She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. Needing her comfort, I sighed and leaned into her hug. Just me and Claire against the world. Always had been, always would be.
“I’m sorry too.”
* * *
After dinner service finally ended and as I sat down at my desk to go over the night’s numbers, Tyler stuck his head in my office. I’d popped a handful of Tylenol and drunk my weight in Gatorade but my head still pounded, a combination of stress, jetlag and residual hangover.
I tried to soften the blow of what I was about to say next with a compliment.
“Hey, New Guy. Good catch on the thermostats. We could have lost a ton of food and money if you hadn’t caught it.”
He beamed at my words, then ducked his head in embarrassment.
I gritted my teeth, continuing with the real reason I needed to talk to him. “Tell Chef Martin to come in here with us.”
He stared at me, his expression worried, but did as I asked. Claire smiled as she entered and shut the door.
Her smile dropped when she saw the less than pleasant look on my face. “Do you want to tell me what happened with this?”
I lobbed the folded up newspaper from my desk at the skinny teenager’s chest, watching as he flinched. Immediately, I felt like a bigger asshole than usual when Tyler stared at me like a kicked puppy, all hurt eyes and shaking hands as he twisted the strings of his apron in his fingers. I pointed to the paper, watching him blanch even paler when I barked, “Read it out loud.”
“Ethan—” Claire began.
“No, let him read it.”
His voice shaky and eyes huge, Tyler read the worst review my kitchen had received in eight years. “This reviewer was skeptical after hearing such gushing reviews from local foodies about the gastronomic epiphany of Seattle icon Calvin Sharpe’s bistro, Sharpe’s on Fifth. Helmed by legendarily temperamental chef, Ethan Martin, known in the industry as a dark horse for his lack of professionalism, my expectations were already low. The wait staff were courteous but the food was, for lack of a better word, underwhelming. I gave up trying to eat rubbery, slimy fish in an unappealing sauce lacking butter, lemon and any kind of seasoning. I couldn’t consume enough water quickly enough to cleanse my palate after the most disappointing meal I’ve had in recent memory. Skip Sharpe’s unless you want to throw away your money.”
They both stared at me, Claire’s expression contrite and Tyler’s worried.
“Was this one of your plates?”
“Yes, Chef.” He looked down.
“Who the hell taught you how to cook fish, New Guy?”
“Claire—I mean—Chef Martin is teaching me.”
“She’s teaching you?” I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “And you thought this was an appropriate time to send out sub-par fish plates to my dining room? Just because it was my night off and I don’t own this place doesn’t mean my name isn’t all over every dish we send out.”
“I...I’m sorry, Chef.” His voice quivered but he met my stare without withering. Good job, Tyler. Show some backbone. “Chef Martin doesn’t have anything to do with this. It’s my fault.”
“Oh, for the love of god. It’s my fault, Ethan, not Tyler’s. I should have caught the plate before it went out. It was a practice plate one of the runners picked up by mistake. It won’t happen again.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers, willing my throbbing headache away as I tried to soften my voice. “I know neither of you meant for it to go out. But next time be very sure what goes out is nothing but the best, okay? When people go to fine dining they expect the best. This was only the local paper, but you never know who reads these reviews and takes them seriously. If people see reviews like this they might skip our place and take their business elsewhere. If we don’t have a full lunch and dinner service six days a week we lose our damn jobs, and I’ve got thirty people who’ve got to find another way to support their families.”
“Yes, Chef. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good.” The way the day was going, I’d be lucky if I had any enamel left on my teeth by the time I went home. Time to do some damage control first. “For future reference, I’ll show you how to cook fish properly.” I leaned back in my office chair and pushed the shaggy length of my hair out of my eyes. “Give me ten minutes and I will meet you in the kitchen. I’ll make sure to put overtime on your check for this time.”
“Yes, Chef.” Tyler’s voice echoed with relief as he stood and shuffled out of my office, closing the door behind him.
“You were pretty harsh with him, Ethan.”
“This business is a meat grinder, Claire. If he doesn’t learn that now, the next chef he works for will chew him up and spit him out and not be half as nice as I am. I know he’s had it rough. Believe me, I know. He took his chances with the unsafe and overcrowded shelters and survived on the street. Don’t think for a second I don’t realize how hard Tyler’s had it. He has no fucking idea how thankful I am he scrounged for food behind our restaurant. But this is the only way to make sure he really gets it. To make sure he survives and grows.”
She bumped her shoulder softly against me. “I know. Just...try harder, okay?”
She closed the door behind her as she left, the loud click echoing in my office. I grabbed my phone and dialed Lily while I had a few minutes to spare. It was late in New York, but I knew she’d be awake.
“You’re alive. I had my doubts after the spectacular scene you and your ex put on last night, Ethan.”
I rubbed my hand over my face. “Yeah. Hey, I’m sorry about the awards ceremony. It was definitely not how I saw my night ending.”
“No worries. Now I know why you love blonds. Please just tell me you ended it horizontal with the man candy.”
“Lily.”
“You two obviously have history, E. Don’t feel sorry about trying to resolve it, hit it...whatever. As long as you’re safe and in one piece, that’s all I care about. You deserve to be happy. And whatever you two had, it was obviously intense.”
“Something like that. I promise I’ll make it up to you the next time you’re in town, okay?”
“I’ll take you up on it. Take care, Ethan.”
“You too, Lils.”
When I hung up, I sat there staring at my phone for a minute or two. My eyes burned with exhaustion, but I knew while I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong with my past, I could try to change the future. At least I could help Tyler figure out the basics of cooking. The rest of his life was in his hands.
Chapter Twelve
April
Jamie
What in the hell am I doing?
That question had been on a constant loop in my head since I had woken up this morning. At the ripe old age of thirty, I had lost every shred of rational thought and this...whatever it was I was doing...was the result.
During the forty-five minute ride to the airport, I turned over every aspect of this trip in my mind. By the time we had reached the crowded gate, my nerves were frayed and I was on edge. Trevor had remained silent through the cab ride, letting me stew in my own thoughts.
Immediately after the catastrophe at the TV studio, I had stayed true to my text and taken a few days off, keeping myself unplugged from everything except my iPod and coffee maker. I ordered in so I wouldn’t have to leave my apartment and spent my time either reading or sleeping—or wishing I could sleep as I stared up at my ceiling in the middle of the night.
When I finally emerged from my self-imposed isolation, I texted Trevor with my plan. His disapproval had come in the form of radio silence for twenty-four hours. Trevor had always had my back and my best interests at heart, but he was just as stubborn as Ethan, if not more so, when he didn’t get his way. I was resolute though, and in the end, I decided he could either get
on board with what I had planned or be left behind.
I glanced down at my boarding pass again. The flight was long, just over six hours. I had never minded going coach on any of my trips, but Trevor had insisted on booking first class. Money wasn’t the issue. From the moment I began doing the small segment on Good Day New York, my finances had ceased to be a source of worry for me. No, the issue, for Trevor, was image. He thought a big name chef like me should always travel in style. It made me feel like a pompous ass. For this trip, he had won. I was too exhausted to argue about it anymore, especially since there seemed to be an ever-growing list of things we were destined to argue about in the upcoming two weeks. Sometimes being the focus of his professional and personal attention had its drawbacks.
“Don’t tell me you’re still pissed off I booked us in first class. Jesus, J. Get over it already. Your back and neck will be thanking me three hours into the flight, when you can actually stretch your legs instead of feeling packed in like a sardine.”
I kept my eyes locked on my boarding pass. “I’m not pissed, Trev. Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Maybe you can sleep on the plane. We’ll get into Seattle around lunchtime and a nap will give you the extra boost you need when I force you to show me around your hometown.”
I cracked a smile even though my stomach was in knots. “We’re not staying too far from Pike Place Market, so we can head over there and pick up something to eat. As for resting, you know I can never sleep on planes. You always seem to forget that since you’re snoring before they even clear the runway.”
Trevor clutched his heart in mock distress. “You’re just—”
“Flight 527 is now boarding for Seattle, Washington. We’ll begin our preflight boarding by welcoming all our first-class members.”
I pushed Trevor toward the waiting flight crew member and handed the man our boarding passes. Trevor snickered when the man checked me out. I just smiled at the nice, not-my-type gentleman and shoved a highly amused Trevor through the door leading to our plane.
A few minutes later, we both had drinks in our hands as we waited for the rest of the passengers to board. Trevor’s laptop was already out and turned on, my own iPad on and streaming music through my headphones.
A tap on my shoulder caught my attention, focusing on the papers in Trevor’s hand instead of the grim expression he was wearing. Except for the initial talk about scheduling, we hadn’t spoken much about this trip. The lack of communication was rare for us, but nothing had been normal since the awards ceremony.
“So, I know you don’t want to discuss this, but we have to. You wanted time off, and we both know you need it. But we also both know small appearances here and there to keep you in the public eye are good for your career.”
I grimaced and opened my mouth, but Trevor put his hand up to stop me. “It’s true, J. No matter how you slice it. I promised not to push, and for three weeks I haven’t. But we need to take advantage of being in a different locale. It will only be a few appearances over the week and a half we’re there. One will be almost painless because it’s a local talk radio show—no makeup or prep required. But the other one is a guest spot on What’s New Seattle. They promised it wouldn’t take more than a few hours, and they’ll have a few of your dishes from the cookbook already prepared. You won’t have to do anything but the normal routine of setting up each stage of the dish they choose to spotlight for the taping.”
The headache I’d been battling off and on for weeks came surging back. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before saying anything. Once I felt the moment to throttle him pass, I snatched the pages out of his hands. “Goddammit, Trev. I wanted time off, not time stuck on a TV set...or in Ivar’s for a photo op.”
He had the decency to look sheepish when I mentioned Ivar’s, but the determined look was still on his face. “Ivar’s will be easy. We’ll simply show up for a few photos with Kenny Bellamy in the kitchen and we can relax and let Kenny do all the work. I’ll even spring for a nice bottle of Brunello while we’re there.”
“These are already booked?”
Trevor nodded without saying another word.
“Son of a...fine. I won’t back out of them, but no more, Trev. I mean it. Not one more appearance, interview, or book signing. I came home to help out the Institute and that’s it.”
Well, it’s not the only reason I came home. But I didn’t say it out loud. Stick to my career. That’s safer.
“My FoodTV contract is almost up. After I’ve taped the last shows, I’m done, Trevor. I wasn’t joking when I told you I needed a break.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “And volunteering two weekends of service to your old school is what you call taking a break?”
I gritted my teeth and lowered my voice so our cabin mates wouldn’t hear us. “Don’t go there. It’s for a goddamn charity event.”
He scoffed. “Sure. A charity event you knew nothing about until two weeks ago. A charity event at your old school, which happens to be across the country, where you offered to help a professor you haven’t spoken to in eight years. What part of taking a break am I missing here, Jamie?”
His words should have stung, but instead I just felt more tired and frustrated. Where lately I had seen how my career had gone off the path I’d always dreamed of, Trevor could still only see marketing and dollar signs. “It’s for hungry kids. Shit, Trevor. When did you become so jaded and self-absorbed? No More Hunger is a worthy cause, and you know it. I haven’t been home in eight years, for god’s sake, so save your self-righteous bullshit for a time when I’m not exhausted and ready to fire your ass.”
Trevor flinched, my words finding their mark. He took the papers back and shoved them in his laptop bag, leaned away from me and closed his eyes. My shoulders sagged with a bone-deep weariness. When had this friendship gotten off-kilter? Had it always been this way or were we no longer on the same page?
I closed my eyes during the preflight spiel from the flight attendants until we were up in the air and on our way to Seattle. Trevor was still pretending to sleep. I popped in my earbuds, cranked my music and reclined my seat.
Instead of relaxing, my mind went to where it had been for the past three weeks. Ethan. I had turned it all over in my mind, digging out old photographs and emails in a desperate effort to pinpoint where it had all gone wrong. I should have dumped them all a long time ago, but the pictures had long been stored on a jump drive, along with any email I had from him in my archived mail folder.
I had tortured myself by rereading the last few exchanges we’d had before we finally called it quits.
Ethan Martin [email protected] 05/31/05
To: Jamie
So my last long distance bill was outrageous and I’m tired of having the same fight anyway. I told you last time we talked that I wanted you to have fun and experience it all, but can there be one time when Trevor doesn’t answer the phone? I guess we’ll talk in person when I pick you up from the airport in a few weeks. You still haven’t given me the flight information and I need to tell Cal so I can get time off.
I’m picking up extra shifts now the semester’s over to help pay for shit, so if I’m not home, leave a message.
E
James Lassiter
To: Ethan
I tried to call but kept getting your answering machine. I didn’t want to do this through email but you never seem to answer my calls anymore.
Trevor’s dad found me an internship in the U.S. after the program here is finished. It’s the chance of a lifetime with a well-known chef who rarely takes on newbie interns. I’m sure Trevor’s dad helped me get this, but I can’t pass it up. It would mean the difference between securing a spot for me as a real chef someday vs. coming home and starting over from scratch. I’m sorry I’m going to miss graduation but
I can’t afford another plane ticket right now.
I’m not sure what to say anymore that won’t end with us in a fight. You talk about an “us” but there isn’t an “us” when you won’t reply to my emails or phone calls unless it’s to pick old fights neither of us can win. You promised me at the airport we were in this together. The Ethan who kissed me goodbye at the airport told me he would wait for me and wait for us. But I don’t even recognize us anymore.
I don’t know what else to say that I haven’t said a hundred times before. I love you, but I’m tired of fighting with you. I want the best for you. I’d hope you’d want the same for me.
I’ll be flying into NY on the 17th. I’ll send you my new email address and phone number as soon as I get them and am settled in my new apartment.
I’m sorry, but I can’t come home to Seattle when I know this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Jamie
Rereading those emails had torn me apart, but it had also granted me some perspective. In the beginning, all I could focus on was how unsupportive and selfish Ethan was being. The opportunity in New York was something most novice chefs would give their right hand for. Now I knew I was just as much of a selfish bastard as he had been. It hadn’t only been one-sided.
When I had first broached the idea of this trip to Trevor, the accusation was silent between us about my real reason for flying to Seattle. I had turned the question over and over in my mind, but I hadn’t allowed myself to answer it until we’d actually boarded the plane. If Ethan no longer lived in Seattle, would I be as vehement about flying home to help my former school? I would have loved to have told myself I was a selfless person who would have in a heartbeat. But admitting it would have made me a lying bastard. Trevor and I both knew it.
In the Fire Page 9