The Chef's Passion

by Z. L. Arkadie

  “My baby,” I whisper while sitting at a red light.

  I rub my stomach. The child inside me is going to be his own person. I should give him a name. Lawrence? No. My dad is Walter, but not many people name their children that these days.

  “Walter,” I say as the light turns green. I love my dad, but gosh, his name is passé.

  My mother’s name is Terri Anne. There’s no way I can find a boy’s name from that combination that I like.

  “Randy Jr.” That would imply that he’s supposed to somehow live up to Randy’s standards. Nope. Our kid is going to live by his own heart. I could call him Maverick, but that’s too specific. I also once read that Hayden means strong.

  “Hayden it is.” From now on, I’ll call my baby by his prebirth name of Hayden.

  As I get closer to school, I consider other things I want for Hayden. I want him to be strong but not so much that he doesn’t feel safe crying. I remember Dusty Lyons. We were all around eight or nine at the neighborhood block party. Dusty went flying off the tire swing and scratched his leg pretty bad. My friend Kent and I helped him walk to where his parents were sitting in a circle of other parents, drinking beer. Dusty’s father shot out of his seat and instantly commanded him to stop crying like a girl. That confused, brokenhearted look on Dusty’s face—I’ll never forget it. All I wanted to do was kick Dusty’s father in the shin and call him a fucking quack. My dad taught me that people cry—boys and girls. It’s what you do after you’re all cried out that makes the difference. He used to say, “Have a good cry, kiddo, and then pick yourself up and learn from the pain.” Gosh, I was so glad I had my dad instead of Dusty’s.

  Now that I think about it, Hayden might be pretty lucky to have me as a mother. I rub my belly with one hand, navigating into a handicap parking spot with the other. Since I’m officially on bed rest, Dr. Reinhart wrote me a note to receive a temporary handicap placard. When I park in the handicap space, no one ever looks at me as if they’re wondering if I really need the special parking. The sight of me holding my lower back as I get out of the car says it all.

  “Oh, Hayden.” I stand up. “You’re definitely making this hard for me.”

  I snicker as I reach into the backseat for my purse, cap, and special tassels. I’m graduating with honors.

  I stroll to the auditorium like the proud graduate that I am. Every so often, I wave to a classmate. We’re all happy, and that sentiment is in the air. Just for a moment, I wish I had invited my parents at least. I just didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it. Seeing me graduate from law school was their crowning glory. This culinary-school graduation is my crowning glory.

  My heart is filled with such contentment that everything on my body that normally hurts feels a lot better—my back, my ankles, and the pinching feeling in my stomach. Hayden always lets me know he’s inside me and will be joining us one day.

  Good vibes continue to rule the day. There are many hugs and excited chatter. Phoebe Lau is leaving for Paris on Monday to study the art of French cooking. She’ll be in training for six months. I toy with the idea of doing the same, but I remember both Hayden and the restaurant are going to need me, so I can’t go traipsing to Paris, Lyon, Madrid, and Rome to perfect the art of regional cooking. Oh, how I want to. If not now, then one day I will.

  I don’t reveal to my classmates that I’m opening a new restaurant, at least not yet. I’m pretty friendly with Lacy Howard at the marketing and development office. Once we open, I’ll pay her visit and ask her to send a blast to the students, asking them to try Sauce. I’ll even sweeten the deal. If they let us know they’re from the school, then they’ll get half off their meal. I’m confident students will love our food and continue to come back for more.

  Soon it’s time to line up and file out to the graduation march. We take our seats. Cameras are flashing through the auditorium, and every so often, the spark catches my attention. First Chef Sweet speaks, congratulating all of us, wishing us well, saying one day he hopes to taste our food and pay for it. Chef Grant encourages us to never give up. Chef Carlisle urges us to expand our horizons, be forever learners, which is the key to becoming award-winning chefs. My head is spinning, not because my pregnancy has thrown my hormonal balance off but because my heart is so inspired and my mind is filled with so many ambitions.

  Then my eyes gravitate toward a late arrival. I grab my chest as I watch him walk down the aisle confidently as if he owns the auditorium. It’s Randy. As usual, he makes heads turn. He sits in the third center row in an empty seat between two people. After he locates me in the sea of graduates, he waves. I wave back. I can’t stop smiling. I thought I wanted to have this day to myself, but now that Randy’s here, I’ve changed my mind.

  Dean Stewart gets up to call names. When my name is called, my classmates cheer the loudest. Randy stands and whistles. He’s so overtly animated that I can’t help but laugh. Gosh. I don’t know what has been going on between us, but the way my heart is fluttering says what I feel for him is more serious than I’m willing to admit.

  Randy and I smile at each other a lot during the ceremony. I even receive the Dorothy Pritchard Great Chefs Award, which is unexpected. Tears roll from my eyes as I take the trophy with my name engraved on it. This may be the best day of my life.

  The ceremony ends with us tossing our caps, giving hugs, and referring to each other as “Chef.” When I set my eyes on Randy again, he’s standing at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed and stance wide while talking to Chef Sweet and Chef Carlisle.

  As I make my way to the crowd, he touches Chef Sweet on the shoulder and says something. Here he comes. Five more feet, and now we’re facing each other.

  “Hi,” I say, unable to stop smiling.

  “Congratulations.”

  I love his full-white-teeth smile and that twinkle in his eyes.

  “Thanks.”

  We’re gazing giddily at each other.

  “Oh,” he says like he’s finally remembered something. “I have something for you in my car.”

  “Oh yeah?” I sound just as excited as I feel.

  “Yeah. You want to see?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Randy points his head toward the exit, puts a hand on the small of my back, and guides me through the crowd until we break into daylight.

  “So how do you feel?” he asks. His hand is still on my back.

  “The day has been so euphoric that I forgot just about everything hurts.”

  He laughs delightedly and massages my back. “How’s the baby?”

  I look down at my stomach. “Oh. Hayden is probably a little hungry, but other than that, he’s fine.”

  “Hayden?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t name him officially without you.”

  “No. I like it.”

  I feel my eyes shine as I look up at him. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Why Hayden, though?”

  “Because the name means strong and independent. That’s how I want him to be.”

  He lifts one side of his mouth into the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. “Like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Strong, sexy, independent. You’re a winner, Gina. That’s why I chose to go into business with you.”

  I gaze up at Randy. I can hardly believe he feels that way about me.

  “Remember my first day at the Calypso?” I ask.

  “Do I ever.”

  The first day I reported for work at the Calypso, he almost bumped into the wall when he saw me walk into the café.

  “I thought you were cute until you morphed into an asshole.”

  He tosses his head back and laughs loudly. “I thought you were hot and even hotter when you morphed into a stubborn-ass woman.”

  I laugh. “I am stubborn, aren’t I?”

  “At least you keep me on my toes.”

  We arrive at his SUV. He opens the back door and takes out a healthy bouquet of red-and-yellow flowers. “Ah,” I say, fawning over the f
loral bundle.

  “They’re painted daisies. They remind me of you.”

  “How so?” I take a sniff.

  “Their beauty is rich and deep.”

  It’s been a while since he’s made my heart go pitter-patter. Actually, he’s making me feel a new emotion by doing something sweet like showing up at my graduation with a bouquet of flowers.

  “Thanks so much, Randy,” I say, letting my eyes show how sincere I am.

  “How about…?” His phone rings in the front of the car, and he lifts a finger. “One second.”

  Randy trots around the large vehicle to answer the call. I probably need to buy an SUV like this one in the near future.

  “Hello,” he says. I watch him through the open door. After a moment of hugging the phone against his ear, he slaps his forehead. “Aw, shit. I forgot. What time?”

  I can hear Deanna nearly screaming on the other end of the phone.

  “Calm down. I’ll be there. Where are you?”

  He glances at me and, for some reason I look away. “With a friend.”

  She must’ve asked what friend because Randy says, “No one that concerns you. I’ll be there. Talk to you later.” He ends the call.

  I’m no one? I listen to his footsteps as he walks back around. When I see his face again, I force myself to smile.

  “You have to go?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I have an interview with Kings of Culinary magazine. They’re doing a feature on the top three finalists of last season’s Head Chef Total Domination.”

  My throat has grown thick. I nod and swallow. “Well, thanks for showing up, and thanks for the flowers.”

  Randy stares deep into my eyes. His lips part as if he wants to say something, but then he closes his mouth and smiles.

  I smile back.

  “I’ll see you soon?” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s waiting for my answer

  “Yes.”

  He rubs my belly like it’s a lucky bowling ball. “Feed Hayden for me?”

  I chuckle. “I’ll feed Hayden for Hayden.”

  He laughs. “You do that.”

  It feels like we’re supposed to kiss or something, but instead, I lift my hand to say good-bye one more time and walk away. I can feel his eyes on my back for a few seconds, and then I turn a corner without looking back. Instead of returning to the celebration, I go pee and then drive home. The euphoria of earlier has definitely worn off, and now all I want to do is sleep and figure out how in the world I really feel about Randy.

  21

  I have been good for two weeks since graduation. But now I’ve started spotting really badly again, so I adhered to my doctor’s orders and have been cooped up inside, watching TV and reading. At the moment, I’m reading the article in Culinary Kings, which features the Head Chef Total Domination Winners. I really want to throw up when the writer goes off the grid and says that he thinks Randy and Deanna are still a couple. He even names her as his business partner, which is not the case. I take the magazine and toss it at my dresser drawer. I do it with such vigor that my stomach cramps.

  “Sorry, Hayden,” I say, stroking my belly.

  Tonight is the first time since my graduation that I’ll be getting out of the house. Sauce will open in four days, plus it’s my birthday. Randy thought it would be a good idea to celebrate both at once with our closest friends.

  Despite being in a relationship with Deanna, which he hasn’t confirmed, Randy has been great with me. He comes over every night to make me dinner—good food like egg white, spinach, and quinoa quiche and red lentil soup. His goal is to keep me healthy. When we talk, it’s normally about business. He tells me how great things are going. He’s hired the entire kitchen and floor staff, which consists of some familiar faces like Samantha, Rita, and Sarah. Pete’s still our baker. Randy’s our executive chef, but after I join him, I’ll also assume the position two nights out of the week. I’m surprised he didn’t challenge me about it. He’s been so agreeable lately that it’s starting to worry me. Maybe all the passion and fire he felt for me has dwindled. I’m just a sickly, pregnant woman who’s uncomfortable all the time.

  But not tonight! I get out of bed as fast as I can and go to the kitchen. I really only have one goal tonight, and that is to make Naomi take me seriously as a chef. She still thinks I’m going to ride Randy’s coattails all the way to success. She drops by to check on me at least twice a week, and I’ve been too tired to cook for her, so she usually eats whatever Randy cooks and then takes a container to Derek, who has become a fan of Randy’s food. I take it easy as I make my petite goat-cheese soufflés. I won’t let anyone eat them until Naomi has had a taste.

  Three hours later, after the thirty miniature soufflés cool, I pack them into a container and walk as fast as I can to my bedroom to shower and get dressed. Carrie will be here soon. I’m spotting a little, but I promise myself that I won’t stay long. Neither will I play the part of the miserable pregnant lady. I plan on being the picture of a perfect hostess and birthday girl. Dr. Reinhart already said one key to getting through this difficult pregnancy is staying positive. Where the mind goes, the body follows.

  By the time my ride arrives, I’m ready to go. Carrie lugs everything I’m taking to the car—the soufflés, my purse, and a bunch of white silk tablecloths to go over the temporary tables. Our permanent tables are supposed to arrive tomorrow.

  “Are you sure I can’t carry something?” I ask her as she closes my door behind me.

  “Nope. I have it,” she says enthusiastically.

  From the moment we get into her black sedan, she talks about how setting up for the party went. “She tried to change the whole layout at the last minute. The one that you approved,” Carrie says, referring to Deanna.

  I shift in my seat. “Is that so.”

  “Yes, and she did!”

  My mouth falls open. “She did!”

  “Yes, but Randy made us change it back. He said nothing changes without your say-so.”

  I sigh in relief.

  “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Lacy Howard got back to us today.”

  Now I pipe up. “And what did she say?”

  “Did you know that Deanna already contacted her?”

  I jerk, taken aback. “What?”

  “Yes, she said that she had spoken to Chef Deanna Blume, who already sent her a news release.”

  I take a deep breath and try to continue following doctor’s orders and remain calm. As Carrie tells me she insisted that Lacy read her that press release, I try to recall how in the world Deanna could know to contact my school. Then it dawns on me—I mentioned it to Randy last week. He must’ve said something to her.

  “Then she reads it and it says, Sauce, owned and operated by executive celebrity chef Randy Caruso, featuring delicious entrées prepared by guest celebrity chef Deanna Blume and others.”

  I raise a hand, motioning her to stop talking immediately. “Carrie…”

  “So,” she says loudly, “I told Randy, and he called the school and killed the press release. He did it right in front of me. It was so impressive. You should’ve been there. I mean…” She glances at me. “Are you sure he’s not in love with you?”

  I’m so shocked she asked that question that saliva goes down the wrong pipe, and I cough like crazy.

  “Sorry.” She reaches out to pat me on the back.

  I lift a hand. “That’s okay. Please keep both hands on the steering wheel.”

  She nods dutifully and clamps both hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry about that.”

  I shake my head. Goodness. It’s going to be a long night.

  We arrive thirty minutes early just as I had planned. The bells from Calypso jingle when we walk inside.

  “You put them on the door?” I say, grinning.

  “Yes, just as you wanted.” Carrie gets closer and lowers her voice. “She tried to stop me from doing it, but once again, Randy to the rescue.”

  It finally dawns on me that Car
rie is fishing. She thinks since I’m pregnant with Randy’s child, and he’s over often, we must have developed a romantic relationship.

  I’m about to tell her that Randy and I are just business partners who finally learned how to be friends when Deanna sweeps in and pretends to not notice us. If I had any fight left in me, I would grab her and give her an earful about that stunt she tried to pull with my culinary school. But already, I can feel that pulling sensation in my vagina, so I have to remind myself that tonight I’m taking it nice and easy, and that means no stress.

  First thing, I have Carrie set up my cheese soufflés. She asks if she can try one, and even though I intended for Nom to experience them first, I say yes. I watch Carrie bite into the soufflé and chew as though she’s experiencing a piece of heaven.

  “Dear God, Gina. These are so divine.”

  “Thanks,” I say, sort of believing she’s trying to stroke my ego. Naomi will be the true critic of my cooking. If my soufflés are as good as Carrie is making them out to be, then Naomi will have the same reaction. If they suck, then Naomi will let me know. It’s one reason why she’s my best friend—she’s always giving it to me straight, but she’s not harsh about it.

  “Gina,” Randy says. I quickly turn, and he’s close behind me.

  I feel as if I should run into his arms and kiss him or something, but I don’t. “Hey, I made it.”

  His eyes travel down to my belly and then back up to my face. “How are you feeling?”

  I swear it’s the first question he asks every time he sees me. “I’m fine. Thanks for including my birthday in this little celebration of ours.”

  “It’s a big celebration, and that’s only because you’re part of it.

  I glance at Carrie, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

  I drop my face bashfully. “Ah… that’s a nice thing to say.”

  “It’s true,” he says with a catch in his voice.

  When I look up, Randy is staring at me with a blank look on his face. Deanna walks up behind him and hugs his arm.