Chapter 10 Now #2
“It’s so good to see you,” I say as he gathers me into a hug. I turn to Bubba, who’s been watching us with a serene smile. “Both of you.”
“Normally I’m skeptical of food critics, but I told Sebastian I’d make an exception for my favorite server,” Bubba says, folding her arms around me. “Good to have you back, honey.”
Omar nods toward the dining room. “Grab a seat. We’ll have the first round out soon.”
The dining room looks mostly the same. It’s shaped like a semicircle, the diameter of which runs parallel to the kitchen and snack bar, while floor-to-ceiling windows and dark wooden booths with navy-cushioned benches line the arc.
The ocean view is as spectacular as ever.
A mix of two- and four-top tables fill the rest of the room, with the exception of the table Sebastian leads me toward now, which is a small high-top draped in cream and baby blue linens.
“A sample of what we’re renting,” he says as we approach.
“Modern coastal,” I say, standing across from him.
We each have a cream stoneware plate with a gilded, scalloped rim.
The votives between us appear to be encased in sea glass.
I’ve covered enough local weddings to know that a coastal theme can quickly veer into beachy kitsch, but this is tastefully subtle.
“When in Rome,” he says, gesturing to the view, and I roll my eyes at his intentional cheesiness. “We’re going for elevated, but … familiar. And fun,” he adds. A crooked smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you be the judge.”
But it only takes the first round, delivered by Bubba herself, to convince me.
“Let me know what you think,” she says with a wink, presenting us each a silver basket filled with balls of fried dough. I bite into one and the flavors pop in my mouth. I immediately groan in approval.
“It’s like a breakfast sandwich and hash browns all in one,” I say, reaching for another.
“Tater tot breakfast bites,” says Bubba. “Half are pork roll, egg and cheese. Half have bacon.”
“Ma,” Sebastian says, “they’re incredible. Tell Omar I’m glad he listened to you.”
Bubba squeezes Sebastian’s shoulder, then disappears into the kitchen.
“So the food critic approves?” Sebastian asks when it’s just us again.
“I’ve covered some restaurants in the area—openings, new seasonal menus. Whatever I can get my editor to approve, really. But I’m not critiquing anything. Except tacky wedding trends.”
He cocks his head, piercing green eyes locked on me. “I take it you’re ready to move on from the wedding beat.”
“Weddings are a serious industry, just like any other. I’ve gotten really good at covering them, and for a long time I enjoyed it.
But it can get”—I glance at the view to our left, trying to ignore the heat his gaze seems to reflect—“repetitive.” I shrug.
“I feel a bit stuck, to be honest. Ready for something new.”
“I can definitely understand that,” he says.
Of course he can. Hadn’t that been the whole reason he left this restaurant—this whole town—behind in the first place? It hadn’t taken him long at all to realize he wanted more out of life than what Brantley Beach had to offer. He’s probably thinking I told you so.
One of the younger cooks appears with the next round: paper cones filled with fried calamari and shrimp.
“Handheld fritto misto,” I say, popping a crunchy ringlet in my mouth, “is most definitely elevated fun.”
Sebastian squeezes a lemon wedge over his cone and follows my lead.
“Seriously,” I say around another bite. “This food is so creative! It should be on the menu. You should invite the Diamond Group people to your wedding and have them take notes.”
Now Sebastian is the one avoiding eye contact.
Was it cavalier for me to bring up Diamond Group so flippantly?
So Sebastian never wanted to take over the family business—that doesn’t mean he’s indifferent to the fact that it’s about to be absorbed by a bougie restaurant group from the city.
The restaurant means everything to his mom, and for that reason alone it’s probably a tender subject.
“Sorry,” I say. “That was probably a little insensitive.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s really okay. It’s going to be a big change for sure, but I need to get used to talking about it.”
A question pops into my head. I hesitate, then think, Fuck it. He won’t answer it if he doesn’t want to. Wouldn’t be the first time a source has done that.
“What made her want to sell? If you don’t mind my asking.”
I follow his gaze toward the kitchen. When he sees no one’s coming he continues.
“She doesn’t want to,” he says, spinning the votive between his fingers. “She needs to.” Sebastian looks up at me, and the pain in his eyes crushes me. “My mom’s sick.”
Oh.
“She’s had health issues since I can remember,” he continues. “Lymphoma is the main thing. But she’s always managed it well. Responded to medication. Until recently.”
I try to reconcile this information with the vivacious, energetic woman I’ve always known. I’d always assumed Bubba was perfectly healthy. Invincible, even.
“Shit. Sebastian, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. It is. Honestly, when I found out, my first thought was to call the whole wedding off. The last thing she needs to be doing is working even more hours turning this place into a venue. But she wouldn’t hear any of that. You saw how excited she is.” He smiles softly, shaking his head.
“I’m sure it’s nice to have a distraction,” I offer gently.
“Yeah. Exactly. And I know she’s relieved to see me settling down.
I’m lucky I at least got her to agree to let me take leave from work so I can stay out here for a while.
Omar and I will handle as much as possible.
The wedding logistics. Getting ready for the restaurant’s last season.
Finalizing the negotiations with Diamond Group.
She can work as much or as little as she wants, depending on how she’s feeling. Focus on her treatments.”
“It’s probably a huge relief to have you here to help. Even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.” He lets out a soft laugh. I almost reach across the table to touch his wrist but I think better of it. A little distance is good. Safe. “Will Claire stay in Santa Barbara while you’re out here?”
He nods, but before he can elaborate Omar appears with the entrées, smiling in a way that tells me he totally crushed this round and our tastebuds are about to take a journey.
We sample each of the three choices: a deconstructed lobster roll, a slider trio and mushroom gyros (“a vegetarian option compelling enough to tempt meat eaters,” I jot in my notebook).
The food is so good that Sebastian and I don’t speak until we’ve polished our plates clean.
“That was in-cred-i-ble,” I tell him. “Jersey wedding food is already top tier, but this is on a whole other level.” I flip to a fresh page in my notebook and switch into interview mode. “Which reminds me. I always like to ask couples for their Big Three.”
Sebastian arches one thick, beautiful eyebrow at me.
“The vendors or elements that are most important to them,” I say, elaborating. “Would you say food was one of your Big Three?”
“For me, definitely. I’d say food, location and music.”
“Are you doing a band?” I love a good wedding band. I hope he says yes, which is nonsensical considering I won’t be at this wedding. (In fact, I’d like to be on another planet during it.)
He nods. “The Geeks.”
I squeal. “No way you got the Geeks!” The Geeks play all the local beach bars. They have a bit of a cult following, mostly in our parents’ age bracket.
“We had an in,” Sebastian says, grinning. “The drummer was Mom’s prom date.”
“Shut up. Of course he was.”
He clears his throat. “So, yeah. Those are my Big Three. But Claire would probably have a totally different answer. Flowers for sure. Her dress, maybe. The photographer.”
I nod but keep my mouth shut. For J.Lo in The Wedding Planner, choosing “I Honestly Love You” as your wedding song is matrimonial suicide. For this wedding writer, it’s not being on the same page about the Big Three.
“Well, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like you guys have all the bases covered. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.” I arrange my mouth into a smile. “And your guests will be dreaming of this food for days. I’m going to be dreaming of this food for days.”
He tips his head toward the kitchen. “I’m just glad my mom and Omar have had so much fun with it.”
“Omar deserves an award!” I cry. “Bubba’s been wasting his talents on burgers and hot dogs.”
Sebastian cocks his head thoughtfully.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. He looks like he’s about to tell me I have aioli on my face.
“Omar worked in the city for, like, ten years before he started here. You knew that, right?”
I shake my head slowly. I never really knew anything about Omar’s life before the restaurant, I realize, or even just outside of it.
I think of one time my mom and I ran into one of her students at the mall.
He greeted her with a deer-in-the-headlights look, like he assumed she slept under her desk in the classroom.
Youth is wasted on the self-absorbed.
“What kind of restaurants?” I ask.