Page 60 of Negotiation Tactics

I stuff down my drama as best as I can, and wave the man over. “Go for it.”

He drags the chair out, planting it next to mine rather than keeping it where it was. “Want one?” he asks me, producing a pack of cigarettes from his black jeans.

I study the mostly still water of the Canal, where boats bob back and forth and the reflections of streetlights and windows dance between them. I haven’t smoked in ages, but just the thought of that nicotine high squeezes my stomach in anticipation. “Sure.”

The man hands me a cigarette and our fingers come into contact. His are rough and calloused, unlike mine. Hard-worked in the physical way. I light my cigarette with the lighter he offers and take a drag. The bitter taste of tobacco is familiar, soothing my nerves as it tickles my throat and enters my lungs. But it’s also not particularly pleasant once the novelty of smoking wears off.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Apron Guy asks. Or Gabrio, going off his name tag pinned to the left side of his collar.

Oh boy, where do I even start? I meet his tired brown gaze as I exhale. “Nothing. I was just having dinner and now I’m smoking.”

Gabrio snorts and narrows his eyes at me. “Uh-huh. It’s either a woman or family,” he muses, taking another drag.

Ugh, is it that obvious?I chuckle. “What gave it away?”

“Honestly? It was just a guess. But bad mood like this is typically caused by one or the other.” He barks out a laugh and glances at the deserted street below. Then he nudges me on the arm with his elbow. “Or maybe I’m projecting.”

He may be, but he’s also spot on. It’s all Josh’s fault—he’s the reason I am in a bad mood. But I don’t want to dig into it now, so I don’t say anything. Gabrio doesn’t complain, doesn’t prod either. He seems content just smoking in silence, but that has its con too when the thoughts I’ve been keeping at bay all day start jumbling my mind.

“You ever felt like your life is kinda not yours?” I ask after a while, deciding to take this stranger up on his offer to listen to me. When I train my gaze on him, I find him watching me with an expectant expression, as if he genuinely cares about what problems might be plaguing me. Like he can somehow already relate even if I haven’t exactly explained what I mean yet. “Like you’re just doing what someone else wants you to do and… it’s not really whatyouwant to do even if you try to convince yourself it is?”

My pulse hitches as I say out loud what I’ve been doing my best to ignore for god knows how long. I know it didn’t start with Josh calling me out on it after I rejected the union demands, though he’s the one that made me truly aware of it. Therefore, this confirms it all over again that it’s his fault I’m in this perpetually annoyed and shitty mood all the time.

“I try not to,” Gabrio replies. There is understanding in his voice, in the way his shoulder sag and his expression softens. “But sometimes… it’s hard, you know, no matter how much you try. You are stuck. Maybe you have a family to take care of, or maybe your parents are sick and can’t support themselves. Trust me, I understand.”

Lighting up a second cigarette, he takes a long pull and despite his young age—he can’t be past his mid-twenties—he looks older when he turns his attention back to me. Suddenly, I’m sitting next to a man who’s worked too much and not had the time to enjoy himself when he should have been doing that.

“What’s your story?” I rush out, wanting to know what happened to him.

He grins. “I wanted to be a chef. To go to culinary school. It’s why I applied to be a dishwasher, so I could watch how the magic is done while saving up money. But… Well, my father had an incident recently, and the health insurance only covered the hospital bill partially… So, poof, back to square one.” He scrunches his nose. “He has a small construction company, and I help out, too. As much as I can, even if it’s a waste of time with how few projects he gets. Honestly, it’s money down the drain, but he doesn’t even want to hear about selling it.” He smiles, clenches his hands into fists and opens them. “I mean, it’s fine. I just have to save back up, right? And convince my old man it’s not a phase or a waste of time. I just don’t really care about construction… But then the pay cuts are happening too, so yeah… I don’t think I’ll be going to culinary school anytime soon, or at all.” He sighs and it carries more than just an exhalation of air. “Maybe I’m the stupid one for still holding onto such a dream.”

I clear my throat, going for a supportive smile which I hope helps. “I heard there are new hotels opening in Singapore and Korea. The company is covering the moving cost and your salary stays the same. You could relocate to one of them?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah. Three years ago, maybe. Now? My wife and kid are here and we just took out a mortgage last year. My dad needs help with the company, too…” He pauses, his expression turning contemplative. “I don’t care about it honestly, never did. We’ve had so many fights over it. In theory, I guess I could sell the apartment and we could move, but then I’d be leaving dad to fend off on his own and I kind of don’t want to let him down, you know? Even if it means I’ll be stuck trying to run his lost cause of a business instead of pursuing my dream to be a pro chef.”

His words sink their teeth into my bones, turning my world upside down. It’s the last nail in the coffin, the grand finale to what Josh started on the day we fell out. The wake-up call if you will, the rude awakening.

I am afraid of my dad. Of letting him down. Like Gabrio. We are both kind of stuck, with no way out of this perpetual cycle. Josh is in the same boat, I’d argue. An unfortunate son trying to meet the expectations of his parents. It sucks. It’s unfair. I don’t want it anymore. I’m a grown ass man, I don’t need to be spoon-fed or supervised every step of the way. I can take responsibility, I have a head on my shoulders.

Oh god, why am I having this epiphany now of all times? It’s so silly. Who would’ve thought that small talk with a chef-wanna-be would be the thing which pushes me over the edge. Josh started it, oh he did, gradually, slowly, with encouragements first, with words of support.

“You can do it, Alistair. This could work. It’s a great idea. The data supports it. Your dad will see it too. And the best part? Both sides win.”

Oh fuck, what have I done? Why am I here? How was I so stupid? Why did I let my own issues and complexes get the better of me? I am capable, I’ve proven that times again. My dad and I don’t think alike, but that’s the point—I catch things that he might miss. I’m willing to attempt things that his brain might not even register as an option. He’s just so used to his stubborn ways to see that.

Shivers rush down my spine and along my fingertips. My skin crawls with goosebumps. Gabrio, Josh and I are the same—trying our best to make our parents proud to the point where we are willing to sacrifice what we truly want. But unlike the two of them, I could have it all in the way that I want it. I am in a position to change things if only I got over the fear living within me. And as infuriating as it is to acknowledge it, Josh is the one who gave me the solution, whether he meant to or not.

Heart pumping overtime in my chest, I steady my voice as I say, “And what if you could go to culinary school, and the only consequence was disappointing your father? Saying no to helping him. Would you go against him?”

“I haven’t really thought about it but…” He laughs, clapping his hands. “If I didn’t have to worry about putting food on the table or keeping his company afloat because he won’t sell it, you bet I’d go for it. He can be grumpy and annoyed at me all he wants, but he’d get over it eventually.”

Gabrio is not in a position to do that, though. He doesn’t have the freedom to pursue his dream, not yet, and possibly not ever. But I do. And maybe…

“Gabrio! Get your ass back to the kitchen!” the assistant head chef yells from the restaurant.

“Oh, shit!” Gabrio shoots up, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and stuffing it back in his pocket. “Sorry, man, I gotta run. Was nice chatting to you! Hope you sort out whatever shit is on your mind!”

I watch him as he jogs across the terrace and back inside, his massive bulk disappearing through the archway leading into the kitchen. I finish my forgotten pasta even though it’s gone cold while absentmindedly observing the Canal and the street again. A notification flicks on my phone’s screen, a reminder from Brady that I should go over the deal he signed yesterday. I should probably do it now before I go to bed, but I don’t. I stare at the empty chair where Gabrio was sitting not ten minutes ago.

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