Page 21 of Challenged By You
“You’re not in this alone,” she reminds me with a tip of her head. I glance over at the expediter glaring down at a pile of saffron like he’s allergic to it. The head chef is plucking off garlic cloves and flinging them aside like they’ve offended him somehow. Our soup and sauce cook is paddling in a trance. “Everyone here feels the effects of Chef Spencer lingering. My job isn’t just to get us through another critic’s review; it’s to become the cohesive team we need to be in order to withstand much worse.”
“What’s that?”
“Unhappy customers. Food trends. And everyday events like people not wanting to eat out during times of recessions.”
I murmur, “Let alone the people who can’t afford to eat at Seduction to begin with.”
Chef Sterling stills next to me. “What do you mean, Chef?”
Afraid I’ve overstepped my bounds, I stammer, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”
“No, actually, it’s a very good something.” Propping a hip on my station, she asks, “How often have you brought someone to eat here?”
I snicker. “I’m a girl on a budget, Chef.” But there isn’t any humor on Chef Sterling’s face. Her brow is lowered as she’s deep in thought. “You okay in there, Chef?”
“So many people crave seduction, at all levels…” Leaning forward, she grabs my face and presses a smacking kiss in the center of my forehead. “Thanks for the idea,” she says before she turns and walks off.
“Might help if I knew what it was!” I yell out to her retreating back. “Maybe toss a girl an idea for a spectacular, knock a food critic’s socks off dessert as payback?”
Sterling gives me a quick wave before she goes into the glass-walled office and shuts the door. But I am rewarded with the laughter of my coworkers which seems to lighten the tension in the kitchen, allowing us to work with lighter hearts.
* * *
Close to midnight,I knock on the door to my mother’s apartment with a sense of accomplishment. Elle high-fived me on my way out the door. The dessert of the day was sold out by the time I skedaddled to make my train.
All night long, the waitstaff was swinging through and dropping compliment after compliment as Elle and I continued to prep the plates holding the variation of the traditional Southern classic pecan dish. “They’re all wondering why they never thought to do this at home, T,” one of our servers, DJ, chortled on one of his swings through the kitchen.
I just wish there was someone I could share it with. At one time, I would have come home from the bakery after having created some new dessert and shared it with Will. He might or might not have pretended to care, but at least he was a person to talk with. More often than not, I think with lingering bitterness, he was preparing to shove the kids off on me so he could “go to work.” More like go to work on his boyfriend. A flood of resentment fills me as my mother flings open the door snapping, “I was just watching a Hallmark movie.”
“And I’m sure you have it on Pause. Let me just get the kids and I’ll be out of your way.” I start to move past her toward her guest bedroom where I know my kids are resting when her next words stop me in place.
“You didn’t mention Chris was sick.”
Slowly, I turn to face her. “Excuse me? What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “Well, he was burning up for a while, so I gave him some of the infant Tylenol I keep here.”
Changing direction, I storm up to her. “What do you mean my child was burning up? And you didn’t bother to call me?” I yell.
“Well, excuse me, Miss Thing. I didn’t think you could be bothered in that fancy kitchen you work for since the one time I called you—”
“Mom,” I interrupt. “There’s bothering me at work to pick you up a box of tea bags on the way home from the twenty-four-hour market, and then there’s calling to let me know my child is ill. What was his temperature?”
“Well, around 101, but it went down just as soon as—”
“Did he tug at his ear? Vomit? Cough?” If it weren’t for the fact I have no one else I trust to watch my children other than Elle, I’d tell my mother to shove it in a heartbeat. How dare she not call me?
Something in my expression must let her know how infuriated I am, because suddenly her attitude drops. “A little tugging at his ear, but nothing more serious than that. I called the pediatrician for you. They got you in for an 8:30 appointment tomorrow, Trina.” Her voice is almost consoling, confusing the shit out of me. “Chris hasn’t quite settled down, so I’m pretty certain he and Annie won’t be difficult to get down once you get them back to your apartment.”
Disconcerted, I say, “Thanks, Mom,” before I turn again to get to my kids, knowing I’ll likely just keep them close to me all night out of worry.
It might be my imagination, but I think I hear her say, “Of course. I love them.” Then again, it might be my delirium making me think that.
Soon, I’m carrying my babies past my mother when I grudgingly say, “Thank you.”
She chews on her lip. “Will you let me know how they are?”
“Sure. I’ll let you know what the pediatrician says tomorrow.” Shuffling the three of us out the door, I carry my precious cargo down the hall and somehow manage to stumble in after undoing the locks.
