Chapter Eight #2
She had been planning to start out with the breakfast snack bars, but now she wanted to save them for last, out of spite.
If Erik was hungry, he could wait for his delivery.
But then her professional guilt got the better of her, and she decided that maybe that was petty.
Besides, she hadn’t eaten that morning herself and was craving something on the fruity side.
“So, what are you making?” Erik asked, making her jump when she heard his deep voice behind her. She hadn’t noticed his laptop set up in the breakfast nook, with notebooks and a water ring, which figured. “I wish I had a bacon, egg, and cheese right now. This order is taking forever.”
With her back facing him, Cierra rolled her eyes and said a micro-prayer for patience. “I wasn’t quite planning on making that.” Because I wasn’t hired as your personal short-order-cook, Erik. “But I was gonna try out some wild berry oat bars.”
Erik put his hands up in mock defense. “Whoa, whoa. I forgot we had a Michelin chef in the building.”
“I thought I was just delivery.”
Cierra gave a wintry smile and turned back to her ingredients. Erik looked down, hopefully thinking about the way his words had come across in their brief interaction.
“All right, well, I’ll get out of your hair then. Which you have a ton of, by the way.”
“Yep.”
“Guess you knew that.”
Cierra gave a tight-lipped smile, and Erik collected his things, going down a set of stairs, and leaving Cierra to focus on her tasks. “Well, uh, let me know if you need anything,” he said on his way out.
“Sure thing.”
After several hours, the roast chicken was almost done, filling the entire home with its savory aromas.
Erik had long since stepped out to visit one of his work sites, which Cierra was grateful for.
While she was ready to deal with difficult personalities, she was already doubting how she would make it through an entire summer with his bumbling presence around.
But luckily, he mostly only worked at the Lawson home for paperwork, so at least he’d be gone most of the time.
After pulling the roast out of the oven, she leaned against the countertop to check her phone while it cooled.
Julian still hadn’t messaged back, which was now beginning to bother her.
His job seemed demanding, and it wouldn’t surprise her if he was someone who put his phone away at work, but it had been two days with zero response.
No one was that busy, right? And he’d been the one to suggest going out again.
She shook her head, frustrated, bothered that she cared this much.
Maybe Mia was right. Maybe she was a serial monogamist, incapable of having a good time, and addicted to over-analyzing any romantic situation. Regardless, she hated this feeling, like she was hanging by a thread, waiting for any morsel of attention. Maybe it’s still too soon, she wondered.
A loud slam jerked Cierra’s attention to the front of the house, where Erik was currently raking his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He was on the phone, and worry painted his entire face.
“Yes, I understand. Thanks for letting me know—” was all she heard before he quickly glanced at her, and then shuffled his way downstairs, out of listening range.
Cierra shrugged to herself before getting back to her own work. She spotted the time, noting Zelda would be home any minute. Since it was the first meal prep with the family, Cierra wanted to go over everything before leaving, just in case they had notes for future meals.
Ten minutes later, she heard the front door opening again. “Oh man, it smells good in here,” she heard Elliot say, who must have accompanied his wife.
Zelda walked in, thumping her large Birkin on the kitchen island and flinging her low heels haphazardly on the floor. “God, it’s nice to come home to a home-cooked meal,” she said with appreciation, looking over the meticulously prepped meal containers.
“Hungry now?” Cierra asked the couple. “I can fix some plates. It’s always best fresh.”
Elliot and Zelda exchanged excited glances before emphatically agreeing, perching themselves along the marble-slabbed kitchen island.
Cierra quickly plated the fragrant rice pilaf, arranging freshly prepared tabbouleh atop chicken thighs, which were perfectly crispy on the outside.
Quietly, the Lawsons ate with occasional grunts and satisfactory nods; professionally speaking, it was the most beautiful silence she could ask for.
Erik then emerged, looking downcast and obviously upset with whatever happened on the phone call from earlier. Feeling a pang of sympathy, Cierra asked, “Would you like a plate?”
“Yes, he does,” Elliot said, and then looked at his younger brother. “Trust me, it’ll blow your mind.”
Erik smiled weakly at Cierra, obviously trying to keep up a positive face, and took a seat. Like his brother and sister-in-law, he spent the next few bites in complete silence.
“Everything alright?” Zelda asked Erik, noticing the change in his usual jovial demeanor.
“Eh, yeah. It will be. Just a snag with work,” he said, forking at some of the green leafy tabbouleh.
“Like what?” Elliot said.
“You know that block party I’ve been talking about? For the Anderson James Complex we just finished?”
“Oh sure, you’ve been helping with that the past month,” Zelda answered.
“Yeah, well, our caterer just dropped out. The event is Friday, and we’ll have nearly two hundred attendees.”
“Can’t you just find someone else?” Elliot asked.
“Apparently not,” Erik said flatly. “I’ve called at least twelve different caterers, and they’re all booked up. It’s just too late notice for that many people.”
“You can always order pizza,” Zelda said while chowing down on her personal, gourmet meal. “They should just be grateful to have any free food at all.”
At this comment, Erik looked visibly annoyed but held back. “I promised the building a full Italian spread, and that’s what they’re getting. They’ve had their homes torn up from the outside for six months now, and the project’s completion is something to celebrate — properly.”
Zelda put her hands up in mock defense. “I get it, I get it. Jeez,” she sighed, taking another bite.
“Why don’t you ask Cierra to help?” Elliot said. “She can obviously do anything.” He looked at Cierra somewhat expectantly. “Surely, you’ve been in this situation before?”
“Uh, well—” Cierra began. Technically, she hadn’t.
And she didn’t have plans. But catering jobs like this were always four times the amount of work they seemed to be, in her experience. Then she remembered her ten-thousand dollar monthly stipend.
“I could help. But isn’t that the same night as Elliot’s birthday dinner?”
“That’s fine, we can manage, right honey?” Elliot asked his wife.
“Sure,” Zelda said in a flat voice. “I guess.”
“Really?” Erik said, his hazel eyes lighting up with hope. “You’d really be able to do that?”
“If Zelda and Elliot are cool with it, I don’t see why not.”
“Obviously, my company would pay you the same as the caterers. And I’d even help!
Like, a sous chef or something. Oh my god,” Erik said, letting out a sigh of relief.
“You have no idea how much you’ll be helping me out.
I had no clue what I was gonna do.” He looked at Cierra with an expression that simultaneously carried a bit of guilt and gratitude.
Cierra cocked her head and smiled. “It’s no problem at all. We can go over details tomorrow? Make a plan?”
“Isn’t it wonderful how things in life can just work out?” Elliot said, beginning to stand up.
“Says the man married to a business magnate,” Erik teased. But then he looked at Cierra, and with a softer voice, said, “But, yeah, sometimes we get lucky.”
As Erik helped Cierra shop for the event and prep, true to his word, they were driving along Fifth Avenue when they passed an ornate skyscraper. Erik pointed and looked up in awe. “Can you imagine how much it cost to build that thing? How much square footage must be in there?”
Cierra glanced quickly, but was absorbed in double-checking the proportions of all the ingredients and catering supplies they needed to grab. “No clue. What’s your guess?”
“Hmm. Let’s say forty-five stories, each roughly thirty-thousand feet per story, that puts it at”—his brows furrowed as he calculated—“one point three five million square feet at least. What’s yours?”
Cierra looked at him, baffled. Guess he wasn’t lying about being in construction. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“And you know, a lot of that space is gonna go completely unused, too. It’ll get bought up.
Used as an investment by rich people. Even though there are thousands of families who desperately could use it.
” He shook his head, and Cierra placed her phone in her lap, now fascinated by Erik’s intentness.
“You seem pretty upset about this,” Cierra remarked.
“There’s so many people who work full time and can barely make rent. And then you have these massive residential buildings, and even though they could be affordable — sorry, I’m ranting. It just gets to me.”
Thinking about her recent run-in with the rental market, she agreed with Erik’s point. “How do you know so much about this? I knew rent was expensive, but not all that.”
“Once upon a time I used to work on those projects, on the corporate side,” Erik said with a somewhat regretful sigh. “But now, I mostly work with older buildings. Fixing what’s already there.”
“Do you like it?”
“Oh yeah, no doubt about that. I mean, it doesn’t pay the same, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Cierra smiled, thinking about her own job.
“What about you?” he asked. “I mean, I guess you kind of have to say you like it. But pretend I wasn’t me. Now go.”
Cierra laughed. “I love my job. I’ve always loved cooking. Really, that’s the truth. I actually used to work in corporate, too. So, I feel you on the pay cut,” she chuckled. “This event tonight, what’s it for again?”
“Well, our major renovation business has been so profitable, my business partner and I were thinking of ways we could give back. Last year, we started our first partnership with a housing development that needed upgrading but couldn’t afford to do so on its own.”
“Like when lawyers help with pro bono cases?”
“Yeah, like that. It’s our first project like this, and it’s finally finished. Honestly, until working on this project, I didn’t realize how many people just, I don’t know, slip through the cracks.”
Cierra nodded, thinking about how she would have been without a home in the city if it hadn’t been for Mia. How her sister had come to her aid on more than one occasion. “Not everyone has somebody to call on.”
“Yeah. That’s why I got so uptight with Zelda, about that pizza comment. Thinking that people should be happy with whatever is thrown at them, even if it’s crumbs.”
“I can’t remember the last time I did something involved with volunteering, maybe back in college,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m glad you asked me to help.”
“Are you kidding? If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been screwed.” Erik looked at her, twisting his face. “I owe you an apology.”
“Huh?” Cierra asked, confused by the sudden shift. “For what?”
“For what I said at the dinner, when we met? About chefs? I wasn’t trying to be condescending, which I know is how it came out.” He paused. “Sometimes, the places and people my siblings are around — it can get a bit much. Even for me,” he said with a sly, self-aware grin.
“I get it, I really do,” Cierra said reassuringly. And she meant it — she recalled how intimidated she’d felt walking into that imposing SoHo loft for the dinner party.
“Sometimes things don’t come out the way I mean them to,” Erik said. “But I really appreciate you doing this, and I know the tenants will as well.”
“Thanks, Erik,” Cierra said back. He might take some getting used to, but at least for now, he was officially off her shit list. “And for what it’s worth, I’m actually excited about tonight. I haven’t done something like this in a long time, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Once at the event, Erik introduced her to his co-owner and good friend, Randy, who thanked her profusely and introduced her to various residents and others who helped in the project’s completion.
After the food was properly set-up and the music was bumping throughout the courtyard, Cierra found herself sat a table, surrounded by fifty new friends, laughing and exchanging stories.
Cierra thought of the Galloping Gourmet and smiled to herself.
So this is what it feels like.
When she collapsed into bed Friday night after an evening of cooking, eating, and dancing, she felt like she had done something worthwhile for the first time in ages.
And although she was right about the back half of her week being four times more hectic because of the event, she was so grateful she said yes.