Connie’s right, though. The idea of them kissing? It’s hot. Hotter-than-lava hot.
And since I’m sleeping on my friend’s couch tonight and not with either of my boneheaded lovers, I’ve got no business getting this turned on, so I take another sip and force my brain back into the confines of reality.
“He was kissing me,” I confess. “Had been kissing me, anyway.”
“Are you seeing each other?”
“It’s complicated,” I hedge.
Connie laughs. “Isn’t it always?”
I almost spit out my drink. “Um… not usually this complicated.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Spill it, girlie.”
The stress, the joy, the anger, the anxiety, the overwhelming disappointment—right now it’s too much to keep inside myself. So I tell her the truth.
“I’m seeing him.” Connie starts to cheer and I shake my head. “I’m seeing Elliot. And Alex.”
“Hell yes. Good for you, girlie!” She slaps me on the shoulder.
“Um, I mean, I’m seeing them both. At the same time.”
“You’re my hero, and don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise.”
I huff at my bangs, frustrated. Why is this so hard to explain?
“I mean, we’re seeing each other. At the same time.” I hate that I can’t tell Connie all of it, but if Alex and Elliot are seeing each other too, that’s not my secret to share. I hope they are, because who am I kidding? The thought alone is hotter than the tallest flames in hell. But I don’t know what’s between them, if anything.
And that’s a whole new mountain of worry I hadn’t considered before today. What if deep down they’re only into each other, and don’t need me anymore?
I shove that thought into a box in the back of my mind. I might need to vent a little to my friend over some wine tonight, but that’s a question I can’t handle. Not tonight. Besides, I’m still furious with them both.
“Are we talking about threesomes?” Connie asks, setting her glass down to look at me. For a minute, I think she’s about to launch into a lecture, but then she actually begs. “Please tell me we’re talking about threesomes.”
I start laughing and it’s a long time before I can pull myself together enough to stop.
“I’m serious. Girl, you better not be yanking my chain on this.” She smacks my shoulder again. “Joelle!”
“Okay, okay,” I say, wiping tears of mirth out of the corners of my eyes. “Sorry. Yes, that’s what we’re talking about.”
Threesomes. Menage. A triad in the making? Maybe.
Connie fans her face with a magazine, grabbing the bottle to top off our still-full glasses. She raises hers in another toast.
“Here’s to you,” she says. “I’m not kidding about the hero thing. My God. Drink up, please. Because if ever there was a time for oversharing, this is it.”
And even after this shitty, shitty day, I’m doubled over, laughing so hard the tears finally fall.
I don’t know at what point they turn to real tears, but it happens in the within a heartbeat. I’m crying now, and I can’t seem to close the floodgates.
“Oh, honey,” Connie is saying, pulling me in for a hug. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re okay. It’ll be okay.”
She holds me like that, hugging me tight the way my own mother used to do when I was little. The memory makes me sob even harder.
I’m not even sure why I’m crying right now. I’m mad at Elliot and Alex both, not sad. I’m mad at my dad too, though I guess that makes me sad too. In the morning, I’ll chalk it all up to the wine and just leave it at that.
Eventually, my breathing slows and Connie lets me sit up when I pull back. She hands me yet another tissue—don’t ask me where that pile on the table came from, because I don’t remember using them—and rubs my back.
“Maybe time to switch to coffee,” she says.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, just to make her smile. It works.
“I’m sorry for all the—for all this.”
“Don’t even think about it. We all need a good cry now and then, even on the best of days, and somehow I don’t think today was the best of days for you.”
“You got that right.”
We sip our wine, just enjoying the easy quiet for a moment.
“I think you’re right about your dad, you know,” Connie says after a while.
“Really?” She nods.
“He’s a lot more capable than he realizes. And I think he’s afraid of what might happen if he tries.”
“You know, you’re the second person today who’s said that to me, about him being afraid. Is it that obvious? Because I sure as hell never picked up on it.” I’ve never seen my dad afraid of anything.
“It’s a parent thing,” she says, half smiling. “Or more accurately, it’s a kid thing. You see your parents one way for most of your life. And then sometimes—not always, but sometimes—you realize they’re just humans too, same as you.”
“Huh.”
“We can’t all be goddesses,” she says, elbowing me until I smile at her.
“And yet you seem to have it down to a science.”
Connie laughs. “I’ll let you meet my kids someday, then we’ll see if you can say the same.”
“I’d like that.” A long moment passes and I sigh. “I think I’m going to have to quit.”
“Girlie…”
“Elliot doesn’t need me anymore.” I shrug. “The new menu rollout is done. Everything seems to be going really well.”
“Better than well,” says Connie. “We’ve done more business the last few days thanks to your menu than any other holiday season I can remember.”
“Well, there it is. I’ve done my job. It’s going to be better for everybody if I bow out now and let him get back to running his business.”
“You mean it’ll be easier for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think I didn’t hear the nonsense that fool Bertie was spouting? All that crap about him getting passed over because you were sleeping with the boss. Like he’s ever gonna get himself promoted when he whines like he does.”
Bertie is actually pretty damn good at his job, but he complains a lot about being stuck in the kitchen when he really wants to—and I quote—“move up in the company.” I’m all for ambition but considering Elliot’s restaurant isn’t exactly a big operation, I’m not so sure Bertie’s thought it through.
And worse, I’m afraid he’s right. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping with Elliot when he hired me and I have no interest in a management position. But what if Elliot only hired me because he wanted me?
Only that doesn’t make any sense either. It took weeks for him to touch me and even then, Alex had to orchestrate the whole thing.
There it is again—that fear. What happens when Elliot and Alex realize they only need each other? That I’m just the tool that brought them together?
It’s going to tear me apart.
Hell, it’s already happening. Alex wanted to ask me to stay with him today but his loyalty to Elliot was written all over his face. It spilled out in every second of Alex’s hesitation.
I couldn’t stand it. I want them to have each other, but I’m going to end up hating them for not wanting me to share in it, too. And hating them would be worse.
Better to cut and run now, before things get any messier. I laugh, choking back the tears this time, because Connie’s already gone above and beyond the call of duty for tonight. She changes the subject to work gossip and not long after, I’m dozing off before we finish the second bottle. It barely registers when she tucks the quilt around me and switches off the light.
* * *
The next morning, I take it slow sitting up, not wanting to push my luck. I’m not much of a drinker, last night excepted. Miraculously, I seem to have escaped with only a slight headache.
Of course, crying always has that effect on me the next day too, so who knows?
Eithe
r way, I send my gratitude out into the universe for my reprieve and head to the bathroom to clean up.
I don’t have much in the way of armor for today, but I’m not going back home. Not yet. Dealing with Dad will have to wait.
Hell, if anything, he’ll probably be happy to hear I’m unemployed again.
The thought all but doubles me over in pain. How fucked up is it that he’d most likely celebrate me quitting this job, the job that was my ticket into culinary school? I’ve been talking about being a chef since I was a kid.
Who the hell does he think he is? I mean, I know he’s my dad, obviously. But goddamn it… this is my life. I want him to be a part of it, but is it so selfish to want the rest of my life to be mine?
I wouldn’t know what the hell am I going to do otherwise. No culinary school means no way of getting into a big name kitchen, let alone achieving the long-shot dream of working among the best chefs in the business.
It’s childish of me and I know it, but I let the anger build. It bolsters me, standing me upright again, pulling my chin up and getting me ready for what I have to do next.
I’m not without resources. I’ve got two solid months of good experience working for Elliot James. Even if he won’t recommend me to another restaurant, Connie would. I think some of the other staff might, too. That has to count for something.
All is not lost. At least, not career-wise. As Connie drives us into work, I focus all my energy on remembering that because if I stop to think about what else I’m about to lose, I’ll break in two.
22
Elliot
The music coming from the kitchen is too loud but I don’t say a damn word to the staff. They know I’m pissed, and the volume makes conversation impossible.
Smart kids. Most of them.
I overheard more than one whisper over the last couple of days, though nobody said Joelle’s name in my presence. Good thing. I might have lost my shit if I’d heard them talking about her.
She’s due in for work this morning and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell things went so sideways in that storeroom. All I wanted was to comfort her, to hold her. And yeah, maybe for a minute I forgot where we were, which is one helluva feat considering it’s my own damn restaurant.
There’s a good chance that, whatever happened, it’s my fault.
It killed me that she didn’t stay with us last night. Us. Me and Alex. And Jesus, why does ‘me and Alex’ sound so damn different than it used to?
Maybe because I want to see him naked again.
I close my eyes against the thought.
I’ve got zero problems with gay people. Live and let live, right? Love is love. I get all that. I support it. But how the hell I made it to my thirties without ever once finding myself attracted to a man before, I don’t know.
I’m attracted to one now. And he’s my best friend, one of the only people in the world I trust completely. And this is going to royally fuck us up beyond repair.
I can’t lose him.
So I breathe through the thoughts, push it all away to deal with later so I can focus on the task at hand—which is doing my goddamnedest to get through this day, because Duckbill’s rent is due tonight.
* * *
“I’m sorry, boss,” Jimmy says an hour later, tapping a couple of keys and rising from the computer chair in my office. He means it, too.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” I tell him, offering my hand. He takes it, smiling sadly. “I’d promote you if I could.” We share a forced laugh. I’m grateful to him for playing along.
I saw it coming. Jimmy did too, but bless the kid, he kept looking, right up to the end.
Duckbill is done. Mrs. Miller left a message last night when she knew I wasn’t here that she’d call today to talk about the late rent. All the work we put in the last two months—the new menu, all of Joelle’s hard work, the extra busy season—none of it mattered. We managed to make enough to settle up what I owe Mrs. Miller for this year, but no more.
It’s over.
Jimmy pulls the office door shut behind him, giving me that same sad smile through the glass as he heads back to the kitchen.
I sit down hard, the chair rolling back to bump the desk, leaning forward to stare at the floor.
Calling Jimmy in here was a Hail Mary pass at best. Mrs. Miller said she’d call at ten, and she’s never late. She told me once that punctuality was just small a way to show a person you respect them.
She’s a pretty classy lady, Mrs. Miller. I’ll miss working with her.
The phone rings even as my throat starts to close up. I pick it up before it can buzz again.
“Elliot James speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. James,” she says. “This is Mrs. Miller.”
I almost smile.
“How are you, Mrs. Miller?” I ask. Because I respect her right back, even if I don’t have a lot of respect for myself right this minute.
“Can’t complain, Mr. James,” she says. “I’m calling to ask when we might expect your make-up payment for the rent.”
“Of course,” I say, as though it somehow slipped my mind. “Mrs. Miller, I still need to meet payroll next week. Would New Year’s Eve be convenient for you?”
“Oh, certainly,” she says. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised to hear you say that. During our last conversation you hinted that it might be a little longer in coming.”
“We had a great holiday season,” I say. I close my eyes against what I know is coming next.
“That’s wonderful, dear,” she says. She means it, too. It chokes me up. “Does this mean you’ll be renewing your lease with us?”
My voice isn’t steady when I answer.
“I wish that was the case, Mrs. Miller, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. Duckbill will be closing its doors permanently at 3pm on December 31st.”
“Oh, Mr. James,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”
I nod like a dumbass, but I can’t speak again just yet.
It’s over. It’s really over.
I clear my throat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” I say at last. “And thank you for the opportunity. It’s a great building. I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of possible tenants.”
She doesn’t keep me on the phone much longer, thank God. I’m just about tapped out. And there’s still the workday to get through.
And five more days beyond that. Five more days of Duckbill. I wish I’d told her we’d close today. It’s going to kill me, doing this for five more days, knowing the ship is going down.
But I’m the boss. It’s my job. And there are people counting on me. My anger over the gossip is gone. I don’t like it that they’re probably still talking about me and Joelle, but those people rely on me. They’ve been counting on me, some of them for years now, to make sure they’ve got a job and a paycheck.
In the next five days, I have to tell them it’s over. That I’ve failed.
The lunch rush is good, plenty of customers around to keep us busy. To a one, everybody praises Joelle’s menu. Looks like we were headed in the right direction.
Too little too late, though.
Joelle hasn’t looked at me once today. At one point, she actually dropped a box she was sifting through and left the storeroom to avoid being alone with me. I’m sick over it, sick of all of it. I want to throw her over my shoulder, haul her home, and demand she talk to me.
Connie catches me staring at Joelle—and it’s not the first time in the last ten minutes. She dusts off her hands and walks up to me.
“You need to go easy on her,” Connie says in a very low voice. There’s enough of a din back here that we’re not likely to be overheard, but I glance around the room just be sure.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Joelle,” she says. “You need to back off. You’re making things worse for yourself, hulking around her like this.”
“What do you know about it?” I could
win an Oscar with how convincing my moody teenager performance is right now. It’s all I can do not to kick at the floor.
“I know she slept at my place last night, not yours,” says Connie, raising one eyebrow.
That’s the first bit of good news I’ve had today, and Connie seems to know it. The relief is huge.
“You’re a good friend.” I meet her eyes. “Thank you for looking out for her.”
“I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d get your ass in gear, Elliot,” she says. “It’s obvious the girl is crazy about you.”
“She said that?”
“Not my business to be repeating what she might have said,” said Connie with a sniff. “But anybody can see it with their own eyes.” A few beats pass before I answer her.
“It’s complicated.”
For some reason, that sets her off. Connie is laughing so hard the rest of the staff stops talking to stare. Connie just claps me on the shoulder and shakes her head.
“I’ll bet,” she says, heading back to her station. “I’ll just bet it is.”
Shaking my head too, I head back to the office. The door doesn’t click closed behind me and I hear a soft knock.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” says Joelle.
“You know you don’t have to ask.” I try to offer my chair, but she declines.
“This won’t take long,” she says, keeping her back to the door.
Standing as far away from me as humanly possible.
Something is very wrong.
“I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here,” she says awkwardly. “It’s been… very instructive.”
“You’re welcome. What the hell is going on, Joelle?”
“I’m… I’m just trying to say thanks. And I need to tell you that… that I won’t be coming back. Today’s my last day.”
I rub my eyes. Maybe I’ve hallucinated the last six hours, because what she’s telling me does not compute.
“I’m not following.”
“There’s nothing to follow,” she says, looking pained. “I think it’s best I bow out now before I make things worse. So thank you for the—”
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