Chapter 24
chapter twenty-four
nesto
Last night had been epic. We’d made love and then I’d fallen asleep with Jude warm and happy in my arms. This morning, we woke up slowly, taking our time before heading home.
Home.
I never thought I’d be okay living anywhere other than New York City, but as I looked over at Jude in the passenger seat placidly reading a book as we drove, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
“Are you happy, baby?”
He looked up at me and smiled. “Very.”
I smiled back focusing on the road, while Jude returned to his book.
We were just ten minutes out of Ithaca, and I was going over the things I needed to do once we got back when a call came over the Bluetooth.
I figured it was either Ari or Yin calling to ask something, but when I looked at the screen I gasped, startling Jude.
“Who is it?”
“I think it’s Mr. Sheridan.”
He laughed and gestured at the screen. “Then take the call!”
I pressed accept and breathed out. “Ernesto here.”
“Ernesto, how are you doing?” He sounded relaxed, and I tried hard to match his tone.
“Everything’s good Mr. Sheridan. I can’t apologize enough for not being there the day you came to meet me at the festival. I’m not one to leave people hanging.”
He made a sound like he was agreeing with me. “I think I have a sense of the kind of man you are, Ernesto. That’s why I’m calling you today.”
He sounded so serious, but before he went on I spoke up, “I just want to let you know I’ve got you on speaker, my boyfriend and I are driving back to town from spending the night out in Aurora.”
I looked over at Jude, whose jaw was somewhere down by his feet.
I shook my head and winked at him, mouthing, “It’s fine.”
I don’t fuck with closets, so if this was going to be an issue, I might as well know now.
Mr. Sheridan didn’t miss a beat though. “No problem at all. Were you taking some time off?”
“Yeah, we just did one night at the inn there.”
“Good for you, recharging is important.”
“It definitely is.” I looked over at Jude, a grin on my face, but he just covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He was so fucking cute.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Well, I wanted to let you know my oldest granddaughter, Riley, just bought me lunch at the food truck of the man who rescued her when she blew out both tires on the way to work a few weeks ago.”
Both Jude and I jumped when he said that. “Riley’s your granddaughter?” I asked, completely floored.
He laughed at my obvious surprise, it was a deep and friendly sound, making a little flame of hope ignite in my chest.
“She is and since I got back from vacation a few days ago she’s been raving about your food. I finally let her take me there today and your staff made me the best burrito I’ve ever eaten.”
I felt a surge of pride thinking of Yin and Ari, those two never let me down.
“I’m really happy to hear you liked our food.”
“Oh, I more than liked it.” I turned and saw that Jude looked as stunned as I felt.
My head pounded, as I tried to make sense of what Mr. Sheridan was telling me.
“I’ve been wanting to open a place for a while now.
Something that appeals to the college students but is also nice enough to attract young professionals and families in the area.
Sit down, but casual, good food, good drinks.
A small but reliable menu, with a very strong concept and flavors you can’t get anywhere else around here.
I think OuNYe hits a lot of those marks. ”
I glanced over at Jude again just to make sure he was hearing the same thing I was. He was grinning from ear to ear, which meant this must actually be happening.
“I’d like to talk with you, Nesto. If you’re still interested, that is.”
I had to pull over to the side of the road then, because all the blood was rushing to my head. When I stopped, I exhaled before I responded.
“I’m definitely interested.” I sounded winded. Probably from all the times I’d stopped breathing during the conversation.
He laughed again. “I can meet tonight at six-thirty if you’d like to talk further.”
“I can do that. Where?”
“My office. It’s in the Cayuga building downtown, suite A on the fifth floor.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
With that he ended the call, and I sat there for a couple of seconds digesting the last few minutes.
Jude’s yelp startled me out of my stupor. “Nesto, this is huge!”
I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much, but after last night, this felt like fate.
“It sounds promising.” Jude was grinning, his face a reflection of my own excitement. I leaned over and gave him a kiss as I started the car, thinking about all the ways things had changed for me in the last twenty-four hours.
I arrived at Sheridan’s building at exactly 6:15.
Yes, I was fifteen minutes early, but I wasn’t trying to blow this for myself again.
I walked in and looked around the lobby, the inside of the building was done in an art deco style, with black marble floors.
I stopped to look at some of the huge black-and-white vintage photographs of downtown Ithaca on the walls, while I tried to relax before going up to Mr. Sheridan’s office.
I was about to press the button to the elevator when the door opened and an older, very tall, white gentleman stepped out.
He was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt that looked way too expensive to pass as casual.
He noticed my shirt, which had the OuNYe logo stitched on the breast pocket, and extended his hand, beaming at me.
“You must be Ernesto.”
I shook his hand, trying to put on my game face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sheridan, please call me Nesto.”
He shook his head and signaled toward the building entrance. “Harold please. Thanks again for helping Riley.”
“It was nothing.” The way he lifted his eyebrow, told me he was well aware of what that detour almost cost me.
“Not nothing. You missed out on a business opportunity to help someone. I respect that.” He looked down at his watch.
“You’re early, not taking any chances this time, huh?
” His tone was friendly and warm, and helped drain some of the tension out of me.
I looked straight at him, trying to convey how important this moment was for me.
“No, sir.”
He nodded and then started walking. “I was going out for some coffee. We can talk on the way. I’d like to hear more about you.”
I walked out on the Ithaca Commons with him.
The Commons was a large strip of shops and restaurants in the heart of downtown Ithaca.
It was blocked off from motorists and had benches and play areas throughout.
At this time, on a summer day like this, there were lots of people out.
Sheridan and I walked out on to the fray and headed toward the coffee shop located a few blocks away.
After a few seconds he looked up at me and asked, “So why OuNYe?”
I straightened at his question, because this was it, right?
In culinary school we always talked about “the pitch”—what we’d say if we got the opportunity to make a business proposal to an investor.
My ideas had always fallen in the “ethnic” category, and the advice had been to neutralize as much as possible. Make it palatable. Tone it down.
I always had trouble with that though. My food was unapologetically Afro-Caribbean.
The flavors of the islands my friends and I came from were the heart of my business, and I would not push it aside to make anyone comfortable.
Besides, if it turned Sheridan off, then I was better off passing on whatever this was anyways. I took a deep breath and went for it.
“I’m Dominican.” I smiled, remembering Jude’s teasing tone when he’d told me those two words didn’t actually make a complete sentence.
“I mean, I grew up in New York City, in the Bronx, but I was born in the DR. And my best friends’ families growing up were all from the Caribbean, too—Puerto Rico, Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti.
We were inseparable, so our parents became friends, too. ”
I paused and looked over at Mr. Sheridan who was staring straight ahead, with a smile on his face as he walked.
“They were all immigrants for the most part, and when we celebrated or something important happened, happy or sad, we cooked for each other. All our parents were trying to make it here; they wanted us to adapt, grow up like Americans, but to also know where we came from. Food was one of the ways we held on to our roots.”
Mr. Sheridan nodded at this, his face suddenly serious, he stopped and quietly turned. His focus totally on me, despite all the people rushing by us.
It felt surreal to be doing this out here. I wondered if the people passing us could tell I was having one of the most important conversations of my life.
“I remember as a kid walking with my mom to the store that had the produce she needed to make the beans and thinking, ‘How can it be this important to use this one kind of pepper?’ It couldn’t actually make that much of a difference, you know?
But it did, because it’s what made it like home.
The spices, the flavors, even the names of our food sometimes felt like the only touchstone we had.
Caribbean food is full of nuance. I mean, we’re all these different countries.
We had different colonizers even, other than DR and Haiti, we can’t even get to each other without crossing the sea, right? ”
The interest in Mr. Sheridan’s eyes gave me the last push I needed to tell the rest of my story.
“Yet, there’s this thread of common ingredients and preparations that make us more than just neighbors. Because no matter who came through each island, the men and women who were brought there from Africa as slaves made us brothers and sisters.”
I turned around and stretched my hand out in the direction of the library where we usually parked for our lunch service.
“So, when I decided to open my business I wanted a name which could convey our common roots. Ounje, with a J not the Y,” I said, smiling, “is the word for food or nourishment in Yoruba. The West African language our ancestors brought to the islands. Of course, the NY had to be at the center, because that was the place we all came together.” I dug my hands in my pockets.
“So, that’s how OuNYe Afro-Caribbean Food came to be.
I wanted to bring my interpretation of all that beauty and flavor to the world. ”
We’d started walking again while I talked and were now right outside the coffee shop.
I looked at Mr. Sheridan who was standing silently by the door, his hands still in his pockets, eyes focused on something in the distance.
As the silence stretched, I started feeling self-conscious.
I knew I’d gotten way too personal. I hadn’t even mentioned the menu or profits.
I had one shot and I blew it. I was about to say something just to fill the silence, when he finally spoke.
“I lived in Panama for the first twelve years of my life.”
I must have done a shitty job of hiding my surprise, because he just laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
“My father was an engineer with an oil company and worked all over South America, but we were based in Panama City. Anyway, we came back to the States right before I turned thirteen. I felt so out of place here.”
He shook his head and looked back in the direction we’d come from.
“Imagine, after living in Panama my whole life coming to Ithaca in the sixties. It was literally another world. I mean we’d been expats there, and had a very privileged life, but I felt Panamanian, too.
There is something so unique about being from a place that small; it’s a completely different identity.
So much pride and love, it’s a constant ache in your heart.
” His face turned wistful as he spoke, his hand clutched at his chest, and I knew he got where OuNYe came from.
“I still follow the Panamanian baseball winter league, you know? And it still pisses me off when the Dominicans, Cubans, or the Puerto Ricans kick our asses every year!” he said, feigning anger and pointing a finger at me.
I put my hands up and mouthed, “Sorry, not sorry.”
He chuckled at that, then extended his hand. “Thank you for sharing your story with me.”
“Thank you for listening.” I nodded but couldn’t get any more words out with my head pounding in anticipation of what he would say.
He looked at me then and smiled sympathetically, and I realized my nerves were probably showing. “I want to keep talking about opening a restaurant together, Ernesto. If that sounds good to you.”
I exhaled, lightheaded. “That sounds great. I just want to be clear on one thing. With all due respect, sir, I’m not going to be an employee. I’m not working for someone else. OuNYe is mine.”
He clapped my shoulder then and laughed.
“You don’t beat around the bush. I like a man with confidence, and I can assure you, what I’m interested in is a partnership. I want you as invested in the success of the restaurant, as much or more than I would be.”
I relaxed then and nodded. “Okay.”
“Now let’s get some coffee and walk back to my office so we can talk business.
I already tried one of your burritos and can’t wait to try the others.
Hopefully that lovely woman with the silver hair who was at your stand during the festival will be there next time and can instruct me on which one to order? ”
“That’s my mom!” I yelped in horror.
“Excellent, when I see her I’ll congratulate her on the fine job she’s done with her son,” he said with amusement.
My dream, what I had been after day and night for the last two years, what I’d quit a good job and moved out of my home for, was finally within reach. This time I would do whatever it took to make sure I grasped it.