Chapter 10 Now #3
“Fine dining, mostly. And a gastro pub that was doing some really creative stuff.” He drops his voice slightly.
“He’d married his high school sweetheart right after culinary school.
Cynthia was her name. When she got sick, they decided to move out here to be closer to her family.
Slow down a bit. He responded to an ad for a line cook that my mom had put in the paper.
Her parents still technically owned Bubba’s at the time, but she was running the day-to-day.
So of course she takes one look at his résumé and puts him in charge of the whole kitchen.
The head cook had been considering retiring anyway.
” Our eyes meet across the small table. A pit forms in my stomach as I anticipate what he’s about to say next. “Cynthia passed about a year later.”
I swallow. “Jesus. I had no idea.”
Sebastian’s gaze drifts out the window, toward the rolling waves. “He’s always telling my mom that this place saved him. I think it means as much to him as it does to her.”
“Could he stay? If he wanted to.”
“I doubt it,” he says, the wistfulness gone from his voice.
He runs a hand through his hair again. “Diamond Group made it crystal clear that they plan to turn this into a whole new concept. Bring in their own people. And to be honest? I don’t think Omar would want to do this without my mom.
He’s planning to finish out the season, help us with the transition.
Then he’ll move down to Philly to be closer to his brother. ”
“That will be hard for her,” I say, more of a statement than a question.
Sebastian nods, spinning one of the votives between his fingers. “You know what drives me nuts? People would always say how impressed they were that my mom kept running the restaurant by herself after my dad left. As if he had anything to do with it even when he was in the picture.”
I’m surprised by Sebastian’s candor. He seemed to idolize his dad when we were growing up, but it’s clear from his tone and the pained look on his face that a lot has changed.
I’d heard at some point after college that his parents were no longer together, but I never caught any details about exactly when or why they split.
For all Bubba knew about the residents of Brantley Beach and their personal lives, she remained remarkably immune to gossip herself.
One thing I do know, though, is that Mr. Nikolaou had never really been involved in the restaurant. That was all Bubba.
“That must have pissed her off,” I say. “Those kinds of comments.”
He snickers. “Yeah. But you know Mom—never one to say a bad word to anyone. She’d just wave them off. Say she wasn’t doing it alone, because she’d always have Omar.”
Right on cue, Omar appears holding two dessert plates. Despite the heavy conversation topic, I can’t help but smile at the slice of wedding cake he sets in front of me.
Well … not typical wedding cake.
“An ice cream wedding cake,” I say, my voice ridiculously giddy. There’s a chocolate top layer and a vanilla bottom layer, separated by a strip of cake crunch suspended in fudge.
Just when I think this meal couldn’t possibly get better, I take a bite and realize that the top layer actually isn’t chocolate. I look from Omar to Sebastian and back, incredulous, and ask with more than a hint of awe: “Honey fudge?”
Omar winks. “Can’t take all the credit for this one. Twisters doesn’t normally do cakes, but I convinced them to make an exception.”
I shovel another bite into my mouth as Omar turns to Sebastian and says, “Your mom was feeling tired, so I sent her home.”
Sebastian smiles weakly. “And she listened?”
“Not without a fight.” Omar claps a broad hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, chuckling to himself.
Now that I’ve scraped my plate clean I clear my throat. “Omar, the food was incredible. Thanks for letting me join.”
He waves a hand. “It was great to have you back.” He glances at Sebastian. “Both of you.”
We carry our plates to the kitchen and thank the staff. I hug Omar, hoping he feels the apology in it. And the gratitude. The smile he offers when I pull away tells me that he does.
Back at the Jeep, Sebastian opens the passenger door. I climb in and click my seatbelt into place, then lace my hands over my stomach, groaning. “Holy crap. I feel like I just ate Thanksgiving dinner.”
Sebastian switches the gear into reverse and says, “Same. Might have to let my tux out a little.”
Right. Sebastian’s fitting is our last appointment of the day. I conjure an image of him that would make James Bond cower—then quickly shove it out of my mind.
“Actually,” I say, sitting up, “would you have time to drop me off? I was too busy eating to take notes. I should type something up while everything’s fresh in my mind.” I tap the side of my head for emphasis, because I’m an embarrassing person.
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says, switching blinkers and taking a left out of the parking lot. “Shit. I do have to make one other stop first if it’s okay. Before the place closes.”
I nod, and we drive in silence for a minute. Then Sebastian glances over at me. “You know, I’d been kind of dreading all of these appointments, Mariano. But today wasn’t so bad.”
I look to my left and find his eyes back on the road, a hint of a smirk on his mouth.
I almost say something self-deprecating. “I’m good company,” I say instead.
“You did always have a way of making the most tedious tasks ever so slightly more enjoyable.”
An image flashes in my mind: Sebastian and me in the kitchen of the restaurant, rolling silverware into napkins while singing along to Bubba’s Rumours CD. When the “Dreams” chorus comes on we take turns singing into a roll-up microphone.
I keep my eyes trained on the road, ignoring the magnetic tug of his presence on my peripheral. “And here I thought you always picked me because I was efficient.”
Sebastian sputter-laughs, like I’ve just told a joke.
Bubba loved me because I worked hard and was good with the customers, and because I cleaned the bathrooms without complaining.
But all of that was mostly to make up for the fact that I was clumsy.
I volunteered to unclog toilets as penance for breaking plates and spilling coffee.
I was joking, but I give him a playful shove anyway.
Then I look up, and horror sets in as I realize where we are.
Parked at the city clerk’s office.
“Just need another copy of our application for the officiant,” Sebastian explains. He reaches into his glove compartment and pulls out a familiar envelope.
“Wait!” I grab Sebastian’s arm. He shoots me a curious look but sits back down. Waits, as he’s told.
Here we go.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” I blow out a breath. “That day we ran into each other here, when I was your witness? There was a mix-up with the paperwork.”
“A mix-up, huh?”
I nod to the envelope. He slides the papers out, and I watch as he scans them, waiting to see his eyes widen or maybe even for an audible gasp of shock to escape from his mouth. But his expression doesn’t change. He shuffles the papers back into the envelope and locks eyes with me again.
And then he laughs.
I can practically feel my cheeks redden. I knew it. He thinks the mistake ridiculous—laughable, even—and he probably thinks I did it on purpose. One big, sick joke.
I cross my arms. I’m not embarrassed anymore; I’m fuming.
“Sorry,” he says when he realizes I’m glaring at him. “I’m only laughing because I already knew. I honestly just didn’t think you’d ever find out about it.”
He knew?
“I had a copy, too,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “I figured you’d never look at it again.” His mouth contorts into an infuriatingly smug smile. “Or maybe you’d shove it in a filing cabinet and come across it years later while doing a deep clean.”
I scoff. No wonder he was smirking when I found him at the restaurant and laughing at the stationery store.
“Come on, Mariano. I’m just messing around. You have to admit it’s kind of funny.”
“A mistake that could have ruined your wedding. How hilarious.”
He shakes his head. Sighs. “Claire and I fixed it the next morning. No harm, no foul. I do have one question, though.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Go on.”
“If you thought we didn’t know, when were you going to tell one of us? Or were you just going to let us figure it out at the altar?” The smirk has returned, I notice with annoyance.
I wave him off. “I obviously would have told you eventually. I just didn’t want to make it a big thing.”
“Right,” he says, opening his door. “It was an honest mistake. And luckily annulments are easy to get these days.”
I roll my eyes but I can’t help it: For the first time, I let myself actually laugh about the situation.
“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” I say when we pull up to my apartment building. “Tell Claire I’ll call her this week with any follow-up questions.”
“I should be thanking you,” he says. I’m standing outside the car now, the passenger door still open, and he ducks a little so I can see him through it. “Especially for indulging my mom and Omar. They loved seeing you.”
“Well,” I say, “I felt the same way.”
And maybe it’s because I’ll probably never see him again—I’ve already decided I won’t be at the wedding.
I’ll file my story based on my emails with Claire and notes from today.
My first few years at Shore Life I attended every wedding I covered.
More than a dozen per year. But now I usually only go if the venue is brand new so that I can write a few bounces on it, or if a vendor has planned some sort of bespoke installation that Mandy thinks I should experience in person.
Otherwise, when you’ve seen as many weddings as I have, you really have seen them all.
There are only so many times one person can hear an aunt who can barely see over the church podium read 1 Corinthians 13:4–8, or raise a glass to a teary father of the bride, or squat on the dance floor while whisper-singing “a little bit softer now” before they all start to blur together.
Or maybe it’s because something about today, something about driving around our hometown together and being back at the restaurant with Omar and Bubba and laughing until my stomach hurt, has made me feel nostalgic in a way that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a long time, that I shut the door, saying, “And Nikolaou? It wasn’t so bad spending the day with you, either. ”
Sebastian’s mouth curves into a lopsided smile as he switches the car into drive. Then, just before he turns those green eyes back to the road, he says, “See you around, Mariano.”