Chapter 11
Cora
“Iwent to a few fancy events lately.” I shift from one foot to the other. “You would have hated it.”
The tombstone doesn’t answer, so I continue my monolog. “My friend is going through a rough patch, and she moved to London. You would have liked her.”
What do I know? I never got a chance to see what kind of person Ethan would become nearing his fortieth birthday.
“I have a date tonight. Geez, let’s hope it’s like riding a bike. I don’t even understand how the years went by, and I never truly moved on. Do you mind that I’m going out? Even if you do, I’m going to go through with it. You left me first, after all.”
I try to picture his face, his smile, but it’s too hazy. As much as I try to hold onto the memory of him, it’s fading with time.
Right after he passed, I had to save the bistro, helping my dad. It was the best antidote for grief… or an avoidance tactic.
“I’m still mad at you for it. And I fucking miss you.”
I squeeze the bouquet in my hand, and a green leaf falls onto my shoe. I better save the flowers. Squatting, I lay them down beside the stone, because the vase that is attached to it is filled with roses.
Ethan’s mother must be coming here regularly. A part of me wishes I would run into her. We didn’t get along before, but perhaps we would now. Bound by tragedy.
I don’t come here as often as I used to. Somehow, these visits became a reminder of what I lost, and stopped bringing any solace. Stopped healing me.
I decided to cut down on my visits after I realized it was holding me back. Not that I moved forward afterward.
But being here today feels therapeutic. Like the moment I decided to do something for myself, I freed up some energy to allow myself closure.
Like that tiny step forward—God, I hope the date will be exciting—gave me hope. Hope that I can forge a sliver of my own amid a life driven by circumstances.
“Well, duty calls. I’ll come again. I enjoyed our chat.” I snort silently and walk away.
The peace of the cemetery lingers when I walk into the bistro. Sanjay greets me while he steams milk for a cappuccino. I’m relieved to see we have a quiet pre-lunch hour.
It’s going to be a good day.
Putting on the apron, I dive into lunch prep, taking stock of morning deliveries. We offer salads, wraps, and sandwiches here, and one meal of the day. Today it’s a curry, and I cooked that yesterday, so the prep is on the lighter side.
“Boss, do you have a minute?” Sanjay leans against the door frame, monitoring the floor.
I’ve heard this line enough times to recognize the pattern—the question, the pause, the inevitable resignation—and dread coils in my stomach. “Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Soooo…”
Oh shit, he is hesitating. That’s not good news. Sanjay, don’t leave me. I don’t have the mental or physical capacity to cope with everything by myself.
“Sooo?” I prompt him. “Just say it. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I know that money is tight around here at the moment, but I thought maybe I could take on more responsibilities. I’m not asking for a raise right now, but if I prove myself, and it contributes to your bottom line…” He glances at the restaurant. “Shit, sorry.” He dashes to take someone’s order.
I follow him and wave to a couple of our regulars. Sanjay comes back and starts preparing the drinks.
“Have you just offered to work more for the same amount of money?” The skeptical me is looking for the catch.
“Look, Cora, I think there are things we can implement that would bring in more customers and revenue. If you allow me to take on a bigger role, I will prove that to you. Then we can talk about my cut.” He shrugs, smiling, while he glides behind the counter, preparing coffee, tea, and lemonades.
“I don’t have money for investments in improving anything, Sanjay.”
“I get that, but some of it is just a question of investing some time. To modernize the process, the menu presentation, and special offers. I would take care of that. Let me test some of my ideas for a month or so, and if you don’t see the impact…
well, I’ll be embarrassed, but you have nothing to lose. ”
I blink a few times. I should be excited about his willingness to put in more effort, but I’m still half-skeptical. “Okay. But answer one more question. Why?”
He sighs. “My wife wants a baby. And me, too, but I need to make more money. I went through many hospitality jobs, and you’re a good boss. I value that more than anything. And one day I would like to open my own place, so you’d really give me free training.”
I know there are minor changes that might lead to better financial performance, but there is a part of me that wants to keep this place the same as my dad left it. Like I’m preserving it for him to return to, which is a silly, unrealistic notion, but I can’t help it.
The mounting bills and the financial mess he left behind have prevented me from doing it as well. And at the end of the day, I don’t have the energy to change anything, so I just plow through, hoping that the same action will produce different results.
“Thank you, Sanjay.” For some outlandish reason, tears prickle behind my eyes, so I go hide in the back, blinking them away.
Accepting help is akin to a root canal to me. Why? I wish I knew. After years of doing everything solo, I’ve developed a co-dependent relationship with my own stubbornness.
I hate that Sanjay noticed the financial struggle and assumed that’s why we’re stagnating. Yes, that’s a big part of it.
But…
Every time I even think about changing something, it feels like I’m betraying my father. Like adjusting the menu or having a happy hour equals admitting he failed. Or worse—I did.
I know that’s ridiculous. I know the bistro is outdated, that it’s barely surviving on nostalgia and caffeine.
But the truth is… stuck feels safer than risking something new. At least stuck is predictable. Familiar. Exhausting, yes, but I know how to survive in it.
I’m tired—but I don’t know what I’d be without the weight. Letting go may feel like a relief. Or it may feel like giving up.
And honestly? I don’t have the energy to find out which.
“I hope I didn’t offend you.” Sanjay pokes his head in, interrupting my mindless rearranging of bowls and utensils.
“I have a hard time changing anything here, but I’m not going to curb your enthusiasm. This place needs a financial boost, so be creative.”
There is a big part of me that is completely sincere. But the vise on my stomach reminds me that I’m probably taking a much-needed leap I’m not ready to take.
“I’m freaking out.” I pace around my living room.
“Calm down. You look great.” Saar’s voice comes from the screen I propped on my coffee table.
“Can you stop for a second, so I can see you?” Celeste says.
I halt in front of the tablet’s camera. I’m wearing a dark green jumpsuit, and for whatever reason, I feel naked in it.
It’s too tight. Too revealing. Too much.
“You’re stunning,” Lily squeals enthusiastically.
“Seriously,” Saar offers. “Your boobs and hips look great. The cleavage is just slutty enough, while the whole look is classy.”
“I agree,” Celeste says. “The green brings out your eyes, and your hair down like this, with that green matching headband, is perfection.”
“You’re ready to dazzle him,” Lily says.
“What are we going to talk about?” I shake my shoulders to shed the nervous energy.
“Weather,” Saar teases.
I snort and sit down, turning the camera toward me. “I’m being ridiculous, am I not?”
“Just a little bit.” Celeste smiles.
“As someone who went through a dry spell myself, I can relate, but don’t let your nerves stop you from having fun,” Lily says, sipping her tea.
Her words should provide comfort, but they do the exact opposite. “Oh my God, hooking up is so much easier. You pick a guy at the bar, and you don’t have to go through the awkward dinner and conversation. Do I have to sleep with him tonight? Or is the three-date rule still in effect these days?”
“Jesus, relax finally.” Saar laughs. “You do whatever you want.”
“This is the worst idea ever. If I don’t like him… You guys know him. Corm will hate me.”
Saar snorts. “Corm doesn’t give a flying fuck about most people. Don’t you worry. Just enjoy yourself.”
“And if he’s not a perfect gentleman, we will have Caleb cancel his contract,” Celeste cackles, but something tells me she wouldn’t hesitate.
“You have nothing to worry about. If you don’t click, text me, and I’ll call you with some emergency,” Saar says.
“And if you click, that’s what you groomed your lady parts for.” Lily giggles.
I let out a strained laugh. “Okay, thank you for this emergency call. I don’t even know why I’m so anxious.”
“For one, it’s been a while since you dated, so it’s natural to feel nervous.
But what isn’t helping is your thinking about other people’s feelings too much.
Like what would Corm say?” Saar folds her arms across her chest. “Fuck that. We set you up to make you happy, not for you to worry about offending us. Be free of that shit for one night, Cora.”
Freedom.
It seems to be the theme of the month, and yet so unattainable. “Okay, I better go put on some makeup.”
Saar checks her watch. “You better; your car is here in twenty minutes.”
“What car? I thought I was meeting him there.”
“Yes, yes, but don’t you think we would let you traipse around on the subway. The car is my treat, and before you protest, you can pay me in unlimited lattes.”
“You already drink lattes for free.” But for once, I’m grateful for her insistence on making my life easier.
“See? I owe you. Enjoy yourself.”
Okay. Fuck it. It’s been a pretty good day so far, so let’s ride the wave.
My good day took a downward trajectory about five minutes into the date.
Ed may be a perfectly eligible bachelor on paper—the looks, the status, the career—but there is no chemistry between us.
“Aren’t you glad you let me choose the wine?” He takes a sip of the super-expensive Sauvignon.
I wet my lips. The wine is as acidic as my sourness over his earlier comment that Zinfandel is too common a wine for the occasion.
I should have insisted, but I told myself that foregoing my typical choice is part of the novel, new journey in this new phase of my life.
Perhaps he’s as nervous as I am. Or he’s a selfish asshole who simply doesn’t care about my preferences. I don’t mind dominant, but both parties need to draw satisfaction from it.
The only thing I’m drawing out right now is time, stretching the silence, hoping he’s vain enough to forget his own question.
No such luck. He stares at me with expectation. And the worst part? Based on his smug expression, he expects me to praise his wine selection.
“It’s… smooth.” I finally find a word that hopefully doesn’t offend his choice. “I still prefer Zinfandel,” I murmur.
“But I’m changing your mind on that one.”
Again, he keeps his gaze on me, expecting me to… what? Agree with him? God help me with this conversation. I should just shut up and praise his choices? Is that what he truly expects?
“Sure,” I lie, with the brightest and most pretentious smile known to man.
He nods with a self-confident smirk, satisfied.
Read the room, asshole.
How can he not see or feel I’m faking it? We don’t know each other, and yes, I’m being more polite than he deserves, but he can’t be that self-absorbed.
Ed digs into his steak—and who drinks white with red meat?—chewing with such vigor I avert my gaze to my dish.
My pasta is delicious, but I can’t focus on savoring it because I’m resisting pulling out my phone and texting Saar.
If I have her rescue me from this date, it would be a premature capitulation. She went to so much effort organizing this, and seems even more excited than me. I don’t want to disappoint her.
I’ll sit through this, focusing on the positive. I’m out on a date. It’s not perfect, but at least I’m practicing.
The restaurant is amazing. It’s expensive, but nothing here makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m sure Saar suggested it.
The food is good, and yes, the company is lacking, but it’s not that bad.
Chewing, Ed points his knife at me. “We landed a new client this week. This will…”
I tune his words out. Unfortunately, I can’t tune out the open-mouth mastication he practices while talking about his work.
Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe.
“Are you okay?” Ed frowns at me.
Fuck, I guess I cringed.
“I love this pasta.” Even the couple beside us turns at my exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Great.” He grins, as if he were the chef here. “Pasta isn’t the best choice for your hips, but let’s indulge.”
Fucking asshole.
“Let’s.” This time, I don’t even try to hide my sarcasm. I dig into my dish and stuff my face with one forkful after another. My hips love it.
Ed seems a bit taken aback by my lack of manners in eating, like this is the first meal I’ve seen in ages.
He blinks a few times before he returns to his steak and his rant about his business success.
I wonder if we will ever get to the part of the date when he actually asks me something about me and my life. His ego probably doesn’t have that setting.
I imagine stabbing him with my fork. What should I aim for? His hand? His eyes?
“Coraline.”
The name and the voice wash over me like molten chocolate.
It’s only momentary bliss before my mind engages. What the fuck?