Chapter 10 #2
“Chef Sonar would be a mouthful,” I reason.
“Cheeky, Sorensen. I like you, but don’t get cocky.” But I’m rewarded with a wink and a playful punch on the shoulder.
Fiona pulls us back to the matter at hand. “What do you say we try Sorensen’s Curry Créole with a sautéed cod as the special and see how it plays?”
I speak up. “A pan-fried catfish would be better. Or shrimp. With rice would be best.” This is a breach of etiquette, to be sure, and thirty-seven-year-old me needs to remember where twenty-six-year-old me is on the food chain.
I cast my eyes downward a beat and allow heat to rise in my cheeks, though I really don’t feel embarrassed to make suggestions like I used to be.
I just need to be more deferential in my delivery.
“I mean, if you wanted to go for the classic choices that pair with the Créole. Obviously it’s up to your vision and what we have to work with. ”
He locks eyes with Fiona again. “Scare up what she wants. Both options, if you can. Put them on the specials board as soon as you confirm the order. And talk to her about the other thing. Before service.”
He walks off and I am proud of my success in keeping my mouth from hitting the floor.
He loves the Créole sauce I’d been too reluctant to share before.
I wonder now if I hadn’t been cowed by Edward’s failures in that area at Hotel Esmeralda.
I’d not thought of it before, but it really may have been a case of a secondhand toxic work environment.
My expression turns from shock to questioning as I turn my gaze from Padraig’s retreating form back to Fiona. She clears her throat. “So, we’ve been talking about promoting you to sous.”
I gasp audibly. Saucier is a reach position for me at this stage of my career. Sous is a massive leap. “Are you serious? Sous?”
There is no trace of mirth on her face. “You’re young, but you’ve got more talent than the last ten chefs de partie we’ve hired.
We think it’s the logical step for you, and we find more and more we have the receipts to justify a second sous.
And it’s not without some self-interest on my part.
If you can share the duties of the sous with me, I might actually be able to get a vacation more than once every six years. ”
I pull her in for a hug, American style. “That would be so amazing.”
Fiona accepts the embrace with a chuckle, like a dog lover might accept the exuberance of an over-affectionate Labrador.
“I’ll take that as a yes. But bear in mind, this will mean longer hours, and Rian’s mam is already in high dudgeon over your schedule.
You’ll have to get everyone on board. Or at least on board enough to stop calling our reservation line. ”
It’s a very good thing Orla’s not in the room, as I am once more sorely tempted to throttle her for such outrageous behavior. “You’ve got it. I’m ready to start anytime.”
“Oh, my lamb, in case you didn’t realize, your training has already started. Sauces and both specials are on you today. Good luck, darling.”
Sous-chef. In less than five years. It’s a huge accomplishment in such a short time, but I feel ready.
And if the response to my lunch special is an indicator, I am ready.
I didn’t take these risks the first time around, and to see how different things could have been if I’d taken more chances on myself is immeasurably satisfying.
Being just bold enough to let the chef taste one sauce has been enough to launch my career ahead by years.
I now know how I would answer the viral internet meme, “If you could give your eighteen-year-old self one piece of advice, what would it be?”
After the afternoon I spent, it would be, “Believe in your skills and take more chances. Don’t be afraid to fail. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. People want you to succeed more than you realize.”
Fiona had given me a massive hug of her own after the service, and I’d received more than a few accolades from the rest of the staff who’d quickly gotten wind of the potential promotion.
I float on a cloud of adrenaline all the way home, and then promptly crash on the sofa as the high subsides.
It’s a few hours before I stir, awakened by the rustling as Rian enters my flat, laden down with takeout from our favorite Chinese place.
My stomach rumbles at the smell that emanates from the containers.
“You are a knight in shining armor. Nay, a prince among men.” I sit up to admire the grand assortment of food he procured for us and pull him into an embrace.
He brings with him a sense of peace that I remember craving for months after the breakup. It’s the same calming warmth that makes him an exceptional doctor. That makes Orla feel needed. That makes me feel at home, despite the thousands of miles between me and my place of birth.
He plops down on the couch next to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Now, you’ll kindly remember I’m an Irishman,” he chides in an exaggerated brogue. “I don’t put much stock in titles and royalty.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Oh, very well, you’re simply my hero.”
“Well now, that’s an honor I can accept.
” He kisses me, deeply now, and I love lingering in the scent of him.
He doesn’t wear anything with fragrance because of his work, so he just smells .
. . like Rian, without chemical-laden products to mask his natural perfume.
As he pulls me into his arms after eleven years apart, I can imagine how comfortable it would be to make a life with him.
And I am grateful the opportunity isn’t lost forever.
“How did your day go?” I ask once I can bear to break away from his kisses long enough to take air. He worked a punishing shift yesterday and we both worked long hours today, so we haven’t had time for more than the most cursory of check-ins via text.
“Mmm.” He nuzzles my neck by way of response. “Not too bad. Mam brought me chicken two days in a row. Was nice of her. Saved me from a long shift fueled by cafeteria food. And she remembered the fish thing.”
I don’t mention that I reminded her about the fish ban.
I’ll let her take that win. Old me probably wouldn’t have, but I’m wise enough now to know that it doesn’t have to be a competition.
As someone who loves and wants to look out for Rian, the more people I have in my corner in the matter, the better.
He stiffens slightly in my arms. “I forgot to ask; did lunch go well enough? No bloodshed?”
“Perfectly fine.” I plant another kiss on the side of his face. “I think we have a better understanding.” It’s an exaggeration, but it is one of the best interactions Orla and I have ever had, so I’ll give her high marks on a sliding scale.
He stares at me, his jaw slack for a moment.
“Heavens above, did you lace her drink with zolpidem? Not that I’d blame you, but probably not the safest thing to do as the girlfriend of a doctor.
It could get traced back to me, and the paperwork is a real hassle when you’re up to ninety with work and all. ”
I thwack him playfully with the pillow I’d been using during my nap. “Ha ha, very funny. I don’t even know what that is or how to spell it.”
“You Yanks call it Ambien. And good. I won’t have to worry about keeping my script pad under lock and key.
Seriously, though. Glad you two got on. I had nightmares about it going arseways.
” He begins to pull the cartons from the bag and I fetch plates and decent chopsticks from the kitchen.
He’s always been reluctant to say anything, but I know the tension between Orla and me eats away at him.
I hope, even more for his sake now, that I’m able to improve our rapport.
“I’ve been going about things the wrong way.
I’m going to navigate my relationship with her differently moving forward.
” I could launch into my realizations about my complicated relationship with my own mother coloring my view of Orla’s involvement in Rian’s life, but I don’t want to sour the mood.
I consider telling him how my promotion is conditioned on Orla not pestering the restaurant while I’m working, but it’s better if I have that chat with her myself.
We made headway at lunch the other day, and I’d like to keep up the relationship building on my own terms. If I have to rope in Rian later, I will.
Despite the dark circles of fatigue under his eyes, his face brightens and he looks revivified . . . and not just from the prospect of the sesame chicken and lo mein he’s heaping onto his plate. “That sounds grand. Nothing in the world would make me happier than you two making friends. Truly.”
“Then that will be my objective. You deserve all the things that will make you happy.” I take a serving for myself and settle next to him on the sofa. He sets his plate down after a few bites.
“You really are a dream, you know that?” He wraps an arm around me again, food forgotten. “I’m not sure what else could make me happier in this very moment.”
I set my plate on the coffee table next to his. “Well, I can try. I got some amazing news at work. They’re training me for a promotion to sous-chef. Apparently, they’ve been discussing it for a while, but they were impressed with a dish I auditioned, and it tipped the scales.”
He squeezes me harder. “Sous? Really? I thought saucier was a huge promotion for you.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “It was. But they think I’m ready. And I do too. I nailed it today.”
“It’s nothing more than you deserve, Sabrina. That sauce was out of this world.” Our mouths meet again, and I let myself revel in the joy of his caresses. The sweetness of his kisses. Dinner will have to survive a round in the microwave.
We pull apart sometime later, and I curse our feeble bodies’ need for such prosaic things as oxygen.
His kisses felt far more sustaining, his arms far more nourishing than anything I could concoct in a mortal kitchen.
He cradles my head against his chest, and I despise myself for letting Orla tarnish what Rian and I shared.
But the beauty of this gift from the Ticket Agent is that it gives me the opportunity to correct that past wrong. I can create boundaries and enforce them like an adult, but I can also show her far more empathy and grace than I did before.
“Sabrina?” My name rumbles in my ear from the depths of his chest where my head is resting.
“Mmm?” I hesitate to break the mood by opening my mouth. Everything I want to communicate with him is expressed clearly enough without words.
His voice grows husky. “Sabrina, mo chroí, I love you. I want to make a life with you. Say you’ll marry me?”
I raise my head from his chest to meet his beautiful green eyes.
I say nothing, sure I have somehow imagined the words.
Looking back over the footage of our relationship from the past, I realize this was not the night he proposed.
We’d had a pleasant enough evening in the previous version of our life together, but like so many of the nights when we both worked, it had been filled mostly with takeaway, shop talk, an episode of some inane show or another, and him heading back to his flat when one of us started to nod off, or else him passing out on my lumpy sofa until morning.
In the previous iteration he’d proposed a few weeks down the line at our favorite upscale restaurant that we frequented for special occasions.
He’d worn a smart suit and slipped the ring in a glass of champagne, claiming it was so cliché it was charming.
It had been perfectly choreographed, right out of the how-to-propose playbook.
It was unimaginative, but I had said yes because I wasn’t hung up on a storybook proposal.
Not that a proposal on my secondhand sofa after long shifts at work is the stuff of legend, but it feels more heartfelt this time. Genuine and true.
“Yes.” The word squeaks on my lips. I swallow and find my voice. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He envelops me so tightly his words are muffled, but I make out, “We’ll make a grand life together, the pair of us.”
And I believe him. Of all the men I dated before Rian and since, none of them have communicated as well as he does.
Even more important, I like the version of myself that I am with him.
Despite my short temper where Orla was concerned, I was a more considerate person when I was with Rian.
I thought about his needs and concerns more than I ever had about another partner.
Not to the point of being totally self-effacing, but far more selfless than I’d been at other points in my life.
Maybe this was the trip I needed, armed with an extra decade of experience and a little more kindness directed Orla-ward. Maybe this is where I should stay.
“We will.” My words are confident as I lose myself in his kisses.
I think I’ve found my way back home.