Her mother would hover, tell her what a wonderful person she was and what a horrible person Steve was while feeding her Polish comfort food. She wouldn’t pressure Tilly to make any decisions just yet, would even caution her against making them, and give her a shoulder to cry on.
And a shoulder to cry on was all Tilly wanted. Tomorrow, she would want Karl’s push for answers and Renia’s supportive anger but right now her mom was all she wanted.
Candace took Renia’s key to Tilly’s apartment and promised to check on her cat. Renia called their mom, then drove Tilly home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HER EYES OPENED, but it took a few more seconds for reality to register. The antihistamines had worked a little too well. Tilly blinked several times, but her brain was still foggy.
She squinted and tried to peer through the mist clouding up her mind. All she saw was Steve throwing a brick and a drunk man congratulating her for a marketing ploy. Dan’s face as he tried to deny responsibility. For all her doubts, for all that she thought she must be crazy for considering that an employee could be sabotaging her restaurant, she had been dead-on, even if she still didn’t understand why. Being right didn’t feel so good. The wound of ending any hope of a relationship with Dan hadn’t scabbed over yet and her heart wasn’t ready for the betrayal of a trusted employee.
She’d given Steve a job and trusted his sobriety when no one else would. Stupid.
She closed her eyes at the memories marching in toward her in the haze and reached for her cat. Instead of soft orange fur, Tilly’s outstretched hand hit a wall and the shock forced her eyes open. She wasn’t at home, in her apartment. She was at home, in her old room, in her mother’s house, off Archer. She’d trusted Steve and that had exploded in her face right at the moment Dan had been telling her he hadn’t publicly humiliated her. Again. Surely that was a sign from God.
Does returning home make me a failure?
Not yet. Babka would reopen and she wasn’t running Healthy Food with her mother yet.
When I can’t say “yet” anymore, then I will have failed.
The smell of coffee wafted past her nose. Coffee and—she sniffed—yeasty, fresh-baked bread. Breakfast. The smell woke up her stomach and her stomach woke up her brain. She looked over at the clock on the windowsill. Ten in the morning. She’d managed to sleep in and was more rested than she had been for months. It was nice to have your mom take care of you and give you a slightly ratty nightgown, when you were too tired, too stressed and too brokenhearted to do anything more than show up on her doorstep asking for a bed and some sleeping pills.
Knowing she could get out of bed and her mother would take care of her eased some of the tension in Tilly’s neck. She could go to the kitchen, sit down, and her mother would feed her and rub her back, never questioning her. Her mom would allow her to heal, and comfort her with hot coffee and sweet kołaczyki with apricot filling.
The green shag carpeting in the hallway was soft and warm under her feet as she padded into the kitchen. There, at the round yellow laminate table, her mother and Renia sat drinking coffee and talking.
Their sudden silence when Renia noticed her presence was a dead giveaway. Of course they were talking about her. She had showed up on her mom’s doorstep at two in the morning, tears in her eyes. They probably thought she was going to fall apart on them.
She wasn’t. Her business was in shambles, parts of it literally in a trash can. Her personal life—sex life, relationship, whatever it was she had outside of Babka—was exposed for public humiliation. But she had managed to get out of bed this morning. She was wearing her mom’s ratty old nightgown, but she planned to get dressed, which was the first step to putting Babka, her life, back together.
No, if she was going to collapse and stop functioning, she would have fainted last night the moment the rock hit her window. She was up and out of bed today. She would be up and out of bed tomorrow. And the next day and the next. Babka would survive.
Without Dan, Tilly didn’t have anything to distract her from making her restaurant a success.
“Don’t worry about me,” Tilly told her mother and sister. “A broken window was no more of a disaster than rotten tomatoes from one of the farms at the height of tomato season, and I survived that just fine.” Even if it still ticked her off.
What had the farmer thought she was going to do with those tomatoes? Green tomatoes, sure, those had a use, but rotten ones? Did he think that because she was, as Dan had nicely put it in his review, “better suited to the chaotic mediocrity of a suburban family restaurant,” she would accept the produce she was given without complaint? Did the farmer, and seemingly everyone else on the planet, think she was going to give up her dream because he thought she was too nice to complain?
What if the tomatoes had also been part of the sabotage?
The thought closed in on her heart and she grabbed the back of a chair. How could Steve betray her like that? She’d given him a job when no one else would. He’d been fresh out of rehab, broke, and she’d stuck her neck out for him.
She stopped herself before she imagined her head rolling around on the floor. She’d kept herself together last night and she was going to keep herself together now—no matter how much sympathy her mother and sister put in their eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. They couldn’t make her cry.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother put down her coffee cup, got up and wrapped Tilly in her arms. “It’s okay.”
She cried.
Kołaczyki and a cup of coffee shoved at her she could have handled, but her mother’s hug broke her.
“You should cry, honey. You’ve had a stressful week and you need to get it all out of you.” Her mom stroked her hair. “Plus, my food is perfectly salted and I don’t want you messing up the seasoning with your tears.”
Tilly giggled the type of wet, snorty giggle that came with a good, hard cry.
Her mother pulled away from her and looked into her eyes. “There, there. Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had a cry and a laugh?” She steered her to the table. “Sit down and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
As her mother rushed off to get a cup of coffee, Tilly leaned over to her sister. “You rat fink,” she whispered. “You told her what happened.”
“Of course I did,” Renia whispered back, a bit too primly for Tilly’s liking. “I expected you to at least tell her why you showed up at her door at two in the morning asking for pajamas and Benadryl. You went to bed without a word as to what’s wrong. She called me at six this morning in a panic. Didn’t you want her to know?”
“I wanted to tell her myself,” Tilly hissed back under her breath. “I made Jan promise not to tell her—made him swear on a rosary—so why would I want you to?”
“Little Janny Czaja’s had a crush on you since kindergarten. Right now, he’s probably planning his appearance as a white knight saving you from an evil restaurant reviewer, slaying a drug-addled runner and taking you home to his castle.” Renia snorted. “Anything to stop having to eat his mother’s pierogi.”
“Renia Agata Milek, what a terrible thing to say!” their mother called from the counter.
“Dorothy Czaja’s pierogi are like eating a Frisbee she’s cut in half, stuffed and fried, and everyone knows it. I don’t think she’s been allowed to make anything other than coffee at St. Bruno’s since before I was born.”
“I’ve told her time and again she overworks the dough, but she doesn’t listen to me. She would listen to your grandmother, but I’m not expert enough for her to believe me.”
“See,” Renia said, triumph on her face. “You even agree with me.”
Their mom’s mouth flapped open and shut like a fish before she gave up. “It still wasn’t a nice thing to say, even if it is true.”
Tilly looked across the table at her sister. The instant their eyes met, snickers escaped and quickly became full-fledged laughter. Their mother managed to look stern for about thirty second
s before she, too, burst out laughing.
When they were all wiping tears from their eyes, Tilly told them more about her conversation with little Janny Czaja. “He wanted to call Karl, but I made him swear he wouldn’t.”
“Karl will find out soon enough—he always does.” Her mom set a steaming, milky cup of coffee in front of her. Then she eased herself into a kitchen chair with a sigh. “Drink it. It’ll make you feel better and then you can tell me all the news you have, both good and bad.”
“Why should I tell you? You already know,” Tilly snapped, then immediately regretted her tone. She was frustrated with a lot of things, but neither her mother nor Renia deserved her spite. Well, maybe Renia with her loose lips. Tilly didn’t apologize, though. It might not be fair, but if you couldn’t snap at your mother and sister at times like this, who could you snap at?
“I considered waking you and asking you why you showed up at home in the middle of the night, but, being your mother and therefore the most saintly person on earth, I decided to call your sister instead.” She reached across the table and grabbed Tilly’s hand. “Tilly, please, Renia and I want to help. No matter how old you are, I’m still your mother and I still care about you. I’m going to feed you and, when you’re ready, try to help you solve your problems.”
“What is there to be done, Mom? There’s this man I think I could love, only he publicly humiliated me. And then he did it again. He must think I’m an idiot and a flake who should be running tables rather than owning my own restaurant.” She sipped her coffee, letting the bitter brew rest on her tongue before she swallowed. She’d said the word love aloud. That was more serious than thinking it privately. She’d said it to her sister and her mother. Saying it made it real.
“And then there’s Steve,” she said, more to turn her heart to a different hurt. Steve’s betrayal was no less personal, but at least she didn’t wonder if she loved him.
“In Dan’s defense, Tilly, you don’t know he was the source of the gossip.” Renia stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the sides of the Christmas mug. “Since the Taste, he’s constantly said how good a chef you are, how original and inspiring. You said he understood what food meant to you, that it was more than not feeling hungry anymore.”
“You knew about the ChicagoScoops post.” Tilly had to work hard to keep from shouting. Her own sister had known her personal life was splattered all over the internet and hadn’t told her. God, everyone knew. Karen, Candace, they’d both known and not told her. Did they expect she wouldn’t find out?
The gossip article was a blessing in disguise. It was a hammer dropping on the floor and making the cake fall into a flat, hard mess when she’d forgotten to grease the pan and it would’ve been ruined anyway. She could banish Dan from her thoughts completely and focus on Babka. When she looked at her situation from this angle, last night was almost a good thing. She could get back to making Babunia proud.
Then why did she still feel so bad?
“I knew.” Renia stopped stirring her coffee and turned her attention to Tilly. “Karen saw it first. Some of us didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want it to hurt you. Some of us didn’t want to tell you because Dan might not have been the source and...”
“You thought I was too weak to handle the news and you thought I would never get another man if I didn’t eventually forgive Dan?” Tilly tried to keep her voice hard, but she wasn’t able to keep it under control.
“Stop twisting my words around.”
“You’re defending him!”
“Maybe I said ‘in his defense,’ but you did like him. Maybe you still do. You just said you might love him, for Pete’s sake. He’s the first guy you’ve wanted to spend any amount of time with in years and that was all while you knew he was The Eater.”
Renia paused for a sip of coffee. “So he made a major mistake. But we don’t know if he made this one. He still hasn’t apologized for the review, but don’t compound his sins without reason. I’m not saying you should talk to him. Ignore the bastard’s phone calls for the rest of your life, but think about what he meant to you. For the past couple of weeks, you’ve been a bigger, better Tilly. A stronger Tilly. A Tilly who can have her restaurant and her personal life, too.”
“I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.”
“I don’t think Renia is saying you do,” her mother said. Great, now they were ganging up on her. “You were so focused on your career you wouldn’t think about a love life. But Dan proved it was possible for you to have both. And you both want it and like it. Just because Dan’s not the right man for you, doesn’t mean the right man doesn’t exist somewhere. You don’t have to search for him, but don’t let your experience with Dan convince you to actively pretend the right man might not exist.”
But Dan proved it was possible for you to have both. Her mom’s words echoed between her ears. And, loudly and clearly, came the response from her subconscious she’d been ignoring. “But...” She hesitated. “What if Dan was right?”
“What if he was right about what?”
“What if I shouldn’t own a nice restaurant? What if I should move back home and run the family business? What if Healthy Food is all I’m cut out for? What if I am too much of a flake for greatness? I mean, how could I not have known about Steve?”
If Dan Meier was right about her restaurant, then she didn’t need the time and mental energy to worry about Steve and bad reviews. She could work at her mother’s restaurant and date Jan Czaja. Even if he wasn’t the man of her dreams, he would fill her new life, which wouldn’t have her dream restaurant.
Why reach for the golden ring at all?
Either way, working too much or helping her mother, Dan didn’t fit into the picture. He wasn’t boring enough for her life without Babka and was too wonderful for her life with it.
“Oh, honey.” Her mom squeezed her hand. “Is this what you’re afraid of? That you’re not good enough for your dreams?”
“Is it ridiculous?” Tilly’s tears were fighting their way back into her eyes. She sniffled. “You may not remember how many times my teachers called you into a conference because I wasn’t doing well in school, but I do. And the teachers were always saying how great a student Karl was. Owning your own business is hard and it requires a lot of smarts. I never had much smarts.”
Renia broke in angrily before their mom could start talking. “Tilly, they told me the same thing all the time, too. We couldn’t compete with Karl. I run my own business and we can both agree I had a worse time in school than you did. You had to find a reason to work hard, and you did. Your reason is you like to work in the kitchen.” Renia took a deep breath. “I’m perfectly happy to hold a pity party for you, but you only get pity for things you deserve.” She threw her hands in the air, forgetting about the coffee cup she held. The remains of Renia’s coffee dribbled out of the cup and onto the table. “Your high school grades don’t deserve our pity and they have nothing to do with the situation you’ve found yourself in. I don’t know if I’m angrier at Steve for his sabotage, or at you for doubting your abilities.”
“And, Tilly...” It was her mother’s turn to disagree with Tilly’s version of the past. At least her mother spoke in a voice meant to calm, rather than Renia’s loud frustration. “The teachers called me into school all the time, but not for the reasons you think. They didn’t call me in to tell me you were a bad student, only a misdirected one. They knew, as well as your grandmother and I did, that you didn’t put any effort into school. Perhaps you have forgotten that part of the story. Your grades were mediocre, but you never did your homework, either.”
Renia started talking again—it was like tag-team wrestling, the older Milek women versus Tilly. “You of all people should know when you put your mind to it, you can do anything. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your seven attempts to make a soufflé when you were twelve. I would have been happy with any of the middle five, but you wanted it to be better than Julia Child’s and you did it.”
Tilly did remember those cheese soufflés, seven in one weekend. By the time she was finished, even the dog was sick of eating soufflé, but the last one had been beautiful—high, light and airy. The memory still made her proud.
But her soufflés from more than fifteen years ago were not the point. The point was the present, not the past. Or not the past her mother remembered. “You’re saying I should close Babka and open six more restaurants before I get it right.”
“Don’t be purposely obtuse.” Renia spit out the words. “Babunia left you the money for a reason. She knew you’d use it to make her proud and you have. One stupid review and one scummy employee wouldn’t have changed her opinion of you so easily. Give our grandmother’s memory more credit.”
“Listen to me.” Tilly looked up from the yellow laminate into her mother’s soft eyes. “Whether or not you decide to forgive Dan or let another man into your heart, I’ll let you fight that out with Renia and your own thoughts. But don’t let any of this make you think you don’t deserve your dreams and you can’t have them. You will make your dreams come true. It’s a fact everyone has known since you were a little girl.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me anything like this before?” Her mother had always been kind and supportive, but distant with her support. She had been so involved in Karl’s choice of colleges and finding Renia a life after she got kicked out of high school that she’d been in the background for Tilly. It was Babunia who had been supportive. The only time her mother had even expressed an opinion about Tilly’s choice of career was when she realized Tilly would never run Healthy Food.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have, but I never thought you needed it. Karl needed someone to help him learn what it meant to be a man without his father, and Renia needed someone to keep her out of jail, but you were always so quiet, cooking in the kitchen with Babunia. I didn’t think you needed me to tell you what I thought you already knew.”
Reservations for Two Page 22