An Acquired Taste

by Kelly Cain

  “Where’s Mama?”

  “She’s in her room. I was just making her some lunch. Come help me?”

  “Okay, sure. I could have brought her something from the restaurant. I knew you were here so I guessed she wasn’t feeling well, but not enough she couldn’t fix herself something to eat. Maybe I should go back there.”

  He places a hand on my arm and nods toward the kitchen. Okay, so private talk time.

  As soon as we step in the kitchen, I blurt, “What’s wrong?”

  “She had a flare almost as soon as she stepped off the plane according to your brother. Fever, lots of swelling and pain in her neck and shoulders, and forgetfulness. She’s exhausted too, no matter how much she’s been sleeping. That’s why we asked her to stay home for a few days.”

  “I can’t believe she listened.”

  “Well we begged, both me and Wyatt. I think she was touched when she saw how upset your brother was. You know how they are.”

  I do indeed. “Is she okay though? Did she see the doctor?”

  He takes the whole grain bread he’s toasting out of the oven, and sets in on the table. “Yes, and she adjusted your mother’s medicine and told her to rest. She also wanted her to watch what she’s eating because her blood pressure and cholesterol were elevated.”

  There’s carved turkey and avocado on the counter so I wash my hands to help with the sandwich. I also take some Creole mustard out of the fridge. “The competition was too much. It triggered her flare. I tried to spare her from most of the hard work, but it was still too much for her.” I worry my bottom lip, guilt eating me up. I can’t help but feel this is my fault.

  Daddy flips his hand in the air and opens a cabinet for a glass. “She’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not true,” I insist, worry eating me up from the inside. “She has to take care of herself. She half takes her medicine and she’s usually at the restaurant every day; she doesn’t take a single day off unless she has a flare.” I cut the avocado in half a little aggressively and end up smashing it too much. I’ll just add a little of the mustard to it and turn it into a spread. Maybe a little basil and garlic too.

  “Listen, baby. There’s nothing you can make your mother do or stop doing. You understand that, right?”

  “Is there tomato?”

  He looks in the refrigerator and slides open a couple of drawers before coming back to me with a better boy tomato. It looks fresh from the garden so Wyatt must have brought it over.

  I cut a couple of thin slices. “I understand what you mean, but I presented this competition to her. I honestly don’t know what to do. If we don’t get a bigger restaurant, we’re not going to make it.”

  “You could always let me invest, and not tell Lillie.”

  I bark a sour note of laughter. “You know better than anyone I could never do that.” I get a plate down and put the sandwich on it and take the glass of skim milk from him. “Daddy, you could talk to her. Make her understand that it would just be an investment. Lay it on thick.”

  He takes off the apron, hanging it in the pantry, and bringing out a bed tray. “I’ll try, baby. I will try, but you need to be thinking of what happens if she tells me no and the competition doesn’t work out. You have to look out for your future.” He kisses me on top of my head and walks to the front door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I have to show my face in the office.”

  “I’ll stay with her. Thank you, Daddy.”

  After assembling everything on her tray, I start toward her bedroom. There won’t be a conversation about what we’ll cook in the competition next time. I won’t bother her with anything today, but soon we’ll need to discuss her dropping out. That’ll likely mean that we all will have to, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

  *

  “You cannot be serious, Wyatt.”

  Can this day get any worse? I’ve only been back for a half hour and we’ve already had a cook call in and a small fire that had to be extinguished in one of the ovens.

  “I’m perfectly serious. Mama and Daddy are both fine with it, and you don’t get a say.”

  My brother is so close to me, I could poke him in the eye with the tip of my nose. It seems like the more irritated he gets, the closer he comes.

  I walk around the counter and stare at him from the other side. Hannah is standing behind although she was at his side before he started his little speech, a new ring sparkling from an important finger.

  “I’m not trying to have a say. I’m only asking questions. You just started dating. You’re only twenty-three years old. Why the hurry?” I’ve nearly shredded the inside of my cheek and we’ve only been talking a couple minutes.

  Wyatt goes into the back pantry and comes out with a handful of nuts. “We’ve been dating for nearly two years, Rowan.”

  Two years? Where have I been? No wonder she’s been acting so entitled when it comes to Wyatt. “I know I’ve asked you seventy ‘leven times not to eat in this kitchen. You can’t even remember that, but you think you’re ready to get married.”

  He goes through the door onto the back porch and bugs his eyes at me, shoving several nuts into his mouth.

  “Real mature, buddy.”

  “I don’t need your permission. We’re engaged and that’s that. You can either accept it or not. I don’t care.”

  “No, you don’t need my permission. Again, I’m only asking questions. I’m your older sister and I care about your future. Am I not allowed?”

  Hannah isn’t sure what to do. She rotates to Wyatt, but then back to me, then back to Wyatt, her blond ponytail swishing.

  “Hannah, I thought you wanted to go to school.”

  She turns my way again. “I do. I am. I’ve been saving up since I started here. That doesn’t have anything to do with marrying Wyatt.”

  Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t even know why I brought that up. I’m just pissing in the wind here. Wyatt’s too young to get married.

  “You’re saying our parents signed off on this?” I direct my question back to Wyatt because I’m not sure how to proceed with Hannah.

  “They want me to be happy. And they like Hannah.”

  How do they know Hannah? I guess Mama would, but that’s in a strictly professional way. Where was I when Daddy even met her, less known getting to know her? “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say congratulations.” Wyatt comes back in from the porch and walks right back up in my face.

  I peer around him to Hannah, who’s watching me expectantly.

  I shrug, and smile. “Congratulations, then.”

  Wyatt throws his arms around my neck and squeezes way too hard.

  “Stop, boy. You’re going to choke me out.”

  Hannah is watching us with a huge smile on her face.

  I’m not sure about this whole thing, but who am I to direct my brother’s life? Especially since I obviously haven’t been paying enough attention.

  I extend my free arm and Hannah walks over to us, wrapping us both up. “Welcome to the family, Hannah.”

  I back out of the love fest and pick invisible lint off my jacket. “When’s the big day anyway?”

  Hannah says, “We’re going to have a long engagement. We’re looking at a spring wedding year after next.”

  Oh good. Almost two years to ensure they’re doing the right thing. I feel like they should have led with that. This whole conversation would have gone a different way. “Okay, well get to work. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

  We prep for the day and because we’re one cook short, we really have to push ourselves to have all the premade dishes ready and everything prepared for the ones that are made to order. Lunch goes fine and as we go into dinner, Wyatt is lost to the bar. It’s okay because everything’s been prepped, and Hannah and I can handle getting the orders out. Mama’s not here to run the hotplate so we do it in tandem, communicating as we go. We’ve done this part more often than not the past couple of years.

  Towar
d the end of the dinner service, one of the waiters comes into the kitchen and asks me to come out into the dining room. A customer has asked to see me. People ask all the time, but normally Mama meets them. Technically, she’s the executive chef as well as owner.

  I nod at Hannah while washing my hands, then don a fresh jacket. When I cook, I keep my hair woven into a tight bun and normally don’t wear much makeup.

  Knox is sitting alone at a small table in the corner near the bar. He sets his silverware down as I approach.

  I’m wondering if he made a reservation, but probably not. We usually can squeeze a single person in if they don’t have one. “Don’t you have a restaurant to run, Everheart? It’s Saturday night.” I almost cursed, but I maintain a smile and nod as if we’re having a friendly chat. Tonight, I’m the face of Smothered in Love, and I can’t embarrass Lillie.

  “I’m in timeout.”

  “Your dad really was upset about you being gone?”

  “What, you thought I made it up? You heard him when he called.”

  “I, uh—” I did hear him, but I thought Knox fabricated the rest. He still could have for all I know. In the low light of the dining room, I can’t see his eyes to get a clue of his mood. They’re black in this light. “Why are you here?”

  “I’ve been wanting to try your mom’s gumbo since the first day of competition. I have to say, it did not disappoint.”

  “I’ll have to let her know.”

  He peers through the room, trying to get a glimpse of the kitchen as waitstaff move in and out. We’re winding down, so there’s not much to see.

  “She’s not here.”

  He turns his whole body to me, and leans in. “Is she not feeling well?”

  Tears prick my eyes and I blink rapidly, keeping them at bay. “No, she’s having a flare.” I could have just as easily told him to fuck off, but something in his face urged me to tell him. Made me want to confide in him. Jeesh, this has been an emotional day. “I have to go back. I’m glad you enjoyed the gumbo.”

  “Can we talk after? I can wait until you’re finished.”

  Against my better judgment, I nod and go back to the kitchen.

  *

  When I finish for the night, I hang up my smock and stride into the dining room where Knox is exactly where I left him an hour before. Only now Wyatt is seated with him, sharing a friendly cocktail. Turncoat.

  Knox turns my way as I approach. “You didn’t tell me your brother’s good news.” He’s grinning, holding up his drink. I’m not certain, but it looks like a version of the signature drink Wyatt’s been crafting.

  “I’d toast but I don’t have a glass.”

  Wyatt jumps up and heads for the bar.

  “No, Wyatt. I don’t want anything. I’ll fall asleep if I have any alcohol. And maybe you should slow down too. Don’t forget tomorrow’s Sunday.” Our busiest day and we won’t have Mama.

  Knox raises his glass toward Wyatt and downs the contents. “This is really good.”

  I slump in a chair across from Knox and balance my head on my hand, setting my phone and keys on the table. “I don’t doubt it. Wyatt’s gifted.” My eyes are getting heavy even though it’s in my best interest to be wide awake considering the snake’s in the garden.

  My phone buzzes and I’m a little slow on the uptake. Knox has it in his hands before I can register what’s happening.

  “Rowan’s phone. This is Knox speaking.”

  My eyes go big and I reach for the phone, but he holds it out of my reach.

  “Hold on and I’ll check if she’s available.” He mutes the phone then slides it to me.

  I look at the screen and drop my head. “You had no right to answer my phone.”

  He has the nerve to reply with a straight face. “I know. I shouldn’t have.”

  “What am I supposed to tell him? I don’t even know why you’re here.” I don’t wait for a response, but lift the phone up to my ear after taking it off mute.

  “Hi, Mike. I’m so sorry about that. Can I call you back in a little while? We’re just closing up the restaurant.”

  Mike is hesitant, clearly perturbed. “Yeah. I guess.”

  I end the call and slump in my seat. The adrenaline from the phone grab leaks out of me, and I can barely lift my head to stare daggers at Knox.

  “Sorry for being a jerk.”

  Okay, that wakes me up. I straighten my spine and narrow my eyes. “You’ve been a jerk to me every day since I met you. What’s happening?”

  “What isn’t happening? My life’s falling apart. Can we talk?”

  He’s a little blurry around the edges. His skin is tan as usual although maybe not as glowing, and his deep blue shirt is pressed but his slacks aren’t quite as crisp.

  I want to hear more but I’m so freaking tired. “Follow me.” I get up without a backward glance. If he doesn’t follow, I’m perfectly fine with it.

  “See you tomorrow, Wyatt.”

  I exit through the front door and marvel at the heat this late at night. Looks like we’re skipping spring this year altogether. Knox is on the sidewalk next to me so I lock the front door. There’s still staff in there resetting the restaurant for tomorrow, but I don’t like to keep the door unlocked after we’ve closed.

  We walk around the side of the building and up the back stairs. When we get to the top, I pause. “You said you wanted to talk and I’m tired of being in the restaurant. That’s all this is. Nod your head that you understand.”

  He grins, then nods.

  I put the key in the lock and turn, allowing Knox Everheart into my apartment.

  My place is always clean. Mostly because I’m not here a bunch but also because I’m a neat freak. When I leave in the morning, my bed is made and there are no dishes in the sink.

  Knox looks around completely uninvited. At least he stays within the living area. He sits at my desk and scans an eleven by seventeen piece of paper I’ve been scribbling on. It doesn’t matter to me that he sees it. They’re only ideas, none that will ever see the light of day.

  “Pâté, duck au poivre.” He nods. “Spring pea ravioli?” He turns to me and raises an eyebrow, most likely because he knows I can’t make pasta for shit.

  I shrug. “They’re just ideas I’d like to serve. No big deal.” In my spare time, I’ve been crafting a new menu with items I’d love to add if I have my way.

  He continues reading, then picks up a pencil and starts scribbling. “These are some great items.”

  I walk over and take the pencil out of his hand. “Thanks, but it’s pretty late. Did you come over to review my menu choices?”

  “In my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d wind up in your apartment tonight. So, no.”

  I breathe in his juicy fruit scent, and catch myself before I do something I don’t mean. I walk over to the couch and kick my shoes off.

  He moves from the desk chair to the couch, sitting on the opposite end. “Tell me about your mom.”

  Because I don’t have anyone to talk to really—Wyatt will only go so far before getting upset. And because Knox doesn’t have his mom and hasn’t had her in a very long time. And just maybe because I’m a little tired and have let down my guard, I tell him everything. Not just about Mama, but everything with the restaurant, with Sue. Everything.

  He listens and doesn’t interrupt. And when I’ve finished confessing like the biggest sinner around, he only nods and says, “Thank you. That really puts things into perspective.”

  “Glad I could help, Knox.”

  “Do you want me to fix it? Give you the solution?”

  “Of course not. I just thought you might have more to say.”

  “Growing up without my mom is the absolute worst part of my life. Your mom is sick but from what you said, she’ll be okay if she takes care of herself. And I’m so glad for you. I’m sorry she’s stubborn. If I had any insight there, I wouldn’t be where I am with my father.”

  “Where are you with your father?”

&nbs
p; “An impasse it would seem. I’ve tried getting backing for my little corner of the world, but he’s had me blackballed. His reach is far and wide. Getting into this competition was a fluke, and it was too late for him to stop it. He even threatened to fire all three of us.” He lays his head against the back of the sofa, and closes his eyes.

  If he’s expecting me to be surprised, that ship has sailed. Mama has told me enough about Flynn Everheart to have a pretty good understanding of how ruthless he is. It’s unexpected that he would act this way with his sons though.

  “That’s awful, Knox. But it’s good that your brothers stood by you.”

  He turns his head my way and opens his eyes. “Yeah, it is. Dad would never fire us though. It’s the whole reason he won’t let me go out on my own, why he pushed me into culinary school to begin with. You had it right when you said I was the heir apparent.”

  “Why not Declan since he’s the oldest?”

  “He’s a great chef. Not good enough in Dad’s eyes. And you already know about Weston. He’s a gifted pastry chef, but like me, it’s not his passion. He does it more to honor Mom’s memory than anything else.”

  My stomach grumbles and I groan. I’d almost forgotten I hadn’t had anything to eat since before lunch. And I’m too tired to get off the sofa and make something.

  “You didn’t eat? That gumbo is everything.”

  “Gumbo is a special occasion food and we make it every day. You get sick of it really quick.”

  He launches himself off the sofa and walks into my kitchen to wash his hands in the sink.

  My apartment is: one average-sized bedroom, a decent bathroom, living room and kitchen. The latter two rooms are part of an open plan so there’s only a counter separating the two. My kitchen is the biggest room in the apartment, and it’s full of every gadget a modern chef could want in a home cooking space. I use this kitchen on my days off to test recipes that Lillie will never let us use.

  Knox opens my fridge and moves items around, pulling out a small container and lifting it in the air while still examining the fridge’s contents. “Béchamel?”

  “Tis.”

  He rummages a few moments longer then comes out balancing clarified butter, Dijon mustard, Gruyère, the container of béchamel, and a couple slices of ham. He sets them on the counter, grabs bread from the box, then a pan from a cabinet.