23. Alex
23
ALEX
T he mood is subdued as we finish cleaning up. Somehow, I feel both better and worse than I did before we argued. I’m glad that she’s not seeing that Sammy guy romantically, but I feel terrible about not believing her. The look on her face when I called her a liar…it was like I’d plunged a dagger into her heart. I definitely felt like the big bad wolf at that moment.
Even though I apologized—and meant it—I still feel awful.
Normally, we try to record at least two recipes when we get together and set everything up, but I don’t see it happening this evening. In addition to butting heads, the weather is also killing the atmosphere. I hear rumbles of thunder, and the sky is dark enough that there isn’t a lot of natural light filtering into the kitchen. The mood in the kitchen is somber at best.
But I’m not ready for Nora to leave yet, so I do some quick thinking while she puts away the leftover food.
“How do you feel about something sweet?” I ask her. She looks like she’s about to say no, but then she bobs her head.
“I could eat some dessert,” she replies with a small smile. I’m glad we’re both down for drowning our feelings in sugar. It’s good that we’re compatible in that way.
“Great, I have a plan. You sit down somewhere, and I’ll take care of everything.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m just supposed to sit and watch?”
“You don’t even have to watch. If you want, you can go put your feet up in the living room. The recliner directly across from the TV is the most comfortable one, and the remote is right there on the table.”
I pretend not to notice her hovering uncomfortably in the doorway as I bustle around, preheating the oven and pulling out bowls and ingredients to clutter up the counters we just cleared. After a moment, I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye as she slips out of sight into the living room.
For the next thirty minutes, I stay seventy percent focused on the task at hand, mixing, scooping, and baking. The other thirty percent of my brain is wondering what Nora is doing and trying to convince me to go check on her. All I can see when I peek around the corner is the top of her head over the back of the recliner. I’m glad she decided to relax for a few minutes, although I’m not sure what she’s doing since the TV isn’t on.
Finally, I heap stacks of slightly cooled cookies on two plates and add mugs of cold milk. I carry them to the living room and stop in front of Nora. “Dessert is served.”
She looks up from the book she’s reading like she’d forgotten I was even in the house. Holding up my copy of Michael Crichton’s Timeline , she grins sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind. I found it in the drawer of this side table.” She tips her head toward the table where I keep the remote and set drinks while I’m relaxing. “I read the description, and then one thing led to another…but I didn’t lose your spot.”
“No worries. Why don’t you take it home with you and finish it?”
“Really?” She looks like I’ve given her a diamond necklace or a sports car. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all, Rose.” I’d let her take anything in my house if it makes her this happy. No need to tell her I was actually quite enjoying the story myself. “Now, do you want a cookie, or do I have to eat them all myself?”
She hastily sets the book aside, flipping it upside down to mark her place, and reaches for a plate which I gladly relinquish. I settle onto the loveseat catty-corner to her recliner.
“Mmmm. Alex these are so good.” She licks a dab of melted chocolate off her finger and sighs happily. “Nothing beats a classic chocolate chip cookie.”
I take a big bite out of my own, and I have to agree, they turned out pretty well.
“I can’t believe how far you’ve come in just a few weeks,” she says, her compliment slightly garbled by another bite of cookie. “Your confidence and skill in the kitchen have grown so much. I’m so proud of you.”
It’s the same thing she said at the cookout, and I find I love hearing it just as much the second time. I don’t remember the last time someone said they were proud of me, and now she’s said it twice.
It makes the cookies twice as sweet.
I watch as she dips her cookie in the milk and nibbles the edge, her tongue sneaking out to catch a drop of milk on her bottom lip, her eyes half-closed in bliss. It feels good to know I contributed to that contented look. It feels good sitting with her, here in my living room, relaxing quietly, just the two of us. I realize that this is what I’ve been craving, this peaceful, quiet time with someone I care about.
And I do care about Eleanora Rose Beckham. All my hesitations around dating her fall squarely under the “it’s not you, it’s me” umbrella. The more I get to know her, the more I realize she’s so much better than I deserve.
And that is a punch to the gut because what I want more than anything is more nights exactly like this one. Except maybe with both of us on this loveseat together, her giggling while I feed her bites of cookie…
“What are you thinking about?”
Nora’s voice jolts me out of my daydream, and I blink at her. “Nothing important. Why?”
She tilts her head. “You were smiling.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Just enjoying these cookies.”
“They are pretty good.” She smiles and pops her last bite into her mouth before lowering her recliner. “But I need to get going. If I have one more cookie, I’ll go into a sugar coma and end up spending the night right here.”
“If you fell asleep in that chair with cookie crumbs on your shirt, I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She glances down self-consciously and I laugh. “I’m just kidding, you’re crumb-free.”
She shoots me a look and gets to her feet.
I’m still not ready for her to leave, but I’m out of stall tactics, so I stand up too and follow her to the kitchen. She comes to a halt just inside.
“Oh my gosh, you destroyed this place.”
Objectively, I can see why she’d say that. There are ingredients and dirty dishes everywhere, flour sprinkled on the counters. I barely remembered to put the milk back in the fridge. It probably looks like a kid was baking without his mommy.
“I was in a hurry,” I defend myself. “What kind of host leaves his guest waiting for refreshments?”
She laughs and starts to gather up a spoon, spatula, and bowl I left on the island. “I appreciate your consideration. But I have to wonder if you weren’t just hoping I would help you clean it up if you left it like this.”
That wasn’t what I was thinking, but I see the merit in the idea now that she’s pointed it out. Wasn’t I just wishing for an excuse to keep her here longer?
I grin. “You got me.”
She washes the bowl while I wipe the counters and stow my flour and sugar back in the pantry. I glance over at her and notice her pink lips puckered into a slight frown.
Now it’s my turn to ask, “What are you thinking?”
She glances up at me but doesn’t answer right away, taking her time rinsing the bowl and wiping it dry with a dish towel. Finally, she slings the towel over her shoulder and turns to face me with her arms crossed, one hip braced against the counter.
“Honestly? I was thinking about how ticked off I was earlier when you didn’t believe me. I almost walked out right then.”
I swallow and look down at the floor. “I really am sorry about that. I shouldn’t have called you a liar. I let my emotions get the best of me.”
“I know. You already apologized, and I forgive you, Alex. But it brought up some things that I haven’t thought about in a while that seem to be coming up a lot recently.” She fiddles with the corner of the towel, thinking.
“Anything I can help with?” I ask.
She smiles sadly. “I’m afraid not. The thing is, I haven’t been completely honest with some people. I might not have lied outright, but I definitely didn’t correct them when I knew they believed something untrue, and it’s really been bothering me lately. I think it’s why I reacted so strongly when you called me a liar.”
I lean back against the island and wait. If she wants to say more, I’m ready.
“Did you know I went to culinary school?”
I blink. “No, I didn’t. But you have a natural talent in the kitchen, so it makes sense.”
“Yeah, only I never finished.”
“Okay.” I sense there’s something deeper going on here, but I don’t know what. “Why did you quit?”
“I didn’t quit. I was kicked out.”
Now this surprises me. Nora is such an easy person to get along with, and she’s clearly passionate about food. I would have predicted she graduated at the top of her class. My face must show my disbelief because she gives me a wry smile.
“Shocking, huh? I’m a kitchen delinquent.”
I shake my head, frowning. “I don’t think so. I get the feeling there’s more to that story. Am I right?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I guess that depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you, Rose.”
She stares at me for a moment, her lips quirking up ever slightly. “I like it when you call me that.”
I smile because I like it too. It fits her. She’s lovely and sweet, but also a little thorny when you push her. I saw that thorny side earlier, and I liked it. Not in the moment, of course, but thinking back on our exchange, I’m glad she stood up for herself and put me in my place.
“So what happened? Why didn’t you get to finish?”
She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. I bet she’s trying to decide if she wants to tell me or not, and I mentally cheer when she takes a deep breath and begins.
“I was halfway through the program when we had an assignment to come up with an original recipe that we would present to a panel of instructors. I was excited because I had some great ideas that I’d been making notes on for several weeks, and it wasn’t a secret that this assignment was coming. But there was this other girl in my class who had it out for me. I don’t really know why. She just didn’t like me from day one.”
“That’s hard for me to imagine unless she was intimidated by your awesomeness, but go on.”
She smiles at my interjection. “I don’t think that was it. Anyway, I tried my best to steer clear of her whenever I could. I just wanted to finish the program and get my certificate. So we got to the assignment, and I created this pasta dish that turned out really well, with a creamy pesto sauce and grilled veggies. The panel loved it—until the other girl made almost the exact same thing and accused me of stealing the recipe from her.”
“Uh oh.” I think I see where this is going, and it’s not good.
“Of course, I told them that I had written notes for that recipe down weeks ago, and I tried to show them in my notebook but that page was gone. I can only assume she ripped it out and took it.”
“And they didn’t believe you.” It’s a statement, not a question. This totally explains why my doubt of her explanation earlier hit her so hard. I’m sure it brought up the same feelings she had when this happened.
“No, it was my word against hers, and since her parents had recently made a pretty big donation to the school’s scholarship fund, I guess that was the tiebreaker. Plus, it didn’t help that I was already on the administration’s bad side for lodging a complaint against one of my instructors. Apparently, they preferred that students keep allegations of inappropriate behavior to themselves. Even though I know for a fact I wasn’t the only girl who was uncomfortable around that guy.”
My eyebrows pull together, and I feel a knot of anger in my stomach. “So they didn’t do anything about it?”
“Not a thing. They said that without solid evidence to substantiate my claims, they were unable to take any disciplinary measures against him.”
“They didn’t believe you.”
“I’m not sure if they didn’t believe me or just didn’t care enough to do anything about it. The end result is the same, I guess.”
I shake my head, clenching my fists. “I can’t believe that happened to you.”
She shrugs. “That kind of thing happens to people—especially to women—all the time. Why not me? I bet it’s happened to people you know before.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then I realize that she’ll only see that as dismissing her again. Besides, she’s left me with plenty to think about.
As the HR manager at our Nashville office, I’m the guy who deals with complaints like the one she submitted to the school. Allegations of misconduct very rarely come across my desk, but now I’m questioning how many incidents go unreported because of the assumption that nothing will be done. I make a mental note to be diligent in the future to give the cases that do cross my path the attention they deserve. I think I’ve done that in the past, but I feel more aware of it now.
“I’m really sorry, Rose. What happened after that?”
“I got a job in a chain restaurant—the one I’m with now—and worked my way up to head cook over the last three years. But I haven’t told you the worst part yet.”
My heart drops into my stomach. What else could have happened to her that would be worse than what she’s already told me?
“I never told anyone that I got kicked out.” Her voice is almost a whisper like she’s afraid someone might overhear. “My parents think I graduated.”
I nearly sigh in relief. I mean, it’s not great that this is weighing on her. But it’s certainly better than another terrible thing happening to her on top of all that other stuff.
“They didn’t get suspicious when there wasn’t a ceremony to attend?”
She shakes her head and continues fidgeting with the towel on her shoulder. “Whenever they would ask me how school was going, I would just change the subject. Then graduation happened while COVID was raging in 2020, so I told them there wasn’t going to be a ceremony, that the students would just get their certificates mailed to them. Which was true, I just wasn’t one of the students expecting mail.”
So it’s been several years since all this happened. Years that she’s been carrying the weight of this secret all by herself. My heart goes out to her.
“Why didn’t you tell them?” I ask, trying to understand.
“Because I was embarrassed.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, but it’s more complicated than that.” Her eyes well up, and she blinks back tears. “My parents didn’t want me to go to culinary school. No one in either of their families had ever gone to college, and they wanted me to be the first. And I could have done it. I always liked school, had good grades. I even got accepted to a couple of schools and went to one for a year as a business major. But I wanted to work with food, and in the end, they gave me the little bit of money that they had saved for me to go to college and said they trusted me.”
She scoffs bitterly, a tear breaking free to trickle down her cheek. “And look what happened. They were right. I should have gone to college instead of wasting their money on a pipe dream.”
“Hey, don’t cry.” I cross the kitchen in two big steps and lean against the counter next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She turns and folds into me, her forehead resting against my chest as she sniffs and gulps air, trying to stem her tears. I bring my other arm around and pat her back gently.
After a moment, she leans back and I let her go reluctantly. I’m glad her tears are slowing, but I would have been happy to have her in my arms a little longer.
She swipes at her eyes with her fingertips and snorts a mirthless chuckle. “I bet you’re wishing I’d left after the cookies and let you clean up by yourself.”
“Not at all, Rose. I’m just sorry you’re sad.”
“Me too, but I’m kind of used to it by now. This is just who I am.”
“I like who you are.”
She blinks up at me in disbelief. “You like dropouts who lie to their parents and cry all over their friends? Sounds like something is wrong with you.”
I laugh. “I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe next time I’ll tell you my story and let you see just how messed up I am. But yeah, I like you. I see a girl who knows what she wants and tried to make it happen. I see a girl who cares about honoring her parents and feels bad about keeping something from them. I see a girl who is making something of herself even despite all of the obstacles that life has thrown her way.”
Her face crumples and at first, I think I said the wrong thing, but then she snuggles into my chest again and says, “Aww, now you’re really making me cry.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. These are happy tears.”
We stand like that for a long minute until she pulls back.
“Thank you, Alex. It feels good to tell someone the whole truth. Thank you for not judging me.”
“Nobody’s perfect, not even me.” I wink at her, and she hiccups a laugh. She has no idea how serious I am about that.
“And hey, it’s never too late to talk to your folks. I bet they’d be more understanding than you think.”
“I don’t know. Every day that goes by makes it weirder to tell them the truth. I never even told Sammy that I didn’t finish because I was afraid it would get back to my parents.”
“You could write them a letter. Maybe that would be easier than calling them one day and saying, ‘Hey Mom, I have something to tell you.’”
“Or an email. That way they can reply with all their disappointment immediately,” she quips, and I’m glad to see her sense of humor returning.
“Now you’re using your head.”
Nora glances at her watch. “I really do need to go. I have work tomorrow.”
“I won’t keep you, then.”
She gathers her bag and the now empty crate that she brought ingredients over with and I walk her to the door. I flip on the porch lights and follow her out to her car, opening the backdoor so she can stow her stuff inside.
She pauses with her hand on the driver’s side door handle. “Good night, Alex. Thanks again.”
“Good night, Rose.”
As I watch her drive away, all I can think about is the desire to call her back and wrap my arms around her again.