Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

“Who?” I stare at him confused.

  “George,” he mentions her and my heart beats fast.

  “What’s my alternative, Dad? Simmer in my failure? Work’s all I have.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” he says. “You need more than a job to sustain you.”

  “It’s not just my job, it’s my calling. I thought you’d be happy by now,” I say.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  “Aren’t I paying you back enough already?”

  “For what?” he asks slowly.

  “For everything you’ve spent on me,” I say. “Schooling, housing, food, all the Christmas and birthday gifts...everything you’ve done for me, Ben, and Cat.”

  He looks so confused as he says, “What are you talking about?”

  It pisses me off. How doesn’t he understand? How doesn’t he know the person he raised me to be? He’s the one who raised me.

  “I want to stop feeling like I can never pay you back for all the sacrifices you’ve made and all the things you did to get us here,” I argue. “I appreciate it, and I love you, but my life has never felt like my own.”

  Out of nowhere, Dad hugs me. Fuck, I can feel my lip tremble and my throat getting tight. Something’s stinging my eyes.

  I don’t want to shut up now, he needs to hear this.

  “You always used to say shit like ‘A million kids would love to be where you are’ or ‘You don’t like it here? Call child services’ or ‘You’re lucky I do this for you, some parents won’t.’ I...I’m grateful, okay? I appreciate everything you’ve done for us and I know I’d be nothing without you but—” My voice wavers.

  “Fuck, remember after Mom left? How miserable you were but you kept going for our sake. I keep trying to make up for every moment of it, but I can’t. I’m so tired of never feeling like enough. What if you feel like we’re not enough and you leave too? I just want you to be happy.”

  And maybe that’s exactly why I can’t see myself with George. She deserves the world and everything but I’m fucking scared that one day she’ll realize I’m not cut to be the guy she needs. It’s easier to just do what I can for my friend than dare to offer the world to the woman I love.

  Dad hugs me tighter, rubbing my back. I tremble harder. Grief, regret, and pain wash over me. That’s the crux of it. I’ve never felt like enough. It wasn’t just my dad, but he was a part of it. Dad could have done something. He could’ve taken it back. He could’ve helped me work through my trauma so I could come out the other side a better person.

  I’ve spent years pushing so much love and empathy into everyone else because I don’t want them to ever feel like this. Like they’re not enough to deserve love. I don’t want to remember what this feels like.

  “I am grateful for everything you’ve done to help this family, and me,” Dad says. “You’re the most generous person and I’m very lucky to call you my son. Everything you do makes me proud and makes me happy.”

  He keeps hugging me. It reminds me of being a carefree child. Of life being simpler and love being easily accessible.

  “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like my burdens are yours to carry. You were a child and I should’ve treated you like one,” he says. “But I took for granted how smart you were and mistook that for maturity. I’m sorry for putting you in a position to care more about my well-being than your own.

  “But, Agustin , my life isn’t yours. You aren’t obligated to take care of me through every step of my life. That’s my job, to care for you. I need you to know that you are allowed to make your life anything you want. It’s not mine to dictate.”

  I think I’m trembling. I don’t know what to do. I just want to fix things for people but...I don’t know how to fix myself.

  “Understand?” Dad asks.

  “Trying to,” I whisper.

  “That’s a start,” he says.

  I laugh in spite of myself. I was never good at being vulnerable around others.

  “You’re a good son and a good man, Auggie,” Dad says. “You’ve done your part for this family. But it’s time you do things for yourself.”

  I don’t know how I’ll manage that when I’ve built my entire life around helping my family, but I have to try.

  ✩✩✩

  Things are continuing to get better. I’ve started using the living room again. The couch is actually comfier than I remember. Cooking shows are really soothing when I crave the comfort of it but still can’t be in my kitchen for too long. And I can kind of sleep here again, which is good. It’s mostly from exhaustion, but I’m aware of it now.

  I spiraled a little after having my heart to heart with Dad. Because while it was good to get my dad’s blessing, being told I’m allowed to live my life doesn’t magically happen overnight. Especially when I spent years mapping my life around other people.

  At least back then, I knew how to feel about shit because what I was and wasn’t allowed to do was spelled out for me. Now? Nothing. My fear of failure? As active as ever.

  I’ve got unnecessary guilt for just about everything and it’s been a process to work through it. My guilt includes, but is not limited to, wasting so much of George’s time on my internalized sense of obligation when we could’ve been out having fun. You know...living our lives and being in love.

  Yep, that guilt is alive and kicking.

  Don’t even get me started on what I’m supposed to do with the rest of my life. I don’t have the first clue, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

  “Jesus, when was the last time you washed dishes?” Cat asks from somewhere in my kitchen.

  Right, having siblings means learning to tune out unwanted noise with expert precision. Cat and Ben have been hovering here all day. Fuck knows why.

  “Should we just burn his dirty clothes?” Ben asks from my bedroom.

  “You better not,” I say.

  “He speaks!” Cat shouts. “I was starting to wonder if the TV zombified you.”

  “Very funny,” I say. “Now leave me alone.”

  “Fat chance, bud,” Cat says. “You clearly need an intervention.”

  “And a shower,” Ben says.

  “And possibly a makeover,” she says.

  “And definitely new underwear,” he says.

  “Alright, I get it,” I say.

  “Also, you need to get your sorry ass out of this place,” Cat says.

  “Which is why we’ve come to destroy your pity party,” Ben says.

  I sigh. “Guys, seriously? I’m not—”

  “ —Dwayne says you haven’t been to work all week,” Cat says.

  “What are you talking about? It’s Sunday, I get Sundays off,” I say.

  Ben trudges over from my room and forces me to sit up.

  “Auggie, you haven’t been to work since last Saturday,” Ben says.

  I grab my phone and check the date. It does seem like I’ve been here for almost ten days.

  That takes a second for my brain to process.

  “Fuck,” I say, panicked. “I’ve been AWOL for a week? Fuck, okay, I just need to—”

  “Calm the fuck down and let your terrific siblings take you on a nice day out so you can get your groove back,” Cat says.

  Eying her warily, I ask, “...How’s that supposed to help?”

  “Not sure, but you have to go outside and get some fresh air,” Ben suggests. “No offense, but you look like a ghost and smell like one too.”

  Before I can protest, they shove me toward the bathroom.

  “So take a shower, get yourself all tidied up, and then we’ll go do something fun, alright?” Cat says.

  “But—”

  “Shut up, Auggie,” the twins say simultaneously.

  “This is for your own good.” Ben glares at me the same way Dad does when he’s trying to play tough guy.

  I grumble about annoying siblings as I shower for the first time in a few days. A few minutes in, however, I realize how shitty I’ve been feeling...about everything honestly.

 
; I think all I’ve done lately is live in this funk and then beat myself up...which drives me deeper into said funk. Shit, they’re right.

  I have to get my act together.

  ✩✩✩

  A month later and I’m just taking things a day at a time. Life’s better, but everything’s still a little raw so I’m trying not to push it. Days like today, where I’m at Desert Rose and planning to be here while we’re open, are becoming more frequent again.

  I’m slowly learning how to choose things for myself instead of thinking of everyone else first. It’s kind of working...could use some improvement.

  It’s weird. For as much as I tried to warn George against this sort of thing over the years—letting other people dictate how she feels about herself and letting that drive her life—didn’t I fall into the same trap? Didn’t I let people teach me how to think about my place in life instead of making a place for myself? How often have I sold myself short because there’s only ‘so much’ that I was allowed to do?

  Even with those barriers, my life is pretty amazing. Look at the name I made for myself. How can I tell myself this restaurant where I’ve toiled for years and years over was a product of nepotism? It wasn’t, I was in charge of it every step of the way. I wanted this for George and me. This is the first thing I ever really wanted and went after in life. So, what if I didn’t realize back then that I also wanted George?

  I built this place from the ground, I made it a success. I fought for this place. I could do it again for another restaurant. I could do whatever I want. I could build an empire.

  What do I truly want? I can’t say George because she hasn’t answered my calls in months. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t answer my own calls either after all the time she’s waited around for me.

  So what do I have beyond George? What do I love that isn’t family?

  Food?

  I still love food.

  Good food is incredible. It tells a story. It captures people’s imaginations. It has nuance and depth and makes people connect with each other. It reminds people of the things that matter to them most. Just like a tamale reminds me of the first tamale Abuela ever made me eat.

  Yeah, I love food. I’m at my happiest when I can make something beautiful and delicious. I want to ignite in people the same love I’ve had in food since that very first tamale.

  I look around the kitchen of Desert Rose, hit with inspiration. This place used to be my pride and joy. It made me happy...it can make me happy again.

  I scramble around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Frantically, I pull everything that jumps out at me on our shelves and in our freezer. I start dicing onions, slicing meat, and chopping portobello mushrooms. Maybe I should grab paprika and nutmeg... Would a wine reduction help or would it be over the top?

  Actually, I don’t care. I laugh.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Auggie?” Tiff says somewhere behind me.

  “How many hours until opening?” I ask, not stopping my work.

  “Four,” Dwayne says.

  “Perfect,” I say. “We’ve got an exclusive menu to work on. One night only.”

  “O... okay,” Tiff says.

  I continue chopping onions.

  “Perfect, we’re going to need some sushi grade tuna and some duck. Who wants time and a half to cover my job tonight?”

  Dwayne puts an arm on my shoulder. “Wait, Auggie, you can’t be—”

  “I’ll do it,” Tiff says.

  “Cool, get to work. Oh—and find me some cactus please,” I say.

  “On it,” she says as she heads toward my office.

  “You’re not helping,” Dwayne says to Tiff. “Man, are you okay? Did you like...break your circuit board or something?”

  “Nope, never been better,” I say. “I own a restaurant and I’m going to fucking cook. Not doing any bullshit tonight. Just...enjoying the food.”

  This is amazing, I think as I turn on the stove. I forgot how much I thrive when I cook. I haven’t had this much fun since before George left.

  For once, I don’t feel shitty that she left. This is exactly what I need, go back to my roots and find myself.

  “Can you start prepping ingredients for gazpacho?” I ask Dwayne.

  Dwayne pauses for a moment but then he says, “Fuck it, sure.”

  Even if it’s only for a night, I’m so excited, enthralled really. The kitchen is truly where I belong.

  Thirty-Three

  Auggie

  After that first day back at the restaurant, everything made sense. I worked myself into the ground believing that I wasn’t worth anything—George especially. I stopped doing things for myself and just going through the motions. No wonder I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

  Everything I did was unfair to both of us and a part of me is glad that she packed up and left because the man I was becoming didn’t deserve a precious woman like her. Digging deep inside my fucked up mind, I realize my mother’s leaving affected me. I never thought much of her. She left—we weren’t enough, so why bother?

  Why bother with anyone else?

  At one moment during this epiphany I bought a ticket to Rome but then, I cancelled it. Before I see her again, I want to get my act together. I want to recover the love for the things I do, myself and then show her the new me. The love I have for her hasn’t changed during this process, but my perspective on what we both deserve has.

  Do I have all the answers about our future?

  No.

  Going to Italy without fixing myself is nonsense. As I said, she deserves a better man. There’s also the fear of whether she found that better man while I had my head underground. Professing my love out of the blue isn’t realistic. I want her to come back and fall in love with the man I’m becoming.

  Then, I’ll have the right to convince her to give us a shot. She’d be with me because she wants to and not out of obligation or because she loved the guy I once was.

  If it’s too late or I can’t convince her then I’ll know it’s too late but not because I didn’t try. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let this go without a fight.

  So far, I’ve fixed my schedule and hired people for everything I’ve been doing myself. For fucks sake, we have the budget to add managers, accountants, chefs, and waiters. Why was I paying for a self-imposed penance?

  I became my father before I even had the wife and the children. And while doing all the wrong things, I pushed the love of my life away with my stupid nonsense. Is that what happened to my parents?

  They fell out of love—if they were ever in love—and Dad threw himself into the business. He has never had time for anything but work. He’s a successful man but when was the last time he dated? I’ve seen him with the casual date or two, but he never allows himself to be with someone. He’s fifty and the only times he does something fun is when Eli is here.

  So maybe last time I didn’t think everything through. I could’ve done so much while we were in Paris, or when she came back and I showed her the Desert Rose. This time, I’m getting everything right. My new project is for myself. A hole-in-the-wall where I’ll cook whatever I feel like that day.

  The menu is never the same, just my imagination. For that, I’m also inviting the chefs of all my restaurants to pick a day to feature themselves because I don’t plan to work twenty-four seven. Not again. There’s no way I’ll go back to overworking myself and miss out on life. I’ve let people in and learn how to ask for help.

  For example, Eli. He’s been key to finding the right place to set my next venture and he’s now in charge of remodeling it. Not me, this time I just tell the professionals what I want and keep doing what I love, cooking. During the week I cook in a different restaurant creating the specials for the day.

  Ben and Cat are helping me get out of the house and living a lot more when I’m not working. I’ve taken to learn to play the guitar and the piano.

  It’s been exciting to take my sister to her doctor’s appointments when Tyle
r isn’t available. Fuck, I can’t believe my sister is having a baby in six months.

  Learning that I can’t fix everything is going to take time. Reaching out to others to ask for help is difficult but I’m working on it. Eventually, I’ll be the man that I’m meant to be and not the guy who was wasting himself away because he couldn’t understand his worth and lost track of the worth of others.

  Thirty-Four

  George

  Learning a new restaurant takes a bit more adjustment than I remember. Obviously, I have to learn the layout of the kitchen, get their dessert section committed to memory, and get familiar with the staff.

  I wouldn’t say it’s difficult when I love adjusting to new environments. I will say it takes some time. A few weeks into my sabbatical—and my new life in Italy—and everything is more exciting and advantageous than I could’ve dreamed.

  This place I’m guest cheffing at is wonderful. The staff are from all over and they all have great insight into food and fine dining. I’m learning so much in such a short time. It can be a little overwhelming here but I’m managing. And I’m really excited to perfect my Sfogliatella.

  Unfortunately, this vacation from Auggie isn’t without its hiccups. The sous chef is a handsome man. He’s nice and I think he’s interested in me, but his laugh reminds me of Auggie.

  At least once a day, my heart beats faster because his laugh almost convinces me that Auggie’s come to sweep me off my feet. I’m devastated each time I’m pulled back into reality.

  I thought getting Auggie out of my head would be easy. But just like Paris, everything here has traces of him. He would love the architecture and how easy it is to get to the rest of Europe. I can hear the jokes he would make about the art and food. I can imagine the number of day and weekend trips he’d want to take—seeing everything and anything in our path. And I can even imagine the smile he’d give me every time I would willingly make a Leaning Tower of Pisa joke.

  I sigh as I continue to work on this citrus infused crème brûlée.