s too late for that now.
I walk slowly to the kitchenette she once shared with Alyssa. It takes most of my energy to force down thoughts of the curvy brown-haired girl who stole my heart in this very classroom.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask Samantha.
She squeezes her arms together so the tops of her breasts spill from her lazily buttoned chef’s coat.
“I have a few ideas,” she whispers.
I take a step back.
“How about I work on the vegetables?”
Samantha looks disappointed.
“Fine. Fire-roasted corn and glazed red potatoes. Should be easy.”
I nod.
“I can handle that. Please keep in mind you won’t be graded on the work I do, but you will be graded on plating, which includes both vegetables.”
She huffs.
“Fine.”
Samantha stays on the other side of the kitchenette while I clean potatoes. Once they’re ready, I have no choice but to join her since she’s right next to the stove top. You can’t fire-roast corn without fire.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I need to use the stove.”
She bats her eyelashes at me. “Say please,” she teases.
I am so not in the mood for this today. “Please,” I concede. Better to just do it than tell her she’s being a brat.
She still doesn’t move. “I think you need to make me move.”
“Samantha, remember you have limited time and these vegetables need to be on your plate.”
“You’re no fun,” she says with a giggle. “Fine, but you’re going to have some time on your hands when you’re done with the corn and potatoes. Maybe you could help me out?”
“If you genuinely need help when I’m done, we’ll talk.”
Samantha prepares her lobster while I cook the corn. With that roasted, I start on the glaze for the potatoes. They’ll probably take the longest to cook, so I toss them into the oven immediately.
“I need you!” Samantha says in what I suppose is
meant to be a sultry voice. “I can’t open the bread crumbs.”
With one hand, I peel back the silver seal. “Anything else?”
“I can’t seem to reach the mixing bowls from above the sink. Can you get one for me?”
“Of course,” I tell her since I can’t exactly say no. I hand her a stack of graduated metal mixing bowls and check on the potatoes. They’re roasting nicely so I toss them around a bit so they cook evenly.
“Can you check to make sure I’m gutting the lobster correctly?” she asks sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to wind up eating something disgusting.”
I roll my eyes. No one else in the class is this needy, but most everyone else is more talented than Samantha. This is what I get for getting involved with Alyssa. If we had never been together, she would still be in class and she’d be the one helping Samantha with menial tasks instead of me.
For the umpteenth time today, I miss Alyssa. She may have cheated on me and lied to me, but at least she was a good chef. She could have handled Samantha’s ridiculousness today far better than I am.
Samantha has the lobster dead and on its back with a slice cut down its stomach, which is exactly how I showed the class to do it earlier today.
“Find the liver, stomach, and intestines,” I instruct. Samantha gags while she searches the cavity. After a couple minutes, she locates the right organs. “Now toss those out and you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks,” she breathes.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I ask reluctantly.
Before Samantha can answer, my phone rings. I forgot to turn the stupid thing on vibrate before class started.
David’s name pops up on the screen.
“Class,” I shout over the commotion in the kitchen. “I need to take this call. Please don’t burn down the building while I’m in the hallway.”
A few students laugh. Others look genuinely terrified. How did I end up with half stars and half amateurs in the kitchen? No wonder the program has struggled to turn out lasting chefs for the last few years. The talent pool is lacking talent. I know I promised the school that I would try to better their statistics, but I’m not so sure I’ll be successful. I can only do so much with my students. Their success depends on how well they absorb the material and execute it in real life situations.
In the hallway, I answer David’s call.
“Hey, Nate,” he says, his voice sounding overly chipper. “I have great news! We closed on that property this morning. It’s all yours!”
This is the worst news I’ve heard all day.
“Un-close on it then,” I growl. “I don’t want it anymore.”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on a second,” David says. “What’s going on? Like three days ago we were both excited about this. What changed?”
“Everything changed!” I tell him.
The red-haired boy peeks his head out the door. “Mr. Glover, I just wanted you to know that your voice really carries and that that Samantha person keeps walking by the door so she can hear your conversation.”
“I do not!” Samantha calls from inside the door.
It’s like I’m teaching middle school, and not aspiring professionals.
“I’m going to take this call outside. I’ll be right out that door,” I tell him, pointing to the closest exit. “If anything happens, come find me.”
He nods and returns to the classroom. Once outside, I take a deep breath.
“Listen, David,” I start calmly. “I know you can make it happen. Just tell the sellers that we’re no longer interested in buying.”
“Did Alyssa find out about the deal and get pissed or something?”
I growl. “Don’t ever say that woman’s name again!”
Though he’s on the other side of the phone, I can practically see David taking a step back at my harsh tone. “Nate, man, I don’t know what’s going on but I need you to calm down.”
I attempt another deep, calming breath but it’s no use. I’m too wired and angry. “I don’t mean to take it out on you. Just make the building go away, David.”
“This building is prime New York real estate and it was a miracle we got it at that price. There’s no way the seller is going to reverse the sale now. The guy just wanted to sell and get out of town. His granddaughter is having a kid or something and he wants to be closer to her.”
“Frankly, I don’t care about his granddaughter. All I care about is that he takes the building back.”
“I’ll say this one more time: It’s. Not. Happening. Now tell me why you want it gone so badly.”
I groan. “Can we put it back up on the market? You said it’s prime real estate, so we can probably make money on the sale, right?”
“Not as much as we’d make opening a restaurant in the building,” David explains. “It’s prime restaurant real estate and not a lot of people are buying right now. Other than you.”
“I’m really stuck with it, aren’t I?” I concede. “That awful building is officially mine.”
David laughs. “This building is far from awful, but yeah man, it’s yours. Are you going to tell me why you’re acting like this is the worst news you’ve ever heard? You were overjoyed about it days ago. If I remember correctly, you even told me to jump on it before someone else did. You practically begged me to buy this building for you.”
“Okay, I get it. I’m being an ass. You did good, David.”
“Thanks, Nate. Now spill. I’m not hanging up until you do.”
“You know I could just hang up on you?” I respond.
David scoffs. “You won’t.”
He’s right, I won’t. As ridiculous as it is, I could use a friend right now. I haven’t talked to anyone about anything other than food since Saturday morning.
“Alyssa and I broke up,” I begin. “I found some texts on her phone about a guy she’s been hooking up with.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t think Alyssa was that kind of girl.”
We may be broken up, but I still take exception to David noticing Alyssa. He’s not supposed to think anything about her.
Instead of yelling at him, I sigh. “I didn’t think so either, Dave, but she was. She tried to deny it but the evidence was right there.”
“What did you do?”
“I kicked her out of my house,” I admit. “She was wearing nothing but a towel. I felt kind of bad, watching her walk down the driveway clutching her clothes to her chest, but she deserved it. I was nothing but faithful to her and she goes and fucks some guy behind my back?”
“That’s savage, man,” David says. “Did she show up in class today?”
I scoff. “Of course not. She couldn’t face me after what she did. I’m guessing she’s trying to get late admission into one of the other culinary schools here in New York as we speak.”
“What if they call you for a recommendation?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Alyssa may be questionable in the morals department, but she’s a damn good chef. “I guess I’d be honest. The girl can cook. She just can’t maintain a relationship, apparently.”
“That’s really shitty, man. Did you tell her about the restaurant?”
“Of course not! You were right to try to talk me out of it. I should’ve listened to you. Now I’m going to have to theme the place myself. I didn’t actually want to open another restaurant so soon, you know.”
“I know, this was for Alyssa,” David acknowledges. “This will be good for you, though. I was serious when I said we’ll make a ton of money at a restaurant in this location. And it’ll be good exposure for you. Your new place is doing ten times better than we expected in just the first month. We can ride that success by opening another restaurant in a year.”
I try to imagine opening my third restaurant in New York City.
“Isn’t this crazy? No one has this many restaurants this soon.”
David likely shrugs.
“As long as they’re all different. There are plenty of chefs with m
ultiple restaurants in the same city. New York isn’t small by any means.”
He’s right. The new restaurant isn’t anywhere near my other two locations.
“I guess we’ll have to figure out a theme, then,” I concede. “I’ll set up a meeting with my team this weekend to get the ball rolling.”
“Great!” David says excitedly. “I’ll start planning out a budget this afternoon.”
“Thanks, David.”
“It’s my job,” he admits. “What isn’t my job is taking you out for drinks tonight. You in?”
I probably shouldn’t be going out on a Monday night, but it sounds like exactly what I need. “Yeah, I’m in. I’ll see you later.”
“See you.”
We hang up and I take a few minutes to myself before returning to the classroom. There’s no smoke in the air, so everything looks good.
I take a stroll around the room and come to an annoying realization when I approach Samantha’s half-empty station.
As angry as I am at Alyssa, I still miss her. A part of me even still loves her.
All the more reason to go out with David tonight and drink her out of my mind.
17
Nathaniel
Monday
“How many drinks will it take to wipe that mopey look off your face?” David asks, pulling me from my thoughts. My friend hits it right on the head because I was thinking about Alyssa. Is she out somewhere with that guy right now?
I wish I’d gotten his name. It’s hard to hate an unknown number. I bet his name is Jamie or something equally annoying.
David watches me expectantly. Right, he asked me a question. I’ve been terrible company tonight, and I should try to pay more attention to the conversation.
“Sorry, what?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should call Alyssa and talk it out.”
I scoff.
