Page 3 of Five
TheDistantPast
“Mom, can I use the boat tonight? I want to meet up with some friends in Key West.”
“Oh, no, hon. Doctor Barker and his wife have booked in for the weekend, and they’ve requested your signature stuffed yellowtail snapper dish and key lime pie.”
“What? But you said I could have the night off. I’ve worked the past two weeks solid for this, without a break.”
“Well, that was before the Barkers booked. You know what important return customers they are.”
No, I know what fussy, demanding assholes they are, who insist on particular dishes only to complain about them, and then leave most of it pawed at and picked over after I’ve fucking slaved over it for hours and given up my night off. Again.
Not that I actually have any ‘real’ nights off. Everything is a negotiation around here.
Hell, I don’t even have a real job!
It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. Me begging for tidbits just so I can enjoy a little bit of freedom.
Bartering the work I do for a measly night off from a job I don’t officially have. Twenty dollars so I can get a decent haircut. Because, yeah, I don’t even get paid for this shit. Oh no, I’m supposed to just muck in because this small island resort is the family business. Thing is, I’ve been doing that for as long as I can remember. Certainly since I was old enough to fetch and carry and make myself useful around the kitchens.
Even the use of the single family boat, which is the only way off the island, doesn’t come without some kind of trade-off attached to it. Usually picking up groceries from one of the main islands while I’m over there.
Sometimes, I’d like to just take the freaking thing and sail away, but the guilt of knowing my parents would be stranded here without it always stops me.
And I think maybe they know that, too, since they refuse to let me have a boat of my own.
I’m seventeen-years-old. Is it really such a crime to want a little bit of freedom?
I didn’t even get to go to school like normal kids. Mom and dad decided that was too awkward with their work schedules, so I was homeschooled, instead.
If you can call learning to cook, clean, and make beds an education.
Sure, I can read and write, and when I was old enough, I got an education in bookkeeping, too.
But everything was aimed at being able to run this godforsaken place.
The thing is… this is their dream, not mine.
Later that evening, I’m serving the food I’ve cooked in the resort restaurant.
“Ahh, look, there he is now.”
The hairs prickle on the back of my neck, and I studiously ignore the comment which I know is aimed at me, while I place the Barker’s plates in front of them. They haven’t even tasted their food before they start.
“You did remember I’m lactose intolerant when you prepared this dish, didn’t you?”
“Of course, Mrs. Barker. I’ve been catering to you for a few years now.” I smile and hope it doesn’t look like I’m just gritting my teeth.
“Is this snapper fresh?” Doctor Barker asks, prodding at the artisan styled fish with his fork, until all my beautiful presentation is just a mashed-up mess.
“Yes, Sir. It was caught last night and delivered first thing this morning. You can’t get fresher than that.”
“Oh, I don’t know, dear,” his wife interjects. “It doesn’t look very appetizing. I think you should send it back.”
You have got to be kidding me!
Barker grunts and throws his fork on his plate. “You’re right. I’ll have the flame grilled steak instead.”
He shoves his plate at me, then points to the other one. “Take my wife’s too. It’ll be ruined by the time the steak is done, and we didn’t come out so we couldn’t eat together. She’ll have steak, too.”
