A waitress approached and offered a warm, friendly greeting. Sassa followed her to the back of the restaurant, passing by a boy and his mom who both smiled, an elderly man who nodded, and two lovers deep in conversation. The waitress glided like a ballet dancer on the way to her mark.
“My name is Myrina. We’re offering a number of specials tonight. As an appetizer, we’re serving stir-fried Brussels sprouts done with tamari sauce. That’s one of my favorites. As a main course, we’re offering a spicy soy masala dish.”
Myrina had a Mona Lisa-like smile. With long, thick, wavy red hair; tender, probing hazel eyes; and more than enough freckles, she resembled a schoolgirl, even though Sassa placed her in her thirties. A calmness in her cheekbones and jaw seemed to house wisdom.
“Those sound tasty. I’ll start with an unsweetened iced tea.”
“Are you from around here?”
“I’m from Cambridge.”
“Long drive.”
“A friend told me about your restaurant. We’re both chefs at Sirellina in Boston. He said the Green Angel was his favorite vegetarian restaurant on the East Coast, so I had to check you guys out.”
“Thank you. I’ll pass that on to the chef. Be back in a minute with your tea.”
Sassa picked up her knife and studied both sides of it. Sometimes she had a feeling about a place, like crawling under a blanket with the windows open on a crisp fall night. The first time she stepped into Pellegrino’s. The first time she drove through New York. The first time she walked through Harvard Square. The first time she slept in Nick’s bed.
“It’s clean.” With a huge grin on her face, Myrina stood at the table, iced tea in hand. A man accompanied her.
“Sorry. I drifted off,” Sassa said.
“Here you go.” She placed a two-piece iced tea pot on the table. The bottom was filled with ice and the top suspended a pyramid-shaped tea bag in steeping hot water.
“That’s the coolest iced tea maker I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah. We like them too. This is Matthew; he owns The Green Angel. When I mentioned that you’re also a chef, he wanted to come out and meet you.”
Matthew, taller than Myrina but much smaller than Nick, had straight black hair striated with gray pulled back in a ponytail; he had dark brown eyes to match his dark skin and a hint of a foreign accent that Sassa couldn’t place. Croatian? Hungarian? The same calmness girded his face, masking his age.
“Hey there, I’m Sassa. Nice to meet you. You’ve done a wonderful job with this place. Local produce. Local beer. Local everything. Very cool.”
“Thank you. Myrina told me you work at Sirellina. It has an excellent reputation.”
“They’ve been good to me.”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“I’m an aspiring one. I do eat fish and grass-fed beef in small portions, but I don’t buy anything from ‘the middle supermarket aisles,’ to reference Michael Pollen.”
Matt nodded. “Great book. Well, I just wanted to stop over and say hello. I’m going to send over a beer from a Portland brewing company. I think you’ll love the flavor. Enjoy.”
“Take care.”
Shortly after Matthew left, Sassa’s meal arrived. She devoured her Brussels sprouts, which were the most flavorful she’d ever tasted. Not big on soy, she still savored every bite of the masala dish. How did Matt get so much flavor into a soy dish? He should open a place in New York. After she finished her dinner, she ordered a wonderful coconut and chocolate macaroon dessert with her tea. While sipping her tea, she noticed Matt heading toward her table with something in hand.
“Hey again. I have a gift and a request for you. I’d like to buy you dinner tonight, one chef to another.”
“Thank you, that’s generous.”
He folded up the bill and slipped it in his pocket. “Would you be willing to stick around town until the restaurant closes? Maybe we could have a drink together? I have a business proposition for you.”
Was Matt interested? Or did he truly have a business proposal? Either way. “Sure.”
• • •
Portland. From Old Port to the Art Museum to Newick’s Lobster House, Sassa loved everything about the city. A manageable size, the place was full of friendly young artists and musicians, and an abundance of diverse restaurants. What more could she ask for from a place, East or West Coast? For a better part of the day, she walked the city. The Eastern Promenade. Diamond Cove. Deering Oak Park. Congress Street. The place welcomed her, as if she’d been away at war and had just come home. After a few hours, she strolled back into the Green Angel on time, whistling “Across the Universe.”
Matt and Myrina greeted her at the bar with a glass of the same Portland beer that he’d sent over earlier that day.
“We’re married, by the way.” Matt reached out to hold Myrina’s hand.
“Ah.”
“We’ve been in this business for ten years now, and we love the Green Angel,” he said.
“The restaurant has been everything we’d hoped for and more, but we’re considering moving on,' Myrina said.
“Really?”
“We had our first child, Janine, a few months ago.”
“Ah. What a pretty name.”
“Thanks. We’ve realized that we’re going to need help raising her. Myrina is from Seattle. All of her family is still there.”
“I get that.' How were her aunt and uncle doing in Indiana? Her cousins? She would never move back, even if she married and had kids. Yet Matt and Myrina’s plan to go home seemed right to her, as if she’d been tipped off ahead of time that Seattle was their true home.
“So we’re toying with the idea of selling the Green Angel if we can find the right buyer. Based on a hunch more than anything else, we both thought you might be that person.”
“Really? I’ve never considered owning my own place.' Nick had told her early on that she was destined to run her own business, but she’d never thought that seriously about it. She shifted her weight back and forth from side to side on her chair and twirled her hair with her index finger.
“We might be wrong. Like I said, we had a hunch.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Tell me more.”
“We’ve talked to several potential buyers in the past few months and, for a lot of reasons, none of them felt right. On the other hand, there’s something about you—your experience, how you carry yourself, your interest in the restaurant. If nothing else, we’ve shared a glass of the summer ale.”
“Delicious.' She took another sip. What to make of the offer? Part of her liked the idea of owning her own place, managing a team, creating a real sense of community. But was she ready? Her favorite memory of her mom, the one where they were swinging on the front porch of her childhood home drinking citrusaid, bannered across her mind. The path of most resistance? Warmth emanated from right below her heart. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about going out West. I even considered Seattle myself. I have some stuff I need to figure out, and there’s this guy—”
“No surprise there,” Myrina said.
Sassa started twirling her hair again. “Things with the guy may or may not work out. I’m considering a whole range of stuff that might help me figure things out. I’m not sure owning a restaurant makes sense given everything else I need to do.”
“Did you ever consider work as a possible solution?”
“What do you mean?”
“We had a lot of issues to work out as well and, much to our surprise, we found the answers we were looking for in this place. Didn’t we, Matt?”
“Some we weren’t looking for, too.”
Sassa nodded slowly, searching for a crack, a micro-expression, in their story.
They had years of common history where they’d both grown. How did that happen, and what was the secret? She had to figure it out; maybe they’d found the key to fifty years. “You were able to work things out together?”
“Separately and together,” Myrina said.
“And I learned how to truly connect with people who, in many cases, I would serve and never see again,” Myrina said.
“I no longer freak out when the delivery guy accidentally smashes a crate of fresh vegetables,” Matt said.
“And I treat employees as partners without using any kind of one-up, one-down scare tactics,” Myrina said.
Her mind raced. Who were these two? Had they really worked it all out? Work. Family. Love. Staying present. Not freaking out. It was too good to be true. Yet she was sure they had tapped into something pure, something real, something she hadn’t experienced. “Okay, okay. Slow down. What does one-up, one-down mean? How many people do you employ?”
“We have ten employees, and each has a lot to offer. We look at them as equal partners and don’t in any way look down on them because we run the place. They complement us,” Matt said.
“That’s wonderful.”
“We think so too. Are you staying in Portland for the night?” Myrina asked.
“Yes, I booked a room at the Regency last minute.”
“So what are your first impressions?” Matt asked as he handed her another beer.
“Well, you have me thinking, though I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”
“Let’s not worry about money right now. The most important thing is to find out if there’s a match. We can work out the details later if we all agree to move forward.”
“How about if I sleep on it? Can you meet tomorrow morning for coffee before I leave?”
“Okay,” Matt and Myrina replied at the same time.
Sassa checked into the hotel, settled into her room, and went to bed straight away. She tossed and turned, and in no time her sheets and blankets were in a tangle. Reaching over, she grabbed her phone off the nightstand to call Nick. It was too late. She gently placed the phone back down, and picked up her tablet instead. Tablet propped up against her blanket-covered knees, she scripted what she planned to say the next morning. Timing. Training. Employees. Housing. Price. Buyer beware.
When she finished the script, her thoughts gravitated back to the West Coast. Maybe she should leave the East after all? She’d already decided she needed a change, and owning a Portland restaurant didn’t top her list. Stuck in the middle of something she didn’t fully understand, leaving might be just the thing. A thought entered her mind: Nick stroking her hand one morning at Joe’s, consoling her about criticism she’d received at work the previous night. Sassa, you can do anything you put your mind to. You are incredibly talented. I have complete faith in you. She smiled. She flipped through the television channels for a long time before eventually falling asleep to SportsCenter.
• • •
“Good morning.” Sassa greeted Matt and Myrina, already seated at the coffee shop, holding hands.
“Morning. We took the liberty of buying you a green tea,” Myrina said.
“Perfect. Thanks. I thought more about our conversation last night and I have a few more questions.”
“We figured. Let’s dive in,” Matt said.
“Okay. So, let’s start with finances. How much do you gross and how much do you net per year?”
“About $1 million gross and $100,000 net,” Myrina said. “I run the books. Matt does the food.”
“Wow.”
“It took us some time to build to those numbers.”
“Still, that’s fantastic. Next on my list, what kind of timing are you looking at and how much transition training could you provide?”
“We’d like to move as soon as possible, but what’s more important is leaving the business in good hands. We’re thinking three months of training is probably sufficient,” Myrina said.
“That sounds right. Do you know if the current employees will stay on?”
“We’ve talked to them and they want to stay. They’re good people,” Matt said.
“Good. Let’s go back to money for a moment. What are you thinking in terms of price?”
“Well, we need some cash to get started in Seattle. We have some savings, but we need another $100,000 to get started. So, we’d be willing to take $100,000 up front, then your profits for the next two years after you take out a reasonable salary for yourself.”
“That sounds like a fair price. And what about the name? Will you start a restaurant in Seattle with the same name?”
“The name is part of the deal. We’ll start a similar restaurant in Seattle with a few new twists and a new name. The Green Angel belongs in Portland.”
Sassa, Myrina, and Matt talked another hour and went through Sassa’s remaining concerns in detail. It was as if she’d known them for much longer and taking over the restaurant had been part of the master plan for a long time. There was something exhilarating about the restaurant business, about the connection with Matt and Myrina, about taking a big risk.
“That’s all for now. I’m interested.”
“We have a formal process on our end. Standard background check and, if we all decide to go forward, a three-month trial period where you can get comfortable that you made the right decision.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure I’ll have more questions down the road. I’d like to talk with some of my friends, review your financials with an accountant, and meet the staff. Does that all sound okay?”
“Yes,” Matt and Myrina responded in unison.
Did they always do that?
• • •
On her way back to Cambridge, Sassa phoned Brayden and detailed the restaurant in one long monologue. Vegetarian like Life Alive, but higher end. A chance to create something of her own. A way to give back to the community. Matt and Myrina had already done the heavy lifting.
Brayden listened closely and didn’t ask anything until she had finished. “Do you think this is on the path of most resistance?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should do it.”
“You really know how to boil things down.”
“Sometimes.”
She thanked him and let him go. He was a good man.
• • •
“Are you okay?” Nick asked.
She smiled. “Everything’s fine. I know we agreed not to contact each other during the year, but I could use your advice on a business opportunity.”
“Oh . . . sure, happy to help. Let me set down my guitar. I just started working on a track for a singer-songwriter who hired us to produce one of her songs.”
“Any good?”
“Not bad. A cross between Sarah McLachlan and Patty Griffin.”
“Cool. I have a chance to move to Portland, Maine, and buy a vegetarian restaurant.”
“You keep going farther away.”
True. She did seem to be making her way up the coast, attracted by smaller and smaller cities. Why was that? “I must have a thing for going north.”
“We have that in common.”
“Anyway, given that you started your own business, I was hoping you might look at the financials for me and let me know if you spot any gotchas?” Once before, she’d asked Nick about running his company. He was a natural at business stuff.
“Why don’t you give me an overview now, and then you can send me whatever information you have as soon as possible? What’s the timing?”
“I’d like to make a final decision by the end of next week.”
For over an hour, Sassa replayed her conversations with Matt and Myrina down to the last detail. Nick asked a lot of good questions, made her feel like he had her back, like she’d already asked Matt and Myrina all of the important stuff on her own. He had always encouraged her to explore, to take risks, to do what she wanted. He always would.
“What do you think?”
“I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”
• • •
The following week, Nick validated all of the financials, provided Sassa with useful information about running a small business
, and endorsed her purchase of the Green Angel. They spoke one more time on the phone before the one-year rule went back into effect.
Sassa lay on her bed and pressed her feet against the headboard. The only thing she had on was a “Let It Be” T-shirt and black lace panties. John covered one breast and Paul the other. “Are you okay with our conversations this week?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“We did agree not to talk for a year.”
“We shouldn’t be so rigid. It’s nice to know you still need me.”
“I do.” With her free hand, she spelled out “Two of Us” on the blanket. She’d grown to love the Beatles almost as much as Nick did. Sometimes, when they were still together, they held Beatles’ weeks where they listened to one album per day in the order of their release date. Was Let It Be or Abbey Road last? She could never remember. Smiling, she crossed one foot over the other and curled her toes. Her T-shirt pushed up a few inches and exposed her panties.
“You’ll do well with the restaurant.”
“I feel like I caught up.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like I get to take advantage of Matt and Myrina’s ten years of hard work while I’ve been floundering around all these years.”
“I don’t think you’ve been floundering around.”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that one.”
After she hung up with Nick, she poured herself a glass of wine and toasted a picture of her mom and dad on the wall. Adulthood. She had finally arrived. A moment later, she rummaged through her desk drawer and found a box filled with colored pencils, and a large, still-blank journal Nick had given her when they first met. The first page: Sassa, May this be one of the first places you dream. Nick. She smiled. Turning to a blank page, she employed a trick one of her college professors had taught her. She drew a map of the simple steps required to take over the Green Angel: settle into Old Port apartment, meet employees, meet local suppliers, practice menu, get to know clients. With multiple colors, she sketched an old brick house, a group of workers, a farm, a menu, customers, and listed many detailed steps below each drawing. Once drawn, as if it was her most prized possession, she placed the journal under her mattress. She planned to move from step to step until she reached her goal, or “treasure,” as her professor liked to label the final destination. Manageable chunks, Sassa, manageable chunks are all you’ll ever need to find the treasure. Shortly after learning the trick, she had slept with him for the first time. At that time, she had had a thing for men with power.
The Color of Home: A Novel Page 17