The First Taste

Chapter 16 #2

Heading into the back hallway, I run into Chef André.

He is maybe forty years old; his dark hair is starting to thin on top, and his frame is angular and athletic.

Someone once said to me that you can never trust a skinny chef, but I just try to smile, pretending that I am not crying as I try to sneak past him.

He approaches from the back door, having just been outside. He takes one look at me and exhales a long sigh, smelling like he just smoked a cigarette. "What is your name?" he asks.

I stop and wipe away my tears the best I can. "Talia."

"Okay. There are a lot of rules for working in a restaurant. But one of them is that there are no tears. Or rather, maybe that should be the number one rule. In any event, I think I will send you home early."

God, how embarrassing. I shake my head, trying to wipe away my tears. "I swear, Mr. André, I don’t normally cry at work."

He holds up a hand to stop my protests. "I’m too bored for you to keep talking. Also, I have to get back to the kitchen. Listen, I want you to go home, calm yourself down, and when you come back, bring a better attitude. You must do better the next time you come to work."

I look at him with wide eyes, not even sure what to say. He looks at me, his expression intent. "I need you to say that you understand what I’m saying to you."

I gulp in a breath and nod quickly. "Of course. I understand. It’s just…"

He waves a hand, dismissing me. "Okay. Don’t let it happen again, Talia. One time, I let it slide. Two times and you’re out. You understand?"

I nod, a little stunned. He rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, heading down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I want to scream. I don’t because I’m afraid I’ll lose my job.

But I can feel pressure building in my throat, heated by rage.

I don’t normally think this about people, but that chef can go fuck himself.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need every penny I can get at this point.

That’s assuming that I keep deferring my decision about my pregnancy and run out of time to make a rational choice.

It’s only been a few days since I found out, but it feels like it’s been a thousand years.

I pull out my phone, unsure who to text. It’s a short list that I have to choose from. Olivia, Aunt Minnie, a few other work contacts... or Dare, I suppose. God, if I wanted my day to get worse, I could definitely call him.

Instead, I text Olivia and ask her what she is doing. She texts back right away, asking if I’m done with work. And then before I can answer, she follows up that question with an offer to drive me home. I wipe my eyes and text her back. We plan that I will just meet her at my house.

I catch the bus home, and my stomach rumbles as I walk the few blocks to my house.

I live in a fairly prosperous part of town, but my house is just on the other side of a very rich neighborhood.

I walk down the street, seeing the familiar row of little bungalows.

They have yet to be torn down and rebuilt, so if you just looked at my street, you might think you were in the post-World War II USA.

Well, if you squinted a little and ignored the dingy, worn-down quality of the houses on my street.

Just as I trudge up my front walkway, heading to my little drab green bungalow, I see that Olivia is in fact waiting for me on the front porch steps. She looks up and raises a pizza box in the air, wiggling her eyebrows in invitation.

Running the last few steps up to her, I help her up and then hug her hard. She laughs and balances the pizza box with one arm as she embraces me. "That bad of a night, huh?"

"You have no idea. The people who eat at Tusk are so wealthy and entitled. In fact, I am pretty sure that Dare Morgan must hang out there all the time."

She smiles. "Well, that really stinks. But on the upside, I did bring you dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I am starving. I got sent home before I had a chance to order anything at the restaurant."

Unlocking the front door, I let myself in and carefully hang up my heavy overcoat by the front door.

The front door leads directly into the crowded living room. It only has a TV and the couch, as I have been cleaning and throwing away all the clutter that Aunt Minnie brings home on a regular basis.

Olivia closes the door behind her and pulls up a battered folding table, setting the pizza down. She shoos me over to the couch. "Sit down. Take a load off. I’ll grab the plates."

A wave of exhaustion hits me suddenly and I nod. "Okay. But just because I have been on my feet for like twelve hours straight today between working at the bookstore and at the restaurant. That’s the only reason I am going to let you feed me expensive takeout."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "It’s Carl’s Pizza. Nothing fancy at all. I just got mushrooms and pepperoni. And because I went to the store and picked it up, it was like fifteen bucks."

I collapse on the couch and stick my feet out, grimacing at the way they are throbbing. When Olivia returns with a stack of cloth napkins and two thrift store plates, I fix her with a solemn look. "Fifteen dollars is a lot to blow on one meal."

She hands me a plate and a napkin and sits down beside me. "First of all, no, it isn’t. You’re just cheap. Second of all, this pizza will probably last me at least one more meal, if not two."

She opens the pizza box, and the most amazing smell ever wafts out. She places two slices of pizza on her plate before turning the box to face me.

I try to be economical and only pull one slice out of the box. But she points to it with a stern look. "Take another slice. Really. I insist."

"You’re spending your money on needless things!" I protest.

"The key word there is my money. Let me spend it how I want to," she chides me. "Come on, I’m being generous. Let me enjoy the moment."

I heave a sigh and lean forward, taking a second slice. Olivia already has a huge mouthful of pizza, so I give her a quiet smile. "Thank you, Olivia. This is just what I need right now."

She giggles. "It’s what we all needed, deep down."

The pizza smells amazing as I bring it to my lips. I am eating with my eyes as much as I am preparing myself for such a decadent treat. Take-out pizza is not something that is usually on the menu for me, that’s for sure.

But the second I put the pizza slice in my mouth, I feel my belly gurgle. I was starving literally half a second ago. But now that my mouth is closed around the tip of the pizza, taking in a mushroom, my hunger has shifted to nausea. Before I can even take a solid bite, I retch in my throat.

I fling the pizza away from my face, spitting the chewed-up remnants into my hands. A wave of nausea hits me, and I retch again, pressing my nose into my arm.

Olivia stands up, alarmed. "What’s going on? What can I do?"

I cough, shaking my head, and run to the bathroom. I barely have time to dump the chewed bits of pizza in the sink before I throw up a little bit of burning liquid. I retch for another minute and then step back, feeling perplexed.

Why did the pizza make me feel so sick, so suddenly? I have no idea. It takes me another couple of minutes to clean up after myself in the bathroom.

When I walk out of the small bathroom and emerge into the living room, I am hit by the smell of pizza once more. I gag and turn towards the kitchen, covering my nose and mouth with my hand. "The pizza… Can you…"

"Oh God, yes." Olivia is on her feet, carrying both the plates and the pizza box. She takes them outside, leaving the door open and letting the room fill with cold air. I drink in gulps of the fresh air, trying not to vomit.

Olivia sticks her head in the front door, looking at me with concerned eyes. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nod. I hold my mouth in just a certain way that seems to be keeping me from throwing up and I just ride out the wave of nausea until it passes. At last, I sit down on the couch again and sink back, looking up at the ceiling and letting my head fall back.

"Oh my God. If that’s a sign of pregnancy, maybe I don’t want to deal with it right now." I'm half-joking, my remark not really meaning anything. But Olivia shuts the front door, looking at me carefully as she takes her seat again.

"Does that mean you have made up your mind about it?"

I look over at her, shaking my head. "No. I was just kidding. I haven’t made up my mind one way or the other."

"Well," she sighs and looks around the room, as if deciding how much to say. She has a tendency to nag and I really appreciate her clear attempt to reign it in now. "You know you are going to have to decide one way or another eventually."

She’s rustling her overcoat off and throwing it over the arm of the chair. Standing up, I take her coat and hang it beside mine.

"I’m going to make myself some dry toast. You want some?"

She shrugs. "Sure. I could go for some dry toast. Why not?"

She follows me into the small kitchen. Everything in here is a shade of brown. Brown ceramic tile on the counter and floor, with light brown near the cabinets. I wrestle a loaf of bread from the pantry cabinet and place two slices in the toaster. Then I turn, leaning against the counter.

Olivia leans against the opposite counter and crosses her arms, looking me up and down. "Okay, here’s the thing."

She quirks her head, curious. "I’m listening."

"So, I definitely want a family. Like I said before, I really want to have a bunch of kids. And now I am wondering... What if this is the only chance I will ever have to get pregnant? What if I never conceive again after getting an abortion?"

She purses her lips. "That is not really a common side effect or anything. In fact, it’s not even a rare one. It’s possible, but in the same way that it’s possible that you might win the lottery without even buying a ticket. You know? Not unthinkable, but just really, really unlikely."

I exhale a sigh. Our toast pops up, and I offer her a piece, grabbing her the peanut butter and a knife. She spreads peanut butter on her toast and looks at me.

"It makes me nervous," I say finally.

"People go on to have really beautiful children after an abortion. Don't let a lifetime of fear mongering and incomplete information make your decision for you."

I take a tiny nibble of my toast, nodding slowly. "You’re right, of course."

"I am a scientist by nature. I seek the truth."

"And I am very glad to have inner circle privileges. But… here’s the thing: telling Burn Morgan that I am pregnant with his child? It seems… I don’t know, unfathomable. Especially after I met his fiancée."

Olivia looks at me, her eyebrows arching. "Tell me more about that."

"Oh yeah. Burn and his fiancée Daisy were at the Morgan estate the other night. So, I realize that in sleeping with me, Burn was essentially cheating on Daisy. Actually, he was not doing anything essentially. He was just plain cheating. And now I’m supposed to show up with news that literally no one wants to hear? "

"Well, it’s your decision. But if you want, I will go with you to tell Burn. Whenever you decide to do it, that is. Because if you decide to have this baby you definitely have to tell him."

"How am I supposed to show up with this news that no one wants to hear? What is Burn going to think? He is going to think that I’m a burden.

He’s going to think that me and my child are both an albatross—a weight around his neck pulling him down into the water.

And I don’t want anyone to ever feel that way about me.

I don’t want my child to grow up thinking that they are imposing on someone. No way. I’ve done that my whole life."

"You may have felt that way, but realistically, you were never a burden. You couldn’t have been. Without you, who would have kept Minnie from drowning in her own mess?"

For a moment, I think that Olivia is referring to Aunt Minnie's loan from a loan shark. But that’s when Olivia gestures around her, to the disaster of a house that I’ve spent so much time cleaning.

"I guess," I say apathetically.

"So?" Olivia asks.

I give a slow nod. "Yeah. I think that I can’t stop feeling a little bubble of excitement in my heart at the thought of having a baby.

I know that it will probably be chaotic.

And probably not the best childhood that I could’ve provided if I had only waited a few more years.

But…" I motion with my hand. “How can I get rid of this bundle of cells when I have such a deep yearning for a child? "

She gives me a tiny smile. "I don’t know. I don’t know if you can."

I push off the kitchen counter and hug myself. "I am not going to do it, then. I’m not going to have an abortion. I’m going to keep the baby."

Olivia’s squeal of glee shocks me a little bit. She lunges at me from across the kitchen, wrapping me in her arms and squeezing me tight. "Yes! I knew you were going to decide that."

I break away. "I will need help triangulating where Burn is going to be. Maybe in the next two or three days?"

"Wow, you are taking this very seriously. I appreciate your total commitment."

Olivia pulls out her phone and scrolls for a minute. "So, I found Burn on Instagram..."

"You what?"

"Just let me have this moment. I found him on Instagram, and according to his post from today, the whole family is gathering at the Morgan estate tonight for yet another charity ball. That’s probably your best chance."

I blow out a shaky breath, and my heartbeat skyrockets. The very thought of having to tell Burn that he knocked me up is unnerving, if nothing else. "Okay. Okay. You’re going to have to help me figure out what to wear to tell Burn that his one-night stand got me pregnant and I am keeping the baby."

Olivia beams at me, as though I just told her that she won the lottery. "I thought you’d never ask. Come on, come to my house. Let me dress you up. Then you can go in style."

I shake my head and roll my eyes, but I let her pull me out of the room.