The Luckiest

by Wendy Owens

  I hear the tongs hit the pan, and when I turn around I see Dean has decided to pass on the medallions. He takes a bite of the vegetable hash and begins talking to his friends. I can’t take it. I want to shout at him. I want to tell him how rude he is, how I worked on that food all day and he—I try and stop the thoughts from racing through my head. He’s my boss, and it’s his choice not to like something I make.

  The heat inside me is building, and I think I might snap if I don’t say something. I can’t though. Without a word, I leave the tent, darting off in the direction of the parking lot and the safety of my bus.

  “Hey, wait up,” Christian shouts behind me, but I don’t stop. It doesn’t take much effort on his part, and he has caught up with me.

  “Hi.” I don’t stop.

  “You all right?” I wonder what tipped him off, my red face or my flared nostrils.

  “Your boss has some nerve.” The words start tumbling out of my mouth, and now there seems to be nothing I can do to put them back in.

  “Who? Dean? Last I checked, he’s your boss too.”

  “Fine,” I huff, coming to a stop in front of the women’s bus. “Our boss has some nerve. Although, I doubt after tonight he’s my boss much longer.”

  “What?” Christian stops my pacing with a well-placed hand on my shoulder. In that instant I want to crumple into him and let his strong arms rock me. What the hell, Mac, get it together. “What happened?”

  “He hated my food.” I’m nearly gasping for breath.

  Christian shakes his head. “He said that? That’s not like him.”

  “Well, no—not exactly,” I begin, trying to remember how it happened. “But he didn’t even taste the pork medallions, and he complained about the sauce being congealed. I mean seriously?” I cross my arms, getting angry all over again.

  Christian is laughing.

  “Excuse me, is there something funny I’m missing?”

  “That’s just Dean. He’s a picky eater. He knows that, and he’s not going to fire you over it,” he explains.

  I raise a finger into the air, wildly waving it around. “No, well, he shouldn’t. I should fire him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Christian is still laughing at me. This is infuriating.

  “I’m serious. There is no way a chef can cook like this. A hot plate can only do so much you know. And I need an accurate timeline on when they’ll be eating,” I rattle off my grievances.

  “Already making demands, huh?”

  With those words it hits me. I am being a complete nut job. This isn’t a fine dining establishment. They aren’t expecting me to put out food that would be prepared in a massive and well-equipped kitchen. I’m placing my own expectations on them. I start laughing.

  “I’m so sorry. I must seem like a psychotic bitch.”

  “No, you seem like someone who takes pride in what she does, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Why do you think Dean picked you?”

  “Please, he didn’t want to bother with interviewing people. He picked me because I was the first person he spoke to.”

  “That’s not true. He did interviews in two other cities before he met you.” Christian’s revelation leaves me speechless. “He saw someone who loves what she does and wants to share her talent with others. Why else would you have made chicken and dumplings for your interview?”

  “Are you being for real?”

  “Yes.” Christian narrows his brow.

  “He really interviewed a bunch of people before me?”

  He takes in a deep breath, looking around him for a moment, ensuring we are alone. “There is a lot more to Dean than meets the eye.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean he puts a lot of thought into everything in his life. He’s a pretty deep guy.”

  “Deep?” Now I’m laughing harder. “That’s not a word I would use to describe him.”

  “You don’t really know him.”

  “Oh, and you do?”

  “I do actually,” Christian confirms. “He’s been through a lot, it changes the way he looks at things.”

  “Yeah, I bet Boy Wonder’s life has been just terrible,” I grumble, the image of him rejecting my food flashing through my mind.

  “Mac, I’m serious. You shouldn’t be too hard on him,” Christian is looking directly into my eyes now. I shift uncomfortably. “He’s had a pretty shitty life.”

  “Like how?” I question in disbelief.

  He looks out at the parking lot full of people filing to their cars. “I’m in the mood for ice cream. How about you?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to go out for some ice cream with me?”

  “Are you serious?” My question mixes with my laugh.

  “I’m always serious about ice cream,” he replies. There it is—those eyes and that smile I’m afraid I will get lost in. Christian is too much sometimes. I can’t stop smiling. It’s an expression I’m not used to, and I notice my face is hurting.

  “Okay, Mr. Bennett, you’re on.”

  “Great, but I’m driving. It’s safer that way,” he jokes, extending me an arm. I gladly take hold, eager to stop thinking about Dean and the rejection of my food.

  “Don’t start on my driving,” I instruct him playfully.

  A gorgeous guy who likes to get ice cream. This really is shaping up to be a pretty perfect job … well, besides Dean.

  It takes me nearly an hour to get ready. Preparing food outdoors does a number on me, as well. My face feels as if it’s caked in grease, and my hair is a frizzy mess. I shower, dry my hair, add just the right amount of makeup to conceal the circles under my eyes, then slip into my favorite jeans. Okay, the only jeans that still fit me.

  Bounding down the stairs of the bus, I freeze when I hear Christian’s voice. He’s leaning against the side, one foot bent, perched behind his perfectly round bottom. “I forgot how long it takes women to get ready.”

  “Don’t blame me,” I say defensively. “Blame the deplorable conditions I’m forced to work in.”

  “You’re pretty spoiled, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” I gasp. We’re walking toward the street at this point, Christian leading the way.

  “I’m just saying, you seem to complain a lot. I assume that must mean you usually get your way.” His words mix with laughter.

  I take a strand of my hair and begin to wrap it around a finger. “I’ve just never had a job like this.”

  “That’s obvious,” he states matter-of-factly. I shove him playfully.

  “All right, that’s enough beating up on Mac for one night.” I giggle, wanting to smack my forehead for actually referring to myself in the third person.

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I think a woman should be spoiled; it shows they’re cared for.”

  “Seriously? Or it makes them a royal pain in the ass,” I suggest.

  He grins, glancing over at me. “Well, yeah, that too.”

  “I grew up in a kitchen—a real kitchen—not some backyard barbecue. That doesn’t make me spoiled. It means I have standards.”

  “Ah, I see, so you’re a restaurant brat?”

  “From the time I could walk,” I boast proudly. Thinking about my mom and those years doesn’t hurt like it used to. It actually feels good to talk about. Once Daddy married Percy, there wasn’t much discussion of her. After he sold the restaurant it was like that entire chapter of our life was closed. “My mom always dreamed of having a restaurant. My dad was head over heels in love with her and wanted to make all her dreams happen. So, he found a little place in an area of town that was undergoing gentrification and spent all of his life savings opening Poppy Hill.”

  “So why are you working here and not there?”

  “My mom passed away when I was twelve. A few years later he sold the restaurant.”

  “I’m sorry,” Christian offers. “I didn’t think. I totally forgot about meeting your stepmom, and I should have put it together.�
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  “It’s okay, it’s been a long time,” I answer with a tight-lipped smile.

  When we round the corner and continue up the sidewalk, I realize we’re not heading to his car. “We’re walking?”

  “If that’s all right with you, someone told me about this little place up the street.”

  “Works for me,” I say, wishing I had worn more comfortable shoes.

  “So your dad recently passed away?” His question surprises me.

  I nod. “Yeah, he was the glue, ya know?”

  “I do,” he answers softly. “That was always my brother for me.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m surprised you’d want to leave him.”

  “Eh, he’s with someone now, and I just figured they needed some space.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “I guess.” I can see the topic is starting to make him uncomfortable. “Is your dad’s death why you wanted this job?”

  I laugh. “Wow, you just say whatever pops into your mind, don’t you?”

  “Sorry, habit.”

  “He took care of me after my husband and daughter passed away.”

  “What?” he exclaims. “I remember during your interview you said your daughter had passed away. I didn’t realize you’d lost a husband too.”

  I nod. “Yeah, what can I say, death seems to follow me.” My attempt at a joke doesn’t seem to be finding a welcoming audience.

  “Jesus,” he huffs. “That has to be hard. Do you mind me asking how?”

  “Car crash,” I reply, staring blankly into the distance.

  “Wow, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  I try my best to smile. People always tell you they’re sorry when they find out you’ve lost someone. This seems so odd to me. Did they kill them? Did they cause the illness or accident? I’d much rather people just tell me, ‘That sucks.’ It seems the only thing that’s appropriate.

  “What were we talking about?” I think hard, wanting to get off the topic of my dead husband and daughter. “Oh, my dad! After he died, I found out there wasn’t much left financially for the family, and well, that was it. I needed to find work so I could take care of myself.”

  He smiles at me again, but it’s a different kind of smile. He looks devious. A thought pops into my mind, and I wonder if he’s thinking about kissing me. I never had a ton of experience in the dating world before I met Travis. It’s been three years since a man has touched me, and I’m not sure if I would know the difference between a friendly hug or something more.

  “The directions said the ice cream place should be up ahead on our right,” he informs me, lowering his gaze to the ground in front of us.

  I glance up, the neon outline of a cone catching my eye. “There it is.”

  “So what made you look for a job like this instead of another restaurant job?” he inquires.

  “Boy, you sure do ask a lot of questions.”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” He shakes his hands in the air. “But I will assume you’re probably some criminal running from the law if you don’t tell me.”

  “Nice,” I huff, coming to a stop, standing and waiting as Christian opens the door for me. An entrance bell dings, and I step through. A confectionary smell hits me in the face as soon as I walk in, my mouth immediately watering.

  We order our flavors. Christian tries to guess what I want. “Cookies and cream?”

  I shake my head.

  “Orange sherbet.”

  This makes me laugh. “Nope.”

  “Okay, I give up.”

  “If we were back home, I would be getting a buckeye blitz, but since we’re here, the closest they have would be—” I scan the case. “Peanut butter chocolate chunk.”

  “That sounds good.” He smiles and motions to the worker that we’ll take two. I can’t shake the idea he’s flirting with me, and I’m not sure if it excites me or terrifies me.

  He pays and we take our scoops to a nearby cafe table. He’s the first to take a taste, and when he does, he grabs his chest and moans, “Oh my God, this is good.” I blush as the idea of how lucky that ice cream is flashes through my mind.

  I give him a half laugh. “Yeah, based on your body, I’d say ice cream isn’t something you have very often.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” By the way he’s grinning, I know he knows exactly what it means.

  “I’m serious. This is the last thing I should be having right now.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve picked up a little weight over the past few years, and I’m just trying to take it off.”

  “I think you look great. Besides, curves on a woman aren’t a bad thing.” Okay, I can’t be crazy. He has to be flirting with me, I think to myself.

  I’m not about to tell him, but I’m actually enjoying myself, enjoying the company of someone else for a change. For a split second, a glimpse of Travis and Katie enters my thoughts, and I lower my head in an effort to shield the grief I must be wearing on my face. Every time I have a happy moment, I’m reminded that they’re not here to share it with me. I wonder if this will ever stop, or if this is simply my existence now.

  “Are you okay?” Christian asks me. My face must make it obvious.

  I feign a smile and nod, then lie, “Ice cream headache.” I’m not sure if he buys it, but I hope so.

  “Mac, can I ask you a question?”

  “As long as it’s not something creepy like the color of my underwear.”

  “Well, it wasn’t, though now I’m curious.” As soon as he says those words I feel the area between my legs go hot. “It was actually about something kind of personal.”

  He looks apprehensive … this makes me nervous. “You said you had a daughter who passed away?”

  A shot of ice bolts through my veins, and I stiffen in my seat. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “How old are you? I mean—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You just seem so young.”

  When I decided to go on this journey, I told myself I wouldn’t tell anyone about my past, but there is something about Christian that makes me want to open up to him. Something about him that tells me if I talk to him, it will make me feel better.

  “I understand. It’s fine. I know it seems weird to a lot of people.”

  “No,” he quickly interjects. “Not weird, just trying to put it together.”

  I take a deep breath, then tell him my story. “I got married right out of high school, and within a year we had a baby.”

  “Wow, really? That’s so fast. I dated my high school sweetheart up until last year.”

  “Didn’t work out?”

  “Bad timing.” His voice is solemn. “So what happened?”

  “Three years ago, there was a car accident, and both my husband and daughter were killed.”

  “You weren’t with them?”

  “I was, and miraculously I wasn’t hurt.” There’s a sarcastic tone to my voice that appears to confuse him.

  “Jesus, you were so lucky.”

  “Yeah,” I quip. I’m not lucky. I was the unluckiest one in that car because I get to keep going through this long and drawn out life all by myself. No Travis and no Katie, all the promises of forever broken.

  “Hey, would you mind if we keep this between us?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Thanks. It’s just sometimes people tend to feel sorry for me, and I’d rather not deal with that.”

  “I get it. I promise I won’t say a word,” he confirms.

  “So what was wrong with your timing?”

  “What?”

  “This girl you broke up with … what happened?”

  “I guess she wants something I can’t give her.”

  “Ah.” I smile. “Commitment phobic.”

  He stands up and laughs, and, leaning in close to my ear, he whispers, “You should stick to cooking. You’re pretty bad at the shrink stuff.”

  Taking his arm, I ask coyly,
“Or is it that I’m really good at it?”

  “Let’s get you back,” he says, avoiding my question. “I go running in the mornings, would you like to go with me?”

  With a wide smile, I bait him with a question he can’t get right. “Do I look like a runner?”

  “What’s a runner look like?” Oh, he is good. “You mentioned you wanted to drop a little weight, and while I think you’re fine just the way you are, I thought you may want to join me.”

  “I was just teasing, and I’d love to.”

  “Great,” he announces. “I’ll be at your bus at seven.”

  I bite the side of my jaw; I’m not a morning person. The idea of waking up that early seems like torture. Based on Christian’s fitness level, though, he might just be the one to help me kick my Jell-O ass back into shape. Now I just need to figure out if these were dates or if Christian is just looking for a friend until he can reunite with his lost love.

  Morning is here before I know it, and all I can do is wonder why I agreed to this. Did I think if I committed to a routine, it would become easy for me? Magically I would suddenly be a fitness nut. Here I am, on morning number one, and all I want is to pull the blankets back over my head and fall fast asleep. Instead, I’m lacing up my running shoes, which have obviously been rarely worn.

  I stand up and think to tell Storm where I’m headed, but her bunk is empty. This doesn’t worry me. The way I’ve seen her on top of Pete, I assume most of their after dark hours are spent together.

  There’s a knock on the window. Placing one knee onto the couch, I peek out of the heavy curtains to see Christian standing below. My heartbeat quickens, and the dread I’d been feeling suddenly shifts into excitement. I like talking to him; I never get that he feels sorry for me.

  Racing down the narrow walkway of the bus, I press on the lever to open the doors. A breath sticks in my throat as I inhale sharply in surprise. A smile looks up at me, but it’s not Christian.

  “Good morning,” Dean offers in a smooth voice.

  “Wha—I— I…” My face grows warm in an instant as I stumble across my words. The scene the night before is racing through my mind. The insult of him not even tasting the food I’d spent all day preparing for him.