Chapter 4
AVA
Iwoke up on Friday with sore limbs, feeling groggy. It took me a few moments to silence the alarm on my phone and register the time. Six a.m. It took me a few more seconds to realize why I’d stayed up late last night—I’d helped Mrs. Wilson haul a friend’s used couch into her house.
Today was the day I’d be meeting with the new investor for Mom’s restaurant.
I bit back my groan and steeled myself for a tough day. I headed to the bathroom, turning the radio on and picking up my toothbrush and paste while I listened to the radio blasting a hit number from my favorite band, The Butchers.
“I tried to change, but I couldn’t—” the male lead singer crooned from the radio as I began to brush.
The lights went out.
The radio fell silent, and I could hear only the whooshing sound of water in my now-dark bathroom.
I rinsed my mouth out and walked out of the windowless bathroom into my living space.
Sunlight streamed in through the two windows, lighting up the tiny mattress on the floor, the desk and plastic chair by the coat closet.
A narrow kitchen stove occupied the counter by the far wall and a two-in-one washer and dryer stood in the space underneath the counter.
I poked my head out the window and looked around.
The building across from us had lights on.
When I ran to the window by the paltry stove, I could even see lights in the building next to mine.
Sigh.
Every morning, Mrs. Wilson, who lived right downstairs in this creaky, old, multifamily Victorian building—which still had the original wiring that had come with the house—ran a high-powered hair dryer on her dog.
It fluffed up his fur and got rid of his ticks, she insisted when I’d asked her about it once.
The high-powered hair dryer also frequently tripped the breaker and made us lose power every other morning.
I ran out of my studio in my house slippers and down the stairs to her door and knocked.
“Mrs. Wilson,” I said, realizing too late that a bit of toothpaste was on my chin. “The lights have gone out.”
Please have a fix, I pleaded, not knowing what else was stuck to my face. I needed to wash up. Preferably in a lit bathroom.
She opened the door and leaned on her cane as she looked back at me. To her credit, she didn’t mention the toothpaste stuck to my face even though her eyes darted to it. The only look on her serene, chubby face was that of confusion.
“My dear, I promise you, it wasn’t the hair dryer. I haven’t used it all morning.”
She hobbled closer to the door on her cane, her hair in tight, bouncy curls. I stared at her hair for a second longer, gears clicking into place in my mind.
“Did you get a brand-new curling iron, Mrs. Wilson?” I asked, putting two and two together.
She beamed at me. “Yes, it’s fantastic. You should try it out sometime.”
She’s right that it wasn’t the hair dryer that tripped the breaker this time.
“Now, my dear,” she said, “I made a mean shrimp gumbo yesterday, and I remembered that it was a recipe I got from your mom at her restaurant. I saved some for you.”
Shrimp gumbo. I frowned. Mrs. Wilson knew that it was my favorite. Which meant she knew something about today that she was trying to make me feel better about.
“Mrs. Wilson, do you know about the new investors taking over Mom’s restaurant today?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe as she walked back to her kitchen.
“The investors? Hmm … you might’ve mentioned it last night when we moved the couch in,” she called back, attempting and failing to sound casual as she pulled open cabinets.
Mrs. Wilson had known my mother until she died a year ago. She had been a frequent visitor at my mom’s restaurant up until her death.
She came back to the door with a blue Tupperware container, and all my defenses melted away.
“Aww, Mrs. Wilson, thank you. You shouldn’t have,” I said, feeling touched.
The used couch took up a large part of her living area, and going by the way her dog was blissfully curled up on it, it was worth the trouble.
“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “Your mother would’ve done the same for me if I had a daughter. Now, I’ll make a call to the electrician. Don’t you worry about it.”
Nothing can help the electric wiring in this house.
With a sigh, I took my shrimp gumbo and headed back to my apartment to change within the dark interior.
I washed my face again and chose the first turtleneck sweater I could find and matched it with dark brown cargo pants.
I picked up a heart-shaped locket that I regularly wore, one that I had skipped for the date with Harvey.
Inside was a picture of Mom from ten years ago.
From a time when she had been simpler and more honest with me.
The kind of mom I wanted to remember her as.
I slipped it on with some hesitation and headed out the door. Some days, I felt like this locket was lucky. Other days, I wasn’t so sure.
“Stay warm, Mrs. Wilson,” I called out as I rushed past her door, deciding to get coffee at work.
I heard her call back a thank-you.
This morning, the temperature was in the forties, and I knew Mrs. Wilson relied on the heat to keep herself and her dog warm.
It took ten minutes to make it to my subway station. It had been an eventful morning, and I could feel the chilly air on my cheeks as I got onto the train. I found a vacant seat and drew a deep breath. I had twenty minutes of calm before my meeting.
I double-checked my messages to see if I’d heard from Desmond again, but I hadn’t. Feeling a bit deflated, I looked out the window at the shops and residential buildings that we passed in quick succession.
I had been surprised at how much he remembered of me. And disappointed that it didn’t translate into wanting any more contact. What kind of man was he now? Not the kind of man who would finish three entire tubs of awful Cherry Garcia ice cream to win a dare, I’d bet.
I closed my eyes and forced Desmond out of my mind. It wasn’t too hard since I had a looming big question ready to take its place. One that troubled me a lot.
What changes would our new investor make once he took over Mom’s restaurant?
It had been almost ten months since Mom had passed away, but I still couldn’t get used to calling it mine anymore.
Just like I couldn’t get used to the idea that my mom had hidden things from me.
The shock of discovering that she’d had health issues that she never discussed with me still hurt me, even ten months on.
It simply added to the grief of having lost her so suddenly.
To the feeling of disorientation and loss that accompanied my days, no matter how hard I tried to find a purpose to my life.
Twenty minutes later, I got out at the 34th Street subway station.
I walked past the covered waiting area to the street across.
I walked five blocks down to reach the tallest multistory building in the vicinity, made of steel and glass.
Thomas Stein, a director at Luxe Hotels, had informed us that they were buying Mom’s restaurant and invited Gabriela, the manager, and me, the owner, to meet with them.
Our previous and very hands-off investor, Ray Murphy had been very approving of Luxe Hotels.
I stared at the towering skyscraper in wonder for a long time before I approached it.
I pulled open the large glass door and walked into the lobby.
It was spacious, the ceiling at easily twenty feet high, and had bright overhead lighting with a reception area and a large fireplace and comfortable chairs around a rectangular table off to the side.
The shiny floor was a beautiful white marble with gray and black veins.
To my left was a small but interesting café, which, at the moment, seemed to be running at capacity with all of its two customers.
My footsteps echoed off the walls as I walked in.
I saw Gabriela standing by the fireplace with a smile on her face and, to my utter relief, two cups of coffee in her hands.
She caught sight of me and walked up with a smile, holding a cup out to me.
“How did you know?” I asked, taking the cup and bringing it to my lips.
I closed my eyes as I drew in a sip of the nutty, smoky Columbian brew. Gabriela had gotten it just the way I liked it—hot, mildly creamy with just a tad bit of sugar. I owed her big time.
When I opened my eyes, she was grinning at me. “Your building loses power like clockwork every other morning,” she said. “You need to move out of there.”
I took another sip, spotting a large elevator off to the side and stairs with polished golden banisters going up to the floors above. “I told myself I’ll move out when the restaurant makes a profit.”
“Meanwhile, you know there’s a spare room in my home that you’re welcome to,” Gabriela added, leading the way to the elevator. “Troy is looking forward to taco nights with you since he says you make the best tacos.”
Gabriela’s five-year-old son, Troy, could eat tacos every night of the week.
As much as I was tempted to share a home with Gabriela and her kid, I still wanted a place that was just mine. Something that belonged to me and had reliable electricity.
“Thanks,” I said after a moment while we waited for the elevator. “You know I appreciate that even if I don’t take you up on it.”
I paused and grinned, remembering something. Elbowing her gently in the ribs, I asked, “On another note, how much did you make by betting on my abysmal date?”
Gabriela threw her head back and laughed. “I lost twenty dollars,” she said, punching me playfully on the arm. “Sorry about that.”
“Uh-huh,” I said in a noncommittal voice. “You know it’ll be payback time when you go on a date next.”
“That’s only fair.” She grinned as we got onto the elevator, and she pressed a button for the fifth floor, explaining, “Otto, at reception, told us to go to the meeting room on floor five.” She gave me a sideways glance.
“By the way, he’s cute. And his favorite author is Gillian Flynn.
” This time, she winked at me not so subtly.
I owned every book ever written by Gillian Flynn, but I wasn’t taking Gabriela’s bait.
“I did go on a date yesterday, and I’m not going down that road again,” I murmured as a few more people in suits and business attire bustled into the elevator before the doors closed.
“Besides, if you knew the guy’s favorite author in the time that you were waiting for me, perhaps you are the one who ought to be going on this date. ”
She groaned. “Don’t start on me.”
I elbowed her back gently. “You did it first,” I said, and we both grinned.
Gabriela hadn’t dated since her divorce five months ago, and because she still held on to her engagement ring, none of us had the heart to push her into the dating world yet.
The elevator climbed up the floors, and each time it stopped, I could see the cubicles spread out on each floor before the doors closed again. Everything looked cookie-cutter and sterile.
“This is a bad idea, Gabi,” I muttered as she followed my gaze. “The restaurant won’t work with management like this.”
In return for Luxe Hotels’ investment in my restaurant, they got a controlling stake and decision-making authority.
I did not like the sound of that, but I was in no position to argue.
We really needed the investment—even if Luxe Hotels’ major business investments were in extravagant hotels around the world, not restaurants.
“We’re going to meet him and decide if we’ll work together or continue our search for another investor,” Gabi insisted.
She had been more in favor of the new investor than I ever was.
“I need you to promise me you’ll keep an open mind.
Going by how little Ray could invest in the restaurant, he couldn’t keep it running for much longer, Ava. ”
Gabriela kept her eyes on me, her gaze watchful. “I know you dream of buying our investor out someday, and it seems like we’re going in the opposite direction. I want to tell you, your dream can still come true. You just need some temporary help from someone else—that’s all.”
“This restaurant might not be standing a month after Luxe Hotels takes over,” I said, voicing my fears at last. “They can convert it into a branch of Olive Garden or tear down our restaurant completely.”
Gabriela was the only person in the world who could see through my complaints.
Well, she and Desmond. Back in high school, Desmond had seemed to have the same uncanny ability to do so.
I shuddered. He’d caught me lying that I didn’t have knee pain and carried me up three flights of stairs during a trip to a mall.
We’d caught a lot of eyes that day, but Desmond hadn’t cared.
Darn. I needed to stop revisiting those memories.
“Give the new investor a chance,” Gabriela said. “For all you know, you might really like the guy.”