Chapter 22
Late, much? Beatriz can’t help but call me out, stubbing out her cigarette as she watches Elias’s Land Rover drive away. Hey, isn’t that the guy from the reopening party? You’re dating him?
Yep, I reply, glancing at my watch. Eleven thirty.
Shit. I would have loved to take a quick shower, but my shift started half an hour ago.
As subtly as possibly, I take a whiff of my armpits and decide it’s nothing a little deodorant won’t fix.
The dip in the sea this morning was enough to rinse off any sweat and whipped cream remnants, so I resolve to shower during my break.
What a waste, Beatriz says, lighting up another cigarette. As if her life depends on it, she takes a deep drag from her doll-house-sized chimney stack, then exhales the smoke in my direction. Disgusting air invades my nostrils. Gross.
What do you mean? I cough out, flapping my hand to wave the cloud of smoke away from my face.
Just, you know... Using a gorgeous guy like that for a little holiday fling. Aren’t you leaving soon?
I blink a few times, stunned at her unflinching directness.
Not for another three weeks, I mumble softly. Three weeks. Anytime I allow myself to take a three-week vacation, it feels like oceans of time, but when I imagine saying goodbye to Elias in just three weeks, a thick knot begins to twist in my stomach. I swallow.
So, he’ll be fair game after that? She glances back in the direction where Elias just disappeared. Her cigarette wobbles between her lips as she speaks. Interesting...
I feel the knot in my stomach tighten and I bite my lip to keep myself from responding. Instead, I decide to ignore Beatriz and turn to walk inside. In the hallway, I grab an apron from the hook and tie it around my waist, covering the spot where I’m missing a button from my night with Elias.
Karel, the trainee chef who’s been helping Abuela out in the kitchen, is working on a Purrito Bowl, and Emilia is in a mad dash to carry a tray of salads outside.
Oh, thank God, she shrieks when she sees me walk in. Where have you been? It’s been crazy busy here! I was about to call Clara to ask her to come in.
I’m so sorry! I call out, rushing over to the Purrito Bowl as Karel adds a lemon wedge and coriander garnish. I lost track of time!
That one is for table four, Emilia says, nodding at the salad. What’s taking Beatriz so long?
I grab the bowl from Karel and rush out onto a patio full of chattering guests.
When I place the dish in front of a man who’s quietly enjoying a book, I wish him a wonderful meal, then sprint back inside.
The salt water has turned my hair into a giant fluffy mess.
Hoping to reduce the electrocuted-Einstein look I’m currently sporting, I comb my hands through my hair a number of times.
Ma’am! I ordered chicken with this You Make Miso Happy!
someone yells at me from one of the tables as I speed by.
I stop and find myself staring at a 4D-version of Johnny Bravo, including his signature enormous, blonde pompadour.
He might be wearing dark aviators, but I can tell he’s giving me an annoyed look.
Oh gosh, I’m sorry, sir, I reply, walking over to him. It’s actually a vegetarian dish and...
The man’s eyebrows pull closer together as he cuts me off. That chick with the curly hair said it was no problem, so... He flicks his hand as a signal for me to remove his bowl from the table. Dammit, Beatriz...
I loathe these stuck-up customers who feel like they can boss around serving staff whenever they feel like it.
I suppose that’s why biting your tongue and plastering a smile onto your face are two of the key requirements of the job.
So, I summon my best fake smile, pick up his bowl, carry it to the kitchen, and ask Karel to toss some oven-roasted chicken on top, even though it doesn’t go with this dish at all.
I notice the bar still isn’t staffed because Beatriz has gone AWOL, so I get behind the bar and start to work my way through the backlog of order tickets.
I soon realize I’m out of the coconut water I need for a Going Coconuts smoothie, so I head to the storage room, swearing under my breath as I go.
Once I open the door, I spot Beatriz leaning over a box of mangos.
There you are! I yell. Startled, she bolts upright and looks at me like I’ve caught her in the middle of something.
I’ve had enough of this. She takes so many smoke breaks that she must be going through three packs a day and she definitely isn’t working all the hours she’s being paid for.
Look, I really think we need to have a conversation about your performance soon, I say, walking over to the shelf where we store the coconut water.
I’m not a big fan of confrontation, but now that the restaurant is doing so well, we’re much more likely to attract potential employees. You know as well as I do tha...
When Beatriz quickly shoves the restaurant wallet back into her apron pocket, three banknotes—two fifties and a twenty—fall out of her pants pocket and float down to the ground. I glare from Beatriz to the money and back, a deep sense of rage boiling up inside me.
You’re the one who’s been stealing from the register?
I hiss in a tone that makes Beatriz’s eyes go wide with panic.
Aside from indifference, I’ve rarely seen her express any kind of emotion before.
Right now, though, all the blood has drained from her face and she gives me an anxious look.
Who the hell do you think you are? I scream, not realizing our guests can probably hear every word.
You’re as efficient as a laptop built in 1983, and even the money we actually pay you is way more than you deserve.
So what gives you the right to take even more money from us!
You know the financial situation we’re in and even though things are much better than they were, we still need every single cent of what comes in. Why, Beatriz? What were you thin...
The storage room door opens and Emilia walks in. Um, Eva? she says carefully. You might want to lower your voice a little. The guests can hear you out on the patio.
Because of her! Beatriz screams, pointing at Emilia whose jaw drops in shock. Beatriz glares at her with rage in her eyes, even though Emilia has no clue what’s happening. When you hired her, I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to find an excuse to kick me out. I need the money and...
I hold up my hand to silence her. If you had kept working as well as you did when we first hired Emilia and Clara, there would have been no reason to fire you.
I shake my head as my anger slowly transforms into disappointment.
Did it ever occur to you to just do your job?
To not take smoke breaks every fifteen minutes?
And most of all, to keep your hands off of the money?
Emilia’s lips shape into an O of understanding when she realizes what this conversation is about, then tosses a look of disapproval at her coworker.
Beatriz stares down at her feet as she fidgets with her apron strings.
I reach out my hand, palm up, and look at her with a deadpan expression on my face.
The money.
She hesitates, then reluctantly drops it into my hands, looking everywhere but directly at me. I keep my eyes trained on her, shaking my head as I tuck the cash into my apron.
I’m sure this goes without saying, but, Beatriz? You’re fired.