Page 142 of That First Flight

Every bit of self-doubt I’ve ever had comes barreling into my mind. I’ve never been to culinary school and don’t have an education outside of a high school diploma.

Why me?

I stop my thoughts when I think about Oliver, my new best friends, my coworkers…

About my daughter.

Everyone who’s believed in me up until this point.

I lift my chin a little higher and offer Kevin a smile because despite spending my entire life made to believe I can’t do it, I really can.

“Thank you,” I finally say as I clear my throat.

“No thanks needed.” Kevin shakes his head.

“You really do deserve it,” Jan interjects. “I’ve really loved having you work the line with us.”

I put the two dinner dishes up to be sent to the table and a server grabs them quickly to bring it out. A feeling of pride engulfs every part of me. It happens every time I send a dish out. I don’t rush my dishes, but I always make sure it’s made to perfection in a timely manner.

For the next half hour, we continue through the busy rush of dinner and laugh about the dumbest things. Jan tells us a joke about how her dog chased a squirrel in her backyard the other day and tried to sneak under the fence to grab it, only for his collar to get caught in the links.

It wasn’t the funniest story in the world, but the way she tells them always has you full on laughing.

“Excuse me,” a server says as she comes into the kitchen.

“Yeah?” Kevin and I say at the same time.

“A table out there would like to pay compliments to the chef.”

“Which table?” Kevin asks.

“Table nine.”

“That’s all her.” Kevin nods his head towards me. “It’s the surf and turf you made.”

My smile widens.

Someone wants to pay compliments to the chef? To me?

“I’ll be right out,” I tell her.

“See… Head chef potential.” Kevin grins.

I peel off my apron and walk to the sink to wash my hands before stepping out to the dining area. I take a deep breath, the smile never leaving my mouth.

Once I step into the dining room, nervous energy takes over my body. My skin prickles with awareness and all of a sudden I feel like something is off. Most eyes land on me because I’m in a chef uniform and not the all black server uniform, but most quickly turn back to their food.

Except, when I see table nine come into sight, everything around me fades.

That nervous energy I felt coming back full force when I lay eyes on my mother and father sitting at the table.

They couldn’t have known where to find me.

I swallow past the dryness in my throat, straighten my back and walk over to them.

“Well if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes,” my mom says, her fingers nestled under her chin as she scans my body up and down in disgust.

“Mother,” I say flatly.

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