5. Monica
5
MONICA
T he produce section at the local grocery store bursts with possibility as I scan the perfectly arranged vegetables. My phone buzzes with another notification, probably another detail about Leo Blackwood's upcoming birthday celebration.
"Girl, you're making me dizzy." Carla trails behind me, pushing the cart while I dart between displays. "We've been here twenty minutes and your basket's still empty."
"This has to be perfect." I scroll through my notes app, cross-referencing my fifth iteration of the menu. "It's not just any birthday party. It's Leo-freaking-Blackwood."
"The tech billionaire?" Carla whistles. "How'd you land that one?"
"I had an interview with Olivia Blackwood and Celia Saint-Pierre. Clearly, they liked what I had to offer." I pick up a butternut squash, testing its weight. "And now I'm catering for VIP guests."
"VIP?" Carla's eyes widen. "You're gonna need help."
"Already on it." I add the squash to my cart and pull up another list. "Got three sous chefs lined up, plus servers. Just need to nail down this menu." I move to the herb section, inhaling the fresh scents. "I still have to finalize the menu. And now I'm thinking of doing a twist on classic comfort foods. Like these mini shepherd's pies with duck confit instead of ground beef. And maybe those black truffle mac and cheese bites that killed at the charity event."
"Those were insane." Carla grabs some fresh thyme. "What about dessert?"
"That's where I'm stuck." I pull out my tablet, showing her my sketches. "Olivia mentioned he loves chocolate and bourbon. I'm thinking of doing these individual chocolate soufflés with a bourbon caramel center, but the timing would be tricky with that many guests."
"What about pre-setting the ramekins?" Carla suggests. "We did something similar at that wedding last summer."
"That could work." I add it to my notes, then grab my checklist for rentals. "Now I just need to figure out plating, staffing schedule, prep timeline, equipment needs..."
"One thing at a time." Carla squeezes my shoulder. "You've got this. Now can we please get what we actually came here for? My dinner service starts in four hours."
"Right, right," I reply, sending her a smile.
As we start shopping, it's inevitable that my mind starts drifting. And worrying. Then, it starts panicking. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. My hand trembles as I set down the fresh herbs. What if the food isn't up to their standards? Olivia Blackwood isn't just any client - she's a culinary powerhouse. And Celia Saint-Pierre? Her reputation in the industry is legendary, too. What if I fail them? What if I make them look bad?
"You okay?" Carla's voice cuts through my spiral. "You've got that look."
"What if I mess this up?" The words tumble out inadvertently. "If I disappoint them... Olivia and Celia will never work with me again. My career will be over before it even starts."
"Stop right there."
But my mind's already drifting to Benjamin's voice, those subtle digs that used to chip away at my confidence. You really think you can handle running your own kitchen? You'll crack under pressure. That's why you need me. I can still see his smug face, the way he'd lean against the counter watching me work, dropping those poisonous little comments that seemed helpful but were actually designed to keep me dependent on him.
"I can see you going there." Carla grabs my shoulders, forcing me to face her. "Whatever that asshole put in your head? It's bullshit. Complete and total bullshit."
"He always said I'd fold under pressure." My voice cracks. "That I wasn't cut out for this level of responsibility. That I needed him to succeed."
"Did you fold when the power went out during that wedding reception?" Carla's eyes lock with mine, fierce and unwavering. "Or when half your staff called out sick at the Williams event? No. You adapted. You crushed it. You fucking owned those disasters and turned them into triumphs while Benjamin was nowhere to be found."
The memories of those triumphs push against Benjamin's echoes, fighting for space in my mind. For every doubt he planted, there's a moment where I proved him wrong—where I shined without him.
"Olivia and Celia chose you because they saw what I see—a badass chef who turns challenges into opportunities. They don't make mistakes with who they hire." Carla releases my shoulders but keeps her gaze locked on mine. "Benjamin couldn't handle your success, so he tried to dim your light. He wanted you dependent on him because he knew damn well you could outshine him. Don't let him win now."
The produce section comes back into focus, grounding me. The vibrant colors of fresh vegetables, the earthy smell of herbs—this is my world, not his. She's right. I earned this opportunity through late nights, burnt fingers, and a refusal to give up. Benjamin's voice might still haunt me sometimes, slithering in during moments of doubt, but it doesn't get to define my future. Not anymore.
"Now." Carla picks up my tablet, her tone shifting to business. "Tell me more about these bourbon caramel soufflés. They sound fucking amazing, and I want to know exactly how you're planning to blow everyone's minds with them. Matter of fact, tell me about any dish you want to make. Which dish is the one you're most excited about?"
"So I'm thinking of doing these little bites throughout the night." I pull up my sketches on the tablet, showing Carla. "Starting with caviar pearls on brioche, then moving to duck confit spring rolls with plum sauce. For the mains, I want to do lamb lollipops with mint chimichurri, those black truffle mac and cheese bites, and mini lobster pot pies."
My fingers swipe through the images as I envision each dish floating through the party on elegant silver trays.
"Then for the grand finale, those bourbon chocolate soufflés we talked about, paired with salted caramel macarons and gold-dusted truffles."
"That's some serious fine dining." Carla nods approvingly. "Very on-brand for a billionaire's party."
In my mind, I can already see Leo Blackwood's guests savoring each bite, their eyes lighting up with pleasure. Olivia and Celia exchanging proud looks as the food becomes the talk of the evening. This could be my breakthrough moment, the one that puts my name on the map.
But then it hits me – the familiar tightness in my chest. The voice that sounds too much like Benjamin's. You're reaching too high. Playing with the big leagues when you're barely out of the minors.
My hand trembles as I reach for a bunch of fresh cilantro. The leaves blur before my eyes as memories surface – Benjamin hovering over my shoulder in our old apartment kitchen, critiquing every move, every decision.
No. Not today. I grip the herbs tighter, inhaling their sharp, clean scent. Focus on the present. On the fresh ingredients under my fingers. On Carla's steady presence beside me.
"I need Thai basil, microgreens, and edible flowers." I straighten my spine, pushing my cart forward with purpose. "And those specialty mushrooms from the Asian market across town."
Each ingredient I select is a small victory, a step further from who I used to be. The Benjamin in my head can doubt all he wants – I've got a party to plan for and a future to build.