5. The Omelette Test
The Omelette Test
I ’ve got big news.”
I smack the car door shut and wait, the chirping of birds filling the silence as I squeeze the phone in my hand. I know Ian’s voice well enough to anticipate good news, but tension coils through me anyway. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“We have a menu.”
“Holy shit.” I tilt my head up, personally thanking every star in the dark sky. “We do?”
“We fucking do, Aaron. Wait?—”
There’s a shuffling noise, then I hear Amelie’s giggles. “You finally have an approved menu,” she cheers, the joyful sound ripping a smile out of me too. Fucking Beatrice must be the pickiest eater ever, because it took five attempts before she agreed to a menu for the next two weeks.
“Anything in there I don’t know how to do?”
“Nah. Well . . . your mac and cheese could use some fine-tuning, but?—”
“My what ?” When she laughs, I roll my eyes. I walk around the car and help Sadie remove her seat belt, and then she’s hopping down and running toward my parents’ house. “Funny.”
“You’ll do just fine, Aaron. Ian is saying that he’ll email you the finalized menu, okay? Give it a read.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“One more thing.”
I watch as Mom opens the door and picks Sadie up. They’re both smiling, which immediately lightens the weight on my chest. “What’s up?”
“Yes, I know it’d be easier if I just gave you the phone,” I hear her tell Ian, “but he’s my friend first and I won’t see him for a month. What am I supposed to say?” Ian’s muffled voice, then Amelie continues, “The client wants to meet you.”
“Yeah, all right?—”
“Today.”
Oh . I’m not supposed to start for another week, but seeing how anal this woman was with the menu, I’m not particularly surprised. “Sure, okay.”
“Ian says he’d come with you, but . . .”
“Don’t even think about it. You guys are leaving tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And I’m already trying as hard as I can not to call Barbara and check on Daisy. My husband says I’m not being helpful at all with packing.”
I lock the car and walk toward the front door. “You said Barbara is the best chef you’ve ever worked with.”
“I did.”
“And La Brasserie is one of the most successful restaurants in the country.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll keep an eye out, okay? Maybe stop there for some takeout.”
“Would you? I really need all my best people on this.”
“You got it. Now, focus on The Silver Spoon. And try to keep the cameras on your right—Ian says it’s your best side.”
She gasps, then I hear a smacking noise and Ian’s voice says, “Ow—what the hell?”
With a chuckle, I rush out a “Bye!” and hang up.
I slip my phone into my pocket and step up to the front door, the familiar scent of rosemary and garlic wafting from the kitchen before I even knock.
My mom has always been big on home-cooked meals, and if there’s one thing that never changes, it’s the fact that dinner at the Colemans’ will always smell incredible.
The door is already open a crack and as I step inside, I call, “Sadie?”
“In here with Grandpa!” her small voice chimes from the living room.
I find her perched on Darren’s recliner, legs swinging as she listens intently to whatever story he’s telling her. He glances up when he sees me. “There he is,” he says, giving Sadie’s back a light pat. “Sadie was just telling me about school. Is Miss Nieves a new teacher?”
Well, fuck. I barely stepped inside. “Uh . . . no. No, she’s a . . .”
Sadie perks up. “A counselor .”
Darren tilts his head in question, but I give him a look that I hope he reads as Not now and duck away to the kitchen.
I find Ma stirring her Marinara sauce on the stove. Logan’s favorite. The wooden spoon in her hands trembles slightly, clinking against the pot as she looks up at me, but before I can ask if she’s okay, she squeezes my hand. “You two eat yet?”
“No. Figured I’d mooch off you.”
She huffs, waving the wooden spoon at me. “ Mooch my ass. You barely come by, so sit down and eat.”
I smirk, grabbing a chair. “Good to see you too, Ma.”
“Yeah, yeah. Smart-mouth.” She huffs, joining me at the table. “How are you— really ?”
“I’m...” I’m okay, I guess. Since my meltdown on TOP a week ago, I decided it was time to stop waiting . It’s what I’ve been doing since Josie left and I think it’s hurting Sadie. Living in this sort of limbo. “Fine. I’m done wallowing.”
She begins slicing a loaf of bread. “I wasn’t aware you were wallowing . Does that mean you’re ready to try again?”
“Try?”
“With love, Aaron. You know, sharing your life with someone? Not growing old alone? You’re not a kid anymore.”
From the other room, Darren says, “You gotta give me and your ma more grandkids to fuss over.”
Yeah, right. I’m glad Darren’s around for my kid even though we’re not related by blood. Hell, he’s so important to me I took his last name when he formally adopted me. But one thing’s for sure: I’m not planning to give them any more grandchildren.
“I already have my plate full with Sadie.” I lower my voice and throw a look at the living room to make sure she’s where I left her. “Her teacher at school wants her to see a counselor. And I said I’d think about it, but what I meant was I need Josie to make this decision with me.”
She hums, crossing her arms.
“But it may be months before she comes back—if she ever does. So...I went ahead. And Sadie seems to like her. I’m sure it’ll be good for her.”
Ma nods, watching me with that expression like she’s reading through me. “That’s good. Real good.”
I hold her gaze. “You’ve been talking to Josie.”
“Did she say?”
I nod. “Right before she refused to even say hello to her daughter on the phone. And basically blamed her drinking on me.”
“Aaron, you know I’m not Josie’s biggest fan. She broke both my boys’ hearts. So much chaos for our family.” She shakes her head with a frown. “But she’s still Sadie’s mother?—”
I pick at a loose thread on the table cloth. “Is she?”
She looks down for a moment as though weighing her words carefully. “She hasn’t been the greatest co-parent, I’ll give you that. But for what it’s worth, she cares. I’ve heard her. She cries over Sadie. She misses her. More than you might realize.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
“Your anger is justified—believe me, I get it. I see how much you do for Sadie. But Josie is Sadie’s mother, and whether we like it or not, that’ll never change. For Sadie’s sake, we have to support her, encourage her, and give her a chance to come back.”
My shoulders sag as the weight of it settles in, and Ma reaches over, gently patting my hand. “It’s not easy. But you’re strong, and you’re doing the right thing for Sadie. Just remember, you don’t have to carry all of this alone. Whatever you need, you call me , okay?”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” She gently slaps the back of my head. “Want to try again with your mouth open?”
“Okay,” I grumble.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, whatever I need, I’ll call you.”
“Good. Now take the trash out, please.”
I stand, grabbing both bags. They’re unexpectedly heavy and as I open the door, something inside clanks loudly.
“That’s your ma’s doing,” Darren says as he trails after Sadie down the hall. “Four glasses, two plates, and one vase. She says they were accidents, but I have a strong suspicion she’s been getting rid of whatever she doesn’t like around the house.”
I huff out a laugh on my way out, still thinking of my mom’s words. Maybe I have been harsh on Josie, and whether she deserves it or not, hostility won’t make her come back any sooner.
I’m taking the last step back up the porch when I hear the phone ring inside. My mom’s voice comes next as she says, “Hello?” Then, “Oh, hi. Yes. Okay.”
I enter the kitchen and she covers the phone with one hand. “Call Sadie, please?”
Sadie?
I walk to the living room and tell Sadie someone’s on the phone for her. It must be Logan—he’s the only one who knows we’re here every Friday night.
“Hello?” Sadie grips the phone and brings it to her ear, her face splitting in a wide smile before she bursts into tears. “Mom! Mom, is that you? Daddy, it’s Mom!”
What?
Mouth wide, I turn to Ma, who gives me a silent I told you so .
I can’t believe Josie called. I can’t believe she’s talking to Sadie.
I walk to my beautiful, crying daughter and sit next to her on the floor, dragging her onto my lap. As she mumbles a few yeses and noes, I pull her hair back and dry her tears.
Now I’m really, actually fine.
“Woah.” I look up at the towering building in front of me, making sure the address I have is right. Josie and I moved to Roseberg after we got married, and this is the first I’m finding out this apartment complex even exists. It’s definitely the fanciest place in a fifty-mile radius.
So naturally, Mrs. Arnault lives on the top floor. The penthouse.
I straighten my jacket and take a deep breath, reminding myself I’ve done harder things than this. I’ve cooked for Amelie, and as patient a teacher she is, she demands perfection. I’ve consistently delivered perfection. It’ll be fine.
I ring the buzzer and the door swings open before I even hear the chime. A sharply dressed usher stands in the doorway, looking me up and down with a quick, impersonal glance. “I...I’m Aaron. Coleman. Mrs. Arnault’s private chef.”
He blinks. “Mrs. Arnault?”
“Yes, hmm . . . Beatrice.”
He hums. “Montgomery.”
Are we just throwing out random names? “What?”
“Come in,” the man says, stepping aside.
I follow him into a sleek, marble-floored hallway, my shoes clicking sharply against the polished surface. He doesn’t speak as he leads me to the elevator and presses the button for the top floor. The doors close with a low hiss, and we ascend in silence.
When we arrive, the usher steps out first and opens the only door on the floor. “Mrs. Arnault is expecting you.”
I nod, crossing the threshold out into the expansive penthouse. The air smells faintly of expensive flowers, and a long corridor extends in front of me. There’s an arch to the left and I see a living room through it.