We walked towards Union Square, hand-in-hand. I wanted to be home, curled up in bed, snuggled under blankets and not thinking at all about wine and Famous Actor.
“Where’s Caleb?” I asked.
“He went home.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?” I asked.
“I had a feeling you’d want me to come home with you.”
“Did you happen to be waiting for me to get off work, hanging out in the area on purpose?”
“No… Maybe. Did you have an okay night?”
“I spilled wine all over a really famous movie star.”
“No you didn’t.” He smiled in disbelief. “No fucking way. Which one?”
“It’s not important and I don’t want to talk about it, please.”
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “Is that why you texted me? You wanted me to make you feel better?”
“Maybe,” I said, throwing that word back at him.
He looked at me while I dug around my purse for my wallet. I took out my Metro card and slid through the turn style.
“Thanks for waiting around for me,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
I heard the approach of the oncoming train, followed by the whoosh of air in my face as it glided on the tracks to a stop. The doors chimed open and we entered the relatively empty subway car. We sat down, and once we were on our way I finally spoke. “I was thinking I could make you a key.”
“A key? Really?”
“Really.”
“Sibby, look at me.”
I did as he commanded. His blue eyes were warm and soft. Like blue chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven. Damn, I wasn’t making any sort of sense.
“I didn’t ask for a key.”
“I know. I want you to have it.”
He was quiet a moment and then he smiled. “Okay, make me a key.”
I let out a breath. “This is very adult of us.”
“Very,” he agreed.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his shoulder. “I can’t wait to be home in my Care Bear pajamas.”
“Adult moment over.”
Chapter 17
Fiori di Zucca [fee-or-ee deh zuk-ah]
1. Zucchini blossoms stuffed with Italian cheeses, battered and fried.
2. Holy shit balls. More, please.
I walked up to the host stand holding a David’s Bridal shopping bag. “A woman at one of my tables forgot this,” I said, handing it to Aidan. “She just left.”
“Go after her. You can probably still catch her,” he said.
“She was snooty when I asked what she wanted to drink, and she didn’t tip well. I’m not chasing after her for nothin’. Besides, it’s raining and she’s probably a Bridezilla.”
Aidan chuckled. “Just put it there.” I set the bag next to the host stand and then went back onto the floor.
“Would you guys like dessert? Coffee?” I asked the table of mid twenty-something hippies.
“I’ll have a coffee,” the guy with the man bun said. “With soy milk.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t have soy milk.”
“Almond milk?” Man Bun asked hopefully.
“Uh, no.”
“What do you have besides regular milk?” he asked.
“Cream.”
He sighed. “Black coffee will be fine.”
I scooped up the dessert menus and headed to the computer, shaking my head.
“What?” Zeb asked.
“I don’t get people.”
“Who wanted what?”
“Man Bun over there wanted soy milk with his coffee.”
He chuckled. “Did you just call him Man Bun? Tell him there’s a Starbucks right around the corner.”
“This is the problem with choices,” I said. “Soy milk, almond milk, rice milk, half and half, cream, whole, two percent, one percent, skim…no one needs all those choices!”
“You forgot goat milk.”
“Shut up.”
He playfully shoved my arm. “I thought getting laid on a regular basis would improve your mood.”
“Who’s getting laid on a regular basis?” Natalie asked, passing us with a tray full of drinks.
“No one,” Zeb and I said at the same time. I waited for Natalie to head off to her table before I glared at Zeb.
“Sorry,” he said, sounding sincere.
“This shit is gonna blow up in my face,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
“Probably. It’s your life’s default.”
“Libby! Libby, Libby, Libby!” the woman called over and over.
Who was she talking to?
“I think she means you,” Nat said.
“Huh?” I asked, looking around. My gaze landed on the woman sitting by herself, holding a near empty glass of wine, which she waved at me. Holding in a sigh, I went to her.
“There you are, Libby. How many times do I have to yell your name?” she demanded.
“My name is Sibby.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sibby. With an ‘S’. My name is Sibby, not Libby.”
“I could’ve sworn you said your name was Libby.”
“Okay, but it’s not.” We stared at each other for a moment. “Sooooo, can I get you something?”
She didn’t reply as she set down her wine glass and reached for her purse, which rested on the chair next to her. Pulling down the sides of her leather bag, she revealed a small, fluffy white dog. She scooped him out of the bag and placed him on the chair, cooing and speaking to him in a language reserved for babies and fluffy things. She tore herself away from her dog just long enough to look at me and say, “I need a glass bowl of room temperature water and a menu. Sir Worthington Proudfoot would like to choose his own dinner.”
“Oh, uhm—”
“Is your chicken soy fed? He’s allergic to soy.”
Completely flustered, I said, “I—I’m so sorry, but you can’t have a dog in the restaurant.”
She looked at me with disdain. “Excuse me, but you will address him by his name. Sir Worthington Proudfoot is a member of Her Majesty’s council! He demands respect!”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.
Crazy Dog Lady pointed to her furry companion. “Apologize. To him. You hurt his feelings.”
I looked down at Sir Worthington Proudfoot, who gazed up at me with deep brown eyes. He licked his nose and started panting.
“I’ll be right back.”
“He’s hungry, so hurry!” Crazy Dog Lady called after me.
Yeah, went to Jess.
“You’re making me dinner,” I stated when I walked through the front door of my apartment. I’d been out running errands, and even though I knew Aidan was coming over, I was still surprised by his presence. It was the good kind of surprise. I’d had a rough week at the restaurant, what with Crazy Dog Lady.
Aidan began pulling out ingredients from the fridge. “Yep.”
“I should’ve given you a key a long time ago,” I stated.
He grinned, proud of himself. “Where is your biggest pot?” He started opening cabinets and leaving them open until he found what he was looking for.
“You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah.”
The buzzer rang and I went to answer it. I pressed the intercom. “Hello?”
“Surprise!” My mother’s voice blared through the speaker. “I’m out here with your father.”
I made some sort of garbled noise in the back of my throat. “What are you—what’s—”
“You going to let us up, Wapa?”
I cringed at the childhood nickname. “Sure,” I said, my breathing increasing almost to a rapid pant.
Panic attack.
I buzzed them up and then went into the kitchen. There was already spaghetti sauce on the floor and the smell of garlic in the air.
“Who was it? Amazon? Did you get a package?” Aidan asked.
“My par
ents.”
Aidan’s head whipped around and he nervously began to squeeze the meatballs he was forming.
“Uhm, Aidan? You’re turning your meatballs into hamburger patties.”
The knock on the door announced my parents’ arrival. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I demanded.
“Chillax, open a bottle of wine, and invite them to dinner.”
“But you—and I—we’re—ah crap!” I walked to the door and opened it. My mom squealed and all five feet of her barreled into me, knocking me off balance. I winced when part of her collided with my nose. She pulled back to look at me.
“The nose doesn’t look too bad,” she said.
I looked at my dad. “You told her I broke my nose?”
He nodded. “Though I’m not sure I ever got the full story.”
There was a clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen and my dad asked, “Is Matt cooking?”
“Aidan, can you come out here?” I asked, my voice tinged with hysteria. “And bring wine!”
“Why do they call you ‘Wapa’?” Aidan whispered.
“Later,” I mumbled, though I had no intention of telling him.
My parents sat on the couch, looking shell-shocked. I started my story with the day I lost my job and ended around the time I broke my nose. My mother was the first to speak. “So that’s what an aneurysm feels like.”
I winced.
“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo,” my dad said, taking a healthy slug of wine.
“I know. I know it looks like I failed—on many accounts but if you just—”
“I’m not talking about losing your job or about Matt cheating on you,” my dad interrupted.
“You did go to the lady doctor, right? I mean to check and make sure everything—”
“Mom!” I hissed in embarrassment.
“Well, did you?” she demanded.
“Yes, okay? I did.” My mom let out a breath and Aidan discreetly filled up all of our wine glasses, polishing off the last of the bottle.
“As I was saying—” My dad glared at Aidan, who still hadn’t said anything except for introducing himself, “—I’m disappointed in you. Why didn’t you tell us the truth when all this happened?”
“Did you miss the part where I said I lost my job, got cheated on, and broke my nose? All in the span of four months? It’s been a bit embarrassing.”
“You forgot adding ‘got a new boyfriend’ to that list,” Mom said.
“That’s not embarrassing,” I assured Aidan.
“Sibby, we’re your parents and we love you, no matter what. You should have told us,” my mom went on.
“I know.”
“We could’ve been there for you. Do you need money?” Dad asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“And this restaurant you work in…” Mom looked like she was about to faint.
That was me. Sibby Goldstein, trying to kill her parents since 1988.
“It’s an Italian place,” I said. “Been there forever. Neighborhood staple. Lot of great people.”
“And you’re—happy?” My dad asked.
“Getting there,” I said softly. “I’m a work in progress.”
Halfway into our second bottle of wine, my parents were hammered and had moved into the kitchen. My mom was finishing Aidan’s attempt at spaghetti and meatballs.
“Sorry, they don’t drink a lot,” I whispered to him. “Not unless you count Manischewitz wine spritzers.”
Aidan grinned. “I really like your parents. Especially since your dad threatened to track down Matt and kick his ass.”
“He’d have to pay someone to do it. My dad’s a surgeon, his hands are everything.”
“You know, this is not how I planned on meeting your parents for the first time.”
“Oh, no? What did you have in mind?”
“Well, when we’d been dating for six months. Publicly dating for six months,” he amended, “you would’ve asked me to come with you to Atlanta to meet your parents. This is after you told them all the stuff you’d been lying to them about.”
I shook my head. “So weird, all this time I thought they’d be disappointed in me. I thought they’d think I was a failure.”
“They don’t think that. Only you think that.”
I nudged his knee with mine and rested my head on his shoulder. “This is nice.”
“Oh no! I burned the balls!” my mom wailed.
“It’s okay,” my dad soothed. “That’s why they invented Chinese takeout.”
Aidan looked at me with a huge grin. “Yep. I really like your parents.”
“Whatever. At one of my sleepovers my mom told my friends she hoped for early menopause because she wanted to use her diaphragm as a Frisbee.”
“She didn’t say that,” Aidan said in disbelief. “Did she?”
“I was twelve. It scarred me for life. All because of Manischewitz wine spritzers.”
“Something is missing from the tables,” I said, looking around the main dining room at Antonio’s.
“Salt shakers,” Natalie answered as she picked up a spotty knife, stuck it in her apron, and replaced it with another. “We’re not putting salt shakers on the tables anymore.”
“Why?”
Natalie grinned. “Do salt shakers need a reason not to be on the tables?”
“Yes.”
“Some guy salted his own pasta too much, and then complained that it was too salty and sent it back, so now we don’t keep salt on the tables.”
“Oh sure, because why would we hold stupid people accountable for their stupidity,” I grumbled.
She laughed. “What’s with you?”
“My parents showed up unannounced in town.”
I made my way to the coffee station and pulled an espresso. I needed a serious caffeine jolt. After Aidan and I had piled my drunken parents into a cab, he and I had split another bottle of wine.
“You’re kidding. They just showed up unannounced?”
“Yep.” I added a hefty dose of milk and sugar to my espresso and took a swallow. “I wound up explaining all the things that I had kept secret over the past few months.”
Everything except that Aidan was my boss.
“How’d it go?”
“I got them drunk.”
“Ah, sedated them for their pain?”
“Exactly.”
“How’d they take the news?”
“Okay, I think. They’re in town for a few days, so I’ll be able to get a good read on them. Which reminds me, can we do some shift swapping so I can hang out with them?”
“Sure thing.”
I tossed my empty sugar packets at the garbage can and missed. I crouched down to retrieve them.
“Your mom—do you look like her?”
“Yeah, but she’s smaller.”
“Right. And your dad? Does he have really bushy eyebrows?”
I looked up at her. “Yeah. Did I show you a picture of them or something?”
Natalie shook her head. “Your parents. They’re here.”
“What!” I yelled.
My parents really needed to stop just showing up randomly.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie asked even as I was trying to move around her and run towards my parents.
“Hi, honey!” my mom chirped. She looked bright and happy and not at all like she’d had too many glasses of wine for her small frame.
“What are you guys doing here?” I demanded, a tight smile splayed across my face.
“We just wanted to see where you worked,” my dad answered. “See if the food is as good as you said it was.”
I felt my eye twitch.
I should never have told them where I worked. I should never have shown them how to Google things. This was my own fault, really.
“I need to tell you something,” I said right as Whitney, the hostess joined us, holding two menus in her hands.
“I’ll take those, thanks,” I said, pulling the enormous menus out of her h
ands. “Come on, I’ll show you the courtyard.” I needed to get them away from co-workers and Aidan who was still downstairs doing inventory.
“Oh, this is so pretty!” my mom exclaimed, sitting down. “I love the stone floor. And look at that iron work!”
“Very nice,” my dad commented.
“Okay, listen, there’s something I didn’t tell you last night.”
“God, there’s more?” Mom breathed. “Are you pregnant? Am I going to be a grandmother?”
“Stop! Gah! I’m not pregnant.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, so you know I’m dating Aidan.”
“Yes, we know,” my dad clipped. Well, that clued me in on how my dad felt about Aidan. Aidan, who wasn’t the cheater, but who might be blamed for all of the male species’ shortcomings.
“He’s the manager here.” I’d lowered my voice since I saw Natalie lurking in the doorway of the courtyard room, wanting to come over to introduce herself. I shook my head at her and she shrugged and waited.
“You’re dating your manager?!” Mom exclaimed far too loudly.
The twitch intensified. “Yes, but please keep it down. No one knows. So if you see him wandering around, pretend like you haven’t met yet. Okay?”
“What kind of life are you leading?” Dad wondered. “Are you a spy?”
I rolled my eyes. “Just, promise me?”
“I think we can figure out how to pretend,” Mom answered.
“If you’re lying to people about it, do you think you should be doing it?” my dad asked.
“We’re in Antonio’s. That sort of logic doesn’t apply.” I waved Natalie over. “Let me introduce you to some of my co-workers.”
“So what’s your next step?” Dad asked the next day. We were walking through the snow covered ground of Central Park, headed to meet Mom and Aidan at Katz’s Deli.
Nothing like a $16 sandwich. Oy.
Dad wanted time alone with me first. It was inevitable, really. Better to get it over with.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve got some ideas. Sort of.”
“You going back to the office environment?”
I shook my head and hunched lower in my coat. “No. I know you hate the idea that I work in a restaurant—”
Tales of a New York Waitress Page 15