Chapter 5
Laurent Roche was sautéing onions. I smelled them the moment I woke up. Inhaling, I stretched luxuriously. It was late morning, and my bedroom was full of daylight. I always liked keeping the curtains open as I slept, so that I awoke in a pool of sun.
I wondered what would become of the onions. Would they be the star ingredient in a soupe à l’oignon? Tucked into a quiche? Mixed into a ratatouille?
Oh, but that’s right, he doesn’t cook. Well, let him keep his eccentricities. If a person wanted to cook up a storm, then fervently deny it, I wasn’t going to stand in his way.
I got up, ran a bath, combed a conditioning treatment into my hair, then slipped into the warm water and let all the tension of the previous day melt away.
When the water was tepid, I stepped out, then applied my face serums and blow-dried my hair.
I put on a black dress (the staple of my wardrobe even before working at Le Jules Verne), and slipped my mother’s emerald ring onto my finger.
I opened the windows, and my lace curtains fluttered gently in the warm morning air. As I prepared a late breakfast of earl gray tea and a raspberry lemon scone, I mentally ran through the day’s schedule.
Tonight, Mateo would be proposing to his girlfriend, Anna. From his home in Santiago, he’d emailed us several times to make sure every detail was set. I spread a thick layer of blackberry jam across my scone as I reviewed my notes.
Mateo had asked for customized menus with a message celebrating his and Anna’s third anniversary. A standard request. Furthermore, he’d asked for a second set of menus to arrive with dessert, after he’d proposed, that congratulated the newly-engaged couple.
He’d also mentioned how he would very much like a photo of him proposing and that he hoped we might make that happen.
To be helpful, he’d included a minutely-detailed description of how he expected the proposal to go, from the course during which it would happen, to exactly how he’d pull his chair out and get down on one knee, to the words he’d open with: “My dear Anna, if there’s anything these last three years had taught me… ”
He’d even included a drawing, complete with two stick figures, a table, and a diamond ring, so the photographer would know just how to frame the shot.
Mateo had offered to pay for these services, but the request had been politely, but firmly, declined. The proposal team at Le Jules Verne (i.e. me) would be more than happy to help make his dreams a reality.
When I arrived at work, preparations for the dinner service were already in full swing.
There was clanking and grumbling coming from the kitchen, Paul was looking over a new shipment of wine, and Yasmine was calling out instructions to Colette and Le?la while Luc thumbed through the list of the evening’s reservations.
Standing in the doorway, I watched them all for a moment, swelling with happiness that I got to be part of this every day. My private moment of pleasure over, I made my way to where we kept personalized menus. Yes, there were Mateo’s, both copies. Just the way he’d asked.
There were multiple high-rollers today, and even though a British reality star wanted to get a photo standing in an open window (for the lighting), and an ambassador from Asia was put out that we were no longer serving the pea and watercress soup he’d enjoyed last spring, a server was always there to resolve the issue and extol the virtues of the new summer menu/remaining fully inside the restaurant.
Midway through my shift, Luc motioned for me to come over.
“Mateo and Anna,” he said, indicating a well-dressed couple who were holding hands. Mateo attempted to smile, but his nerves got the better of him and it turned into a queasy-looking grimace.
I beamed at them. “Welcome to Le Jules Verne,” I said in Spanish.
I brought them to one of the restaurant’s choicest tables, right by the windows. I went to pull out Anna’s chair, but Mateo, in a spasm of chivalry, darted past and pulled out his girlfriend’s chair himself.
He overdid it somewhat and nearly toppled the chair (and himself). A moment later, he was alright, helping Anna into her seat while panting slightly. I gave him a bracing smile.
“Your menus,” I said, once Mateo was in his seat. “I hear you’re celebrating your third anniversary tonight. My deepest congratulations.” Anna and Mateo beamed at each other.
I worked my way around my tables, bringing out new courses and making sure water and wine glasses were filled.
Mateo looked paler every time I stopped by.
His plan was to propose after the fifth course (the infamous steak tartare).
In my pocket bumped my phone so I’d be ready to take a photo at a moment’s notice.
Everything was progressing smoothly, and I had just brought Mateo and Anna the steak tartare when there was a commotion on the other side of the room. I turned toward the noise. There, not far from one of my tables, was a man bent on one knee. In his hands was a sparkling ring.
His dinner companion gasped, flung her arms around her new fiancé, and promptly burst into tears. The other diners applauded, smiling at the couple’s joy. I smiled too, but a lump was rising in my throat.
Many people gave Le Jules Verne advance notice that they were planning to propose, if only to help get the details right, but it certainly wasn’t required. Rogue proposals weren’t a problem.
Except today, when we had another proposal planned just minutes from now. Even someone who didn’t particularly care what others thought would feel silly pulling the same move the restaurant had just seen.
I swung back toward Mateo’s table. Anna was smiling and clapping for the newly-engaged couple, but Mateo looked devastated.
I could see the curve of the ring box in his jacket pocket.
He was glancing around now, as though the answer to what he should do next would appear on the restaurant’s walls.
His fingers fluttered to his pocket, then dropped limply to his lap.
Looking at Mateo, my heart broke. Anna was speaking animatedly to him, but he barely mustered a nod as he stared at his empty hands. All those careful plans, ruined.
No, I decided, the force of my conviction startling me. No one’s proposal is going to be ruined. Not tonight.
When I brought Mateo and Anna their sixth course, the plum moelleux cakes, I explained the dish, how it’d been composed, and where the blackberries and sweet cream had been sourced from.
Anna seemed delighted and had already grabbed her spoon, but Mateo only looked on listlessly.
Which wasn’t surprising; he thought he’d have a fiancée by now.
But he still would, very soon, if I had anything to do with it.
“Oh, and one other thing,” I said. “Because you’re celebrating your anniversary, our chef wanted to know if you’d like to enjoy your dessert on our terrace. It’s rather small, but the view is the best in Paris, I think.” Mateo raised hopeful eyes to me. I gave him the shadow of a wink.
Anna was thrilled to go, and as she and Mateo hurried to put on their jackets, I grabbed their dessert plates.
“Right this way,” I said. As I led them through the back of the restaurant, I passed Yasmine, who raised her eyebrows in confusion. I didn’t even break my stride.
The terrace was less of a terrace and more of an outdoor landing where staff members took their smoke breaks. Diners weren’t technically allowed, but that didn’t trouble me at all. I’d been the perfect server for half a decade now. Le Jules Verne would allow me this.
I hadn’t lied about the view. When I opened the door onto the terrace, Anna gave a little gasp of happiness. Just centimeters away was the Eiffel Tower itself, sparkling with light. Looking entranced, Anna reached out a delicate hand to touch it. Mateo turned to me, his hand in his pocket.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
Just as I closed the door, I heard him speak. “My dear Anna…”
The door had a single, small window, positioned above my head. I held my phone up to it and prayed the photos I was getting fit Mateo’s framing specifications. I stayed outside the door, smiling at my coworkers as they rushed back and forth, most doing a double take over their shoulders.
After a few minutes, there was a soft knock on the other side. I opened the door and ushered in Mateo and Anna. Despite looking a bit chilled, they glowed with happiness. On Anna’s finger was a shimmering diamond with an emerald set on each side.
“Oh, what a beautiful ring,” I told Anna. “The emeralds set the diamond off perfectly. They’re my favorite stone,” I said, showing her my own emerald ring. Anna was too overcome with happiness to speak, but she smiled at me.
Anna and Mateo’s radiant happiness stirred something in me, wistfulness or longing, I’m not sure. Whatever it was, I pushed it down. This was their moment. It wasn’t the time for me to conduct a self-assessment of my emotional state.
“I think the photos came out well,” I said, showing Mateo my phone.
As Anna held tightly to her new fiancé’s hand, I sent Mateo the photos before ushering the couple back into the dining room. “I wish you both so much happiness,” I said, smiling.
I checked on each of my tables, then slipped into the staff room. There, I took a moment to soak in the perfection of the evening, of proposal plans not being ruined, of everyone leaving happy after all. I gave a little shiver, then opened my eyes. Time to get back to work.