Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Dad, I can’t drink, I’m on duty,” I say.

  “I think you should enjoy the rest of your day off,” he says, waving his hand.

  He fills the glasses with ice and whiskey and sets mine in front of me. Reluctantly, I take a sip.

  “How are you, Auggie?” he asks.

  “Fine?” I drink the entire glass in one sip and pour some more. “Same as I was yesterday when you saw me, and the day before.”

  “You have been here a lot lately,” he says with a chuckle.

  I shrug. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Dad gives me a sad smile.

  “Of course not, I always love your company,” he responds quietly. “I’m just wondering what happened to your own plans. You wanted to open more restaurants once George had more experience and now you’re avoiding your own restaurant.”

  “My employees are competent,” I defend myself. “You need help and I’m happy to give you a hand.”

  Dad takes a sip of his whiskey. “Agustin , you need to take a break.”

  “I’m fine, Dad. This is a good break from my other obligations,” I insist.

  This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.

  “I love being in the kitchen, Dad,” I continue. “Cooking is my first love. It doesn’t feel like work when I’m creating something delicious, even if I look dead on my feet.”

  Dad assesses me for a moment. I hate when he does this. I’m not an enemy to best or a pawn to play. I’m his son, dammit.

  “Just don’t run yourself into the ground, alright?” he says. “You do so much for the family, but you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

  As always, I mumble what he wants to hear. Dad doesn’t get that cooking is the one part I will always love about this business.

  If it were just up to me, I’d never be in charge. I don’t give a fuck about making money or profiting off my skills. I just want to create good food with people I care about. I just...want life to be uncomplicated.

  I wish it could be.

  ✩✩✩

  I’m not sure I remember what the inside of my house looks like. I’ve pulled several all nighters this week, only sleeping for an hour or two at a time on my office couch. This day, like most days lately, is slowly inching by. We opened an hour ago, but I’m already bored to tears.

  A friend of mine offered me his restaurant. Eli’s assessing the building and the equipment to see if it’s even worth it to buy it. Maybe I can buy a lot and start one from the ground, but what would it be now?

  A place where I can cook a different dish every day. The meal of the day according to what I want. I remember George and I talking about it once.

  Imagine opening at noon, having a different menu every day with just a few options according to our mood. Never repeating. If anything was outstanding, we could introduce it in our signature restaurant.

  I don’t understand what happened between us. When did I lose the connection we had forged through the years? How do I get my friend back?

  Maybe that’s what’s eating me alive, that I haven’t talked to her once since she left. While in Paris, we texted daily. I saw her beautiful face when she sent me selfies with her latest creations or anything she had found amusing at the time.

  “There you are,” Cat says, sauntering into my office.

  “Here I am,” I say. “What’s up?”

  She crosses her arms. “What do you think is up?”

  Honestly, I have no clue. There could be something wrong at any one of our restaurants or Abuela could’ve tried to call me and someone hung up on her by accident. Or maybe Abuelo forgot where he put his fishing boots again and I was the last one to see them.

  “Auggie, it’s Sunday,” she says, taking pity on me.

  Sunday. Shit!

  I run a hand through my hair. It’s dinner with the family.

  I wince. “Whoops?”

  “Really? That’s all you have to say?” she says. “You didn’t even text to say you couldn’t make it.”

  “Sorry,” I apologize. “I sorta lost track of the time.” The days…life.

  Cat walks around the desk, grabbing both of my shoulders, and squeezing them lightly. She gives me a sad smile—the same one people keep giving me lately any time they ask how I am. Then, she shakes me violently for a second.

  “You fucking idiot, get a grip,” she says as she continues to shake me.

  I yelp. “What did I do?!”

  “You’re being an idiot, throwing yourself into your job, and pushing everyone away. This is worse than the last time though,” she groans. “I thought you got over this bullshit a long time ago.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. “What last time?”

  “The last time George left your sorry ass and you moped like a lovesick puppy,” Cat says.

  I push her hands away from me. What? “Lovesick—I’m not in love.”

  I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Cat. You think I’m in love with George?”

  Cat takes a step back, giving me a truly pitiful frown.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?” Cat says. “You really don’t know? Auggie, what the fuck?”

  “You’re delusional,” I tell her. “Where did you get this stupid shit? Just because you found love, that doesn’t mean everyone has to be in love.”

  “Oh, big brother, I never thought you were this dumb. But clearly, you have no idea what love is, do you? When you’re in love, you put the happiness of the other person above you. You build her a fucking restaurant to achieve her dreams. You let her go because you want her to succeed. Sound familiar?”

  Cat stares at me.

  “Also, when you’re in love, you’re miserable when the other person is thousands of miles away from you,” she adds.

  I think about it for a second. I guess I have been miserable since George left. But I thought I just missed her like usual. Then, why is it that I can’t sleep at my place anymore because everything in there reminds me of her and it hurts so much to miss her I—

  “Fuck, I’m in love with George,” I mumble.

  My heart beats fast at the revelation. What am I supposed to do now?

  Thirty-One

  Auggie

  It’s been two months without George. Two fucking painful months. And what did I learn?

  My little sister knows more about life than me.

  Seriously, after our talk, I came to realize that I’m an idiot. There’s not one second that I don’t think about what we discussed and what I might’ve lost. I’m unable to distract myself with work, I freak out about being in love with my best friend. The questions about my future—our future—hound me.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  Interrupt her trip and be a selfish bastard declaring my love for her.

  It was that kiss. The fucking kiss I gave her when we met. Since the first moment I saw her I knew that we were inevitable. She stopped us and I worked so fucking hard to not think about her as anything but my friend. So fucking hard, I stopped looking at her—really looking.

  That didn’t stop me from falling for her. There was a reason I couldn’t fall in love with anyone else. My heart already belonged to someone else. I wasn’t in love with love, but with Georgia .

  I thought my nervous pacing got better after George got back from Paris. It’s back because she’s gone—again.

  Cheers for Tiff and Dwayne letting me pace in their living room. It doesn’t hurt that their home is a small hacienda style abode that lets me sulk about how much George loves their decor. It doesn’t help them convince me to sleep in a real bed instead of their awesome leather sectional—but who cares?

  “This is crazy,” I stammer. “I...how...fuck.”

  I miss George so much I can barely breathe or function. Yeah, I miss her so much, I can barely be in our home without her.

  “How the fuck did this happen?” I ask them desperately.

  Dwayne grimaces. “Which part?”

  “Falling in love
with George! When the fuck did this happen, for that matter?”

  “Wow, this is déjà vu and you two are really oblivious,” Tiff says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I was having this same conversation with George, what? Six years ago, in Paris,” Tiff says. “She completely freaked out too.”

  She had this conversation with her in Paris.

  “Wait, she’s been in love with me SINCE PARIS?!” I shout.

  “Yeah, dude,” Tiff says. “Like, stupidly in love with your ass!”

  Okay, I need to go outside, take a walk, maybe…breathe. She’s been in love with me for years. I did nothing about it. My head spins with this new piece of information. Then, I recall all those sad smiles when I dismissed the subject of love, marriage, and relationships for the past six years.

  Fuck, does this mean that by omission I pushed her away so hard that she had to go halfway across the world?

  “Is this why she left?” I ask out loud, knowing the answer to my question. I scrub my face. “This is a disaster.”

  “It’s not too bad,” Dwayne says. “You’re an idiot, but you figured it out eventually.”

  I groan.

  “Sometimes, we thought you were in love because you’re always treating her like she’s a queen,” Tiff says. “Which is sweet when you’re dating, but...”

  She sighs before continuing, “I don’t know, you were also dismissive putting your career before everything else.”

  Tiffany isn’t wrong. All this time I’ve been focusing on making the restaurant the best in the country, while working for Dad, and just being the dutiful son without living my own life.

  “I didn’t know,” I say. “At some point I just felt like it wasn’t worth it having a relationship...and George. She deserves the world, not me.”

  “She does deserve the world and that’s what she did, go out and search for what makes her happy. Hopefully, she’ll find someone who will give her the world—and love her the way she deserves.”

  I could be that guy.

  I deserve that chance.

  Why didn’t I see this before?

  “If you had acted differently, this wouldn’t be happening,” she says. “After so long, I got tired of seeing you two run around in circles. You never looked her way on purpose, and she was miserable pining after you, and almost a little ashamed of herself.”

  Shit. I never wanted her to feel bad, especially not for wanting things. I would never deny George something that she truly wants, especially not me.

  My stomach twists in knots.

  “George is one of the best people I know. Anyone would be lucky to have her,” Tiff says as she nudges me. “She deserves better than that, Auggie.”

  I nod. I’ve fucked everything up. I failed George. I could’ve given her everything, but I was too oblivious to see what she really wanted. Now she’s gone.

  What am I going to do?

  ✩✩✩

  A few weeks later, I finally manage to get into my house in one piece. That is if you count being dragged here by Ben and Abuela and now I can’t do anything but lie in bed, watching TV on my laptop and occasionally order food. What can I say? It’s been a shitty weekend, I’ll rest when I’m dead and I currently feel half-dead.

  I guess this is better than sleeping in the kitchen, the room in the house that reminds me most of George. I miss liking my room. It isn’t what it used to be. I stripped the Christmas lights down almost immediately after George told me she was leaving. In hindsight, I should’ve looked at context clues and realized why I was so upset.

  We stopped talking to each other the way we used to when she sent that email to Chef Bennett and decided to leave. I couldn’t face it because I knew I’d beg her not to leave me and I didn’t have any reason to tell her to stay.

  I did, I just didn’t want to recognize it.

  How hard would it have been to say, please stay I can’t live without you again? My life is gray when you’re not around.

  This house isn’t just missing lights. It feels like an endless vacuum of lifelessness. It’s too cold and too quiet, even when I have a TV show on max volume. It’s no use. This place is nothing without George.

  She used to sleep here. When there were thunderstorms and she needed protection, or when we stayed up too late talking and she didn’t feel like leaving. I always asked her to stay. There was nothing better than falling asleep with George by my side or in my arms.

  I groan, burying my head under the comforter George picked out for me two years ago.

  What an idiot I’ve been. Of course, I stopped dating years ago. Of course, I thought there was no reason to bother. The perfect woman was already living under my roof, sharing her whole life with me.

  Without looking, I reach for my cell phone, dialing her number. I want to talk to her. I’m desperate to hear her voice, maybe apologize for being so dense if she’ll let me.

  The phone keeps ringing. It weighs on my sanity.

  “Hey—” George’s voice says on the last ring.

  “George,” I whisper, relieved by hearing her voice. “I’m sorry. I lo—”

  “This is Georgia, I can’t come to the phone right now. But please leave a detailed message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thanks,” the voice mailfinishes just as it crushes my dreams.

  I close my eyes, mentally kicking myself. She’s off having a great life, trying to get over me. I wish I knew what we were to each other when she was at home four months ago. I could have stopped her or at least begged her to let me go with her. I would follow her to the ends of the earth just to see her smile at me one more time.

  The answering machine beeps.

  “Hey, George,” I whisper nervously. “When you get the chance—”

  I want to tell her to call me back, to plead my case. But then I remember that it’s not my place anymore. I already fucked up. Pulling her back in now when she’s trying to move on isn’t fair.

  ‘She deserves better than that, Auggie.’ Tiff’s words echo over and over again in my brain. She’s right, George does deserve better than me.

  “...remember to do something fun, alright? Don’t just work,” I say. “There’s more to life than work.”

  I hang up and close my eyes. The love of my life is trying to get over me, while I lie in a bed in our home, torn between accepting my fate and tempted to buy a ticket to go and fight for her heart.

  What should I do?

  Thirty-Two

  Auggie

  Six months into George’s sabbatical, and I’m back to working at the restaurant pretty late. It’s gotten better, though...I’ve gotten better. After thinking everything through, I decided to work on myself and find the best version of me. The one George would want to fall in love with again—the guy who deserves a woman like her.

  Working is a loose term, as I’m still staying at my office past closing time and arrive around seven in the morning. It’s still hard to be at home with the reminder of George. I’m tempted to sell the house and move to the outskirts of the city, but then I remember she’s the one who wants to do that. And if so, she should get to choose the house with me.

  “I didn’t realize we authorized overtime for you,” Dad says as he enters the office.

  I laugh. “No, I’m just trying to get ahead before tomorrow’s shift drags me down.”

  “Right, we should talk about that.” His tone is dry.

  I blink. Is this Dad coming to talk to me as the boss? Am I in trouble?

  “About what?” I ask.

  “I think you’ve been a bit unfocused lately,” he says as he comes in, taking a seat on the couch.

  He’s definitely talking about me slacking off at work. Great, I can’t believe I’m fucking up work and disappointing my dad too. I rub my temples. When is this shitty year going to end?

  “And your priorities have been off as well,” Dad continues.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “Everything’s been crazy
.”

  “I understand, but you shouldn’t let that get in the way of what’s most important in life,” he replies.

  Right, I’m supposed to live for the family business. I sigh. This is why I never understood how I felt for George. I was so passionate about cooking and so passionate about her...I must have confounded the two and tried to mix them together into work. And now that I’ve lost her, my passion for cooking is suffering.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again,” I offer.

  “Auggie, you don’t have to apologize to me,” he says, a frown on his forehead. “I’m just worried about you.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I assure him.

  “But will you be happy?” he asks as he gestures for me to sit with him.

  “Eventually,” I admit.

  “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did—”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” I say, brushing him off and hoping he leaves soon. “I promise I won’t let personal feelings get in the way of work.”

  Dad raises his eyebrows. “Feelings in the way of—what are you talking about?”

  I step back and focus my entire attention on him. “What are you talking about?”

  “How you’re overworking yourself,” he says. “I think you need to take more days off.”

  I have no idea what he’s saying.

  “So, you don’t think I’m slacking off,” I muse.

  “You’ve taken five days off in almost six months. No one can get you to stop working until you exhaust yourself,” he mentions.

  “I haven’t been working that hard,” I say, bristling.

  “Then you haven’t seen what we have,” Dad insists. “Or you haven’t been paying attention while you’ve been covering for every chef we employ.”

  I shrug. “It’s better than going home.”

  “That’s not healthy. She’s coming back, son, and I don’t think she’ll be happy to see you running yourself ragged.”