“We’re good at it,” he agreed.
“Your family is…”
“Insane?”
“Wonderful. Just the nicest people ever.” Aidan’s father, Bud, had returned late in the afternoon holding two turkeys. He’d immediately cracked open a beer, looked at me, and while pretending he didn’t see my black eyes and broken nose, gave me a bear hug for the record books. The brothers-in-law made jokes and treated me like another sibling. We went all of five minutes before they dubbed me ‘Bruiser’.
“They like you.”
“How can you tell?”
“You don’t get a nickname unless they like you. And they teased you at dinner, didn’t they? They wouldn’t tease someone they didn’t like.”
We settled into the springy sofa mattress and pulled up the covers when I said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep on my stomach ever again.”
“Yeah, no one stands a chance when Mom is cooking.”
“She kept filling my plate.”
“She thinks you’re too thin.”
“Too thin? I had to unbutton my jeans at the dinner table.”
“Sibby,” he whispered.
My eyes closed. “Hmmm?”
“We’re more than naked friends you know.”
“I know,” I mumbled. “Naked friends don’t spend holidays together. Naked friends don’t leave clothes at each other’s places.”
“You gave me a drawer. Sort of.”
“I just got out of a two year relationship,” I said, “Can we just keep doing what we’re doing?”
“You mean we’re just going to go on pretending you’re using me for my incredible spooning skills, and I’m using you for…”
“Comic relief?”
“You ever think of doing standup?” he teased. “You’d be good at it.”
“Yeah,” I huffed. “I’m a source of endless entertainment.”
“Might as well try and make money off of it.”
“Let’s go to sleep.”
“Okay. Assume the spoon!”
“Come back,” Nancy said, giving me a hug. “Any time. Feel free to come back without Aidan.”
“Mom,” Aidan said with a grin and a shake of his head. “Told you they’d like you better than they like me.”
With a final wave, we got into Janet’s car. We had to get back to the city, back to reality. I had to work Black Friday in New York City.
Oh, the dread.
Aidan and I parted at Grand Central. I was planning on chastely kissing him goodbye, but he had other ideas. He wrapped me in his arms and dipped me, old Hollywood style.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked.
“Kissing you goodbye,” he said. “Duh.”
“Aidan…”
“The sooner you kiss me, the sooner I stop making a spectacle.”
I had no choice but to pucker up and give it my all. Three hours later, when I walked into Antonio’s, I still felt like I was walking on clouds and I was smiling like an idiot.
Jess embraced me. “Welcome back!”
“Thank you.”
“You look almost back to normal.”
I removed my glasses so I could show her the sickly bruises that still circled my eyes.
“Okay, I take it back.”
A few hours later, the closers came onto the floor. I saw Zeb at the back computer by the kitchen, tying his apron and talking to a few of the support staff members. I approached him, wanting to find out about his Thanksgiving.
The look he gave me froze me in my tracks. He gestured with his head to the alcove near the back room. There was no one in my section so I followed him.
“I saw you,” he said without preamble. “At Grand Central. With Aidan.”
It felt like the floor shook beneath me. I pressed a hand to the brick wall to steady myself. I’d never been a good liar. I’d gotten C’s in all my acting classes for a reason.
“I knew it,” he said. “The night of my birthday—you made it seem like it was nothing.”
“Okay, listen—”
Katrina came around the corner, looking tall and Russian. “What is happen? You have party without me? Everyone party without me.”
I managed a weak smile and ducked out back onto the main floor, Zeb not far behind me. “Drinks? After work?” I pleaded.
He paused a moment, then nodded before departing.
I was about to face the jury of Zeb, but I worried I’d already been sentenced.
“Table fifty is complaining about me to Jess,” I said to Natalie. My first night back had to be a trial? I couldn’t just have a seamless night?
“What are they saying?” Natalie took the tongs from the bar and plopped a lime into a vodka tonic.
“They’re saying I rushed them.”
“Did you?”
“I got a note that it was one of the girls’ birthday. I dropped dessert menus, let them sit, and then asked if they wanted anything. They said no. I asked if they wanted coffee. They said no. I asked if they wanted any more drinks. They said no. So, I dropped the check. And then they called Jess over.”
Natalie rolled her eyes.
“It gets worse.”
“How does it get worse?”
“One of the girls just put on a tiara.”
“Birthday Bitch.”
When Jess finished talking to the uppity table, she found me at the bar. “We’re sending a free dessert.”
“What?” I demanded. “Why? They didn’t even order their own dessert! Why do we reward people for bad behavior?”
“Ever hear of Yelp?” Jess asked. “We’re buying them an eight dollar dessert in hopes that buys us a little good will instead of a negative review.”
I shook my head. “I so don’t get this industry.”
“If I got the spaghetti Carbonara without the egg, what will it be like?”
Oy.
“Salty bacon…in salty pasta,” I said slowly.
The woman paused and then said, “I’ll have the gnocchi.”
“Any food allergies?” I asked her while gathering up the menus.
“Uh, why?”
“So I don’t accidently kill you.”
I could tell that she didn’t know if I was being serious or not. I waited.
“No, no food allergies.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Zeb and I went to a dark wine bar far away from Antonio’s so I could spill.
Zeb looked at me and said, “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Uhm, wasn’t it you who said no one in a restaurant could keep a secret?”
He had the grace to give a bit. “I might have said that. Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
“How did this start? When did it start? The night of my birthday?”
I shook my head and recounted how I originally met Aidan. “I spent Thanksgiving with him and his family Upstate.”
“That’s kind of serious.”
“No,” I denied. “Not serious.”
“Whatever you say,” Zeb said. “I’m amazed. I never would’ve guessed you guys were together. Not by how you act at work.”
“Well, I made it very clear that I was not okay having my dirty business paraded all around the restaurant. I don’t know a lot, but I do know that having us outed as a couple is not something I want. Not there.”
Couple. Huh. Interesting word choice, Sibby.
“I didn’t tell you because…well, I’m still new and I know we’re friends, but I just didn’t know—”
“If you could trust me,” he finished. “I got it. Still sucks though. Knowing I was right and that you lied to my face.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
We were silent for a moment over our glasses of wine. “What’s he like—outside work, I mean?”
“Do you mean out of his clothes or…” I grinned.
“No! I mean, yes, I’m dying to know.”
“He’s,” I
paused, “great.”
“Great? That’s it. That’s all you’ll give me?”
I shrugged. “Sorry, Zeb. I’m not drunk enough to tell you, and besides, I never spoon and tell.”
Chapter 15
Gabbagol [gah-ba-goll]:
1. Capicola. (I think that’s what he meant to say.) Coppa. Cured meat made from pork shoulder.
2. Not Italian. Not English, either. Can you point to that on the menu, please?
“Zeb knows,” I said to Aidan that night when we were lying in bed. “But you have to pretend you don’t know that he knows.”
“You are a giant migraine waiting to happen.”
I pinched his side.
“Ow! How does he know?” he asked.
“He saw us in Grand Central.”
“Ah.”
“He won’t tell anyone,” I assured.
“Right.”
“He promised.”
“Drunk promises don’t count.”
“How did you know we were drunk?”
He sighed, sat up, and flipped on the bedside lamp. “We have to tell Jess.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s going to find out. Now that Zeb knows, it’s only a matter of time before the whole staff knows.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“Of course I trust him,” he said.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is shit has a way of coming out.”
“We agreed to keep this a secret,” I said.
“That was more of you wanting to keep it a secret than me. And now you told Zeb.”
“I didn’t tell him—he saw us. Besides I’d rather quit than have a sit down with Jess about it.”
“You don’t mean that.”
I nodded. “I do mean that. I’m not going to have our…relationship on display, or have it put into a box where the words ‘sexual harassment’ are thrown around. This could turn into a thing. You could get fired. I could get fired.”
“Sibby, there’s not a ‘no dating’ policy at Antonio’s. Look at Zeb and Kirk.”
I looked at him. “You know about them?”
“They were all over each other at his birthday party. Obnoxiously so.”
“They’re co-workers. No one outranks the other one.” I sighed. “I’ll go in tomorrow and quit.”
“It’s the holidays, you’re going to leave us in a lurch.”
“And what’s the other option, Aidan? We stop seeing each other.” As soon as I said it, I knew that wouldn’t fly with me. By the look on his face, I knew that wouldn’t fly with him either.
“We’re not going to agree on this, are we?” he said, sighing in temporary defeat.
“Nope. We don’t have to do anything. Nothing has to change.”
“Sibby?”
“Yeah?”
He winced. “Can you stop digging your nails into my leg? You’ve made your point.”
I released him instantly. “Sorry.”
“Why is it so important to you that we keep this a secret?”
“Why is it so important to you that we tell everyone?” I shot back.
We sat in silence.
Annie slathered her hash browns with Tabasco, onions, and jalapeños. Iron stomach, that one. I took a sip of weak diner coffee before I said, “I should just quit. Find another job.”
“Why? Why not just tell the GM about you guys? It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“Men who screw around in the workplace are treated differently than women who screw around in the workplace. Not to mention the fact that Aidan is technically my boss. It would be different if he was another server or a bartender, but he’s got the power to fire me. If my co-workers knew we were dating, they’d give me a lot of crap. I’d lose their respect, and what happens if people start to think Aidan is treating me differently than them? I like my job. I like my co-workers. I don’t want the dynamic to change.”
“This was supposed to be a temporary job,” she pointed out.
“It still is.”
“Well, you sound like you really like it.”
“I like it better than the office environment. Do you like your job? Does anyone like their job?”
Annie laughed. “My job pays the bills and I’m technically a chef, so that’s cool, I guess. Even though most of the time I make nothing but grilled chicken with vegetables. Heather is totally bipolar. One minute she’s laughing with me, the next she’s blaming me for open wine going bad. It’s exhausting.”
“I know I’m supposed to have all this figured out,” I said, “but I just have no idea what I’m doing. It’s like I’m drunkenly staggering through my twenties.”
“I think that’s what you’re supposed to do in your twenties.”
“Well, great. Glad to know I’m right where I should be,” I said with ironic bitterness. “But this can’t continue into my thirties. Not having life figured out in your twenties is something people understand. But not having life figured out in your thirties? People will wonder where it all went wrong.”
“Uhm, Sib, you’re twenty-seven. Thirty is still years away.”
“You know in New York, you blink and three years goes by.”
“That’s true.”
“How do you hold it all together, Annie?”
She took another bite of spicy hash browns and swallowed them before answering. “I drink. A lot.”
“Seriously.”
“I am being serious. Do you know how annoyed I am that I decided to go to college and then culinary school? Where would I be if I’d known all along that I wanted to be a chef?”
“You wouldn’t have met me,” I said. “We never would’ve lived down the hall from each other freshman year at UNC and you never would’ve taken me to my first party.”
“Where you never would’ve started your long term affair with Jose Cuervo,” Annie said with a grin. “Think of where you’d be without him.”
I laughed. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“How’s the book writing going?” Annie asked.
“It’s not sounding the way I want it to sound,” I answered.
“What do you mean? Is it corny enough?”
I nodded. “Yeah, the schmaltz factor is all there.” I threw out the Yiddish word and knew I wouldn’t have to clarify it for Annie. She’d been living in New York long enough—and been friends with me for years.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. It’s funny.”
“What’s funny?” She frowned in confusion.
“The book,” I explained.
“Funny like, you’re cracking jokes in it?”
“Funny, like it’s a parody.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. I can’t help it.”
“So you’re writing a comedy?”
“Inadvertently.”
“Huh,” she said again.
“Yeah. And I’m making the euphemisms really ridiculous. Like, over the top.”
“So, go with it,” she said.
“I think I have to.”
“When do I get to read it?”
“When I know how I feel about it,” I answered. “I make myself laugh writing it. That’s a good sign, right?”
“How should I know? I’m the chef, you’re the writer.”
Natalie and I were in the main dining room, watching a family of five—three of them children—make a ruckus. The parents yelled at their eight-year-old who couldn’t sit still. The toddler was watching a movie on an iPad at full volume, and the teenage girl sulked and brooded and refused to remove her ear buds while simultaneously singing along to terrible pop music.
“I swear the hostesses are seating them all in my section on purpose,” I said.
“You have been getting a lot of kids lately,” Natalie said.
“Last night, I had a family table thank me for ‘tolerating the
m’. Maybe they should rethink going out all together and not inflict themselves on unsuspecting waitresses. They let their kids dump out sugar caddies. I had to bring out the mop.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a few of those.”
“Please take them for me,” I begged.
“Ha! What will you give me?”
“Muffins. Lots and lots of muffins.”
“I’m not eating gluten. I’m on the Paleo diet.”
I glared at her. “Damn you and your will power.”
The eight-year-old started throwing a temper tantrum, tossing the large menu onto the floor. I shot Natalie a pleading look. “Have mercy! Have mercy!”
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll take them. You take the next table of mine that comes in, okay?”
“Yes, yes, anything. You’re a goddess!”
“You’re laying it on a little thick, but I’m glad I’m appreciated.”
Natalie slapped a serene smile on her face and approached the pandemonium. Twenty minutes later, the table was quiet, everyone munching away.
“How did you do that?” I demanded, in awe of Natalie’s magical powers.
“I was openly sympathetic to the parents, I brought them bread immediately and I complimented the teenager.” She shrugged. “Oh, look you got a new table.”
I turned and tried not to grimace. A table of ten.
Over half of them were kids.
“Hi, how are you tonight?” I greeted my new party of four. All adults, two couples who reminded me of my parents, almost clones of each other. Thank goodness, no children. The Clones would be easy to deal with.
“Are you taking care of us tonight?” One of the Clones asked. He had a gray mustache and no hair on his head.
“I am.”
“Jack, she looks like that actress we like. What’s her name again?” Jack’s wife studied me as she inquired.
“Sara Silverman?” I asked.
Jack shook his head. “That’s not it.”
“Lisa Loeb?”
“Who?” Jack’s wife asked.
“Musician,” I clarified. “But I’m guessing, ‘no’. How about Zooey Deschanel?”
Tales of a New York Waitress (The Sibby Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
