Page 8 of Bean

Zayd’s face lit up. “Oh, this is good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

I breathed out, my shoulders relaxing. “Yeah?”

“What fish did you use?”

“Tilapia, but you can make it with any firm white fish.”

“This is so going on the menu.”

Did that mean I was hired? I wasn’t gonna ask, but surely he wouldn’t be so rude as to steal my recipe without hiring me, right? “Thank you.”

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Talk to me about your medical issues. In as far as you’re willing to tell me.”

I took a deep breath. “I have a traumatic brain injury due to an accident when I was in the Army. It results in a lot of minor issues, like occasional dizziness, headaches, and irritability, but the biggest challenge is my faulty memory. My long-term memory is fine, but my short-term doesn’t work well, so I have a hard time retaining new information.”

Zayd slowly nodded. “Like recipes?”

“Sure, but mainly names, faces, appointments, things like that.” I held up my little black book. “This is my only way of remembering things. I have to write everything down. If I don’t, I won’t remember. Like Heath, I only remember his name because I practiced it a hundred times on the ride over. And he’s been to our house often enough that I should remember his name, but at times, it still eludes me. And if I run into you in another context, like in the supermarket or something, I may not recognize you.”

Zayd’s eyes widened. “Wow, that must be a massive pain in the ass.”

“It is.”

“Will it get better?”

I sighed. “Maybe, but there are no guarantees. I’m still being treated, but…” I grabbed my notebook and flipped to the medical tab, scanning what I’d written down. “There hasn’t been much improvement in the last few weeks…according to my notes.”

“I’m sorry. That’s a big adjustment to make.”

“It is, and like you said, it’s a pain in the ass, but I’m learning to live with it.”

Zayd leaned forward. “Let me start with this. You’re hired. You’ve shown me you can cook, Heath is vouching for you, and I want to support veterans, so there’s that. Now that we have that out of the way, tell me how your brain injury will affect yourability to do the job. What are some accommodations I can make to help you?”

Unexpected tears formed in my eyes. I wasn’t a crier, but this level of empathy and understanding was unexpected. “Sorry. I need… Sorry. That’s…” I took a deep breath, willing myself to regain my composure. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. The job offer, but especially your willingness to help me.”

He put a quick hand on my arm. “I’d like to think it’s nothing more than human compassion and kindness, but you’re welcome.”

“Can I get back to you on that question? I’ll need to think about this a little more and maybe ask Nash.”

“Nash? Oh wait, that’s your former officer, right? Heath told me you guys live together.”

We’d never call a first sergeant a commanding officer, but Zayd couldn’t know that. “We do. Nash is…wasour first sergeant, and he’s been a big help for me. We all help each other. It’s that rare brotherhood, you know?”

“I’m glad you have that support system in your life, especially while you guys are all going through such a transitional period. Anyway, let me know what I can do and when you can start. I’ll set up the paperwork and send you the mother of all emails with stuff to read and sign. No rush. Welcome to our family, Bean.”

I took his extended hand. “Thank you. I’m excited to start.”

“Good. For now, why don’t you relax and have a soda before you head back?”

I wasn’t gonna say no to that, so Zayd headed back to his spot behind the bar while I did exactly as he said and relaxed, sipping from the Coke he handed me.

The bar had filled up with people, so I was happy to sit in the back at a high-top table. The windows were all in the front of the bar, so it was a bit dark, but I didn’t mind. Bright light tended togive me headaches, so this was perfect for me to sit and let it all sink in.

I had a job. Holy cannoli, I had a job! I sent a quick group text to the others, and they immediately responded with congratulations.

Maybe now I wouldn’t feel like such a loser. Of course I knew deep down I wasn’t a failure, but it was hard to feel good about myself when I was sitting home all day doing nothing. Now, I could contribute both financially and societally in the broader sense. It might not be at the same level as serving, but it was an honest job that I could be proud of, especially considering my limitations.

Well, and even more if you considered I’d only taken up cooking after my accident. Nash had told me to find a hobby or he’d find one for me, and he hadn’t been kidding. The man was petty enough to force me to learn to crochet or something, so I’d picked cooking. Much to my own surprise, I liked it.

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