Lola
“I’m going to throw up.”
“It’ll be fine, Lo. Just breathe.” Nat fanned me with her hands as I tried not to hyperventilate in the restaurant kitchen.
Luckily, I’d had the foresight to ask Nat to act as standby help in case we needed an extra set of hands. And I’m glad I did, because not only was she a huge help running orders to tables, she was also here for the exact moment I needed a pep talk that only my best friend could give.
This fresh bout of panic was initiated when Al peeked her head in to let me know the judges had arrived and were being seated.
“They’re going to hate it,” I wheezed. “Like, absolutely despise my food.”
I felt a sharp pain as a hand connected with my cheek.
“Dude, what the hell?” I rubbed at the stinging cheek and glared at my best friend.
Nat shook out her hand and looked me dead in the eyes like it wasn’t the worst possible time to slap me in the face. “Look, I’m sorry for using my one slap in this moment because I know you’re super stressed. But good grief, Lo, you need to get it together.”
I couldn’t believe that was how Nat decided to use her one slap.
Nat and I had long been best friends who acted more like sisters.
So much so that when we were teens, we established what we called the One Slap Rule, which meant we could each slap the other once a year, no consequences.
(What we lacked in naming creativity, we more than made up for in interesting but effective conflict resolution strategies.)
But we hadn’t actually used the One Slap Rule in almost a decade, which meant I was doubly flustered.
I was also considering using my free slap immediately, but I resisted, against my better judgment. My wrist had just returned to normal, and I didn’t want to risk another injury. Instead, I bared my teeth at her in a sad display of irritation.
Nat rolled her eyes.
“Actually, I’m not sorry I used my slap,” she said. “Those judges out there look extremely nice and not at all threatening, and they’re old enough to be our grandparents.”
Then Nat grabbed my chin and directed my gaze back to their table. There were three of them—two women and one man—and all three looked perfectly pleasant. They were in the restaurant to judge a few meals, not decide if I’d make it past the pearly gates or not.
Why was I so scared of them?
Oh, right, because winning the contest felt like my Hail Mary attempt to save Southern Charm.
“Okay, fine. They’re not scary,” I admitted. “But the situation is! What if we don’t win and we did all of this for nothing, and then…”
The sentence trailed off as I took in a big gulp of air, trying to regulate my breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nat lift her hand again.
“If you slap me a second time, Nat, I swear—”
“Look around you, you boob!”
Boob? She seriously needed to have a stern talking to after everything died down.
“The place is packed!”
But Nat was right, of course. When I looked out into the dining room, every table was full, and there were more parties waiting.
Earlier in the day, during the breakfast and lunch rushes (yes, we’d even had rushes), Darlene had told me she “hadn’t had this much exercise since that Jane Fonda put out her exercise video. ”
Al told me earlier that she was taking reservations for dinner because of the overwhelming demand.
And I was proud even though I was exhausted from cooking my ass off all day.
In the back of my mind, I entertained the thought of what it would be like to hire a new line cook.
A real one this time, not an accidental alien transplant.
“This is a new start for Southern Charm, Lo, I just know it.” Nat grabbed me from behind by the shoulders and shook me. “And you did this! It was all you!”
Tears threatened to fall as I looked around and let Nat’s words sink in. I nodded, but I knew they weren’t true—not entirely.
“And Kal,” I said thickly. “Along with everyone else I love the most.”
Love. My voice hitched on the word, but I’d said it anyway.
Metal crashing to the floor pulled me back to the present. I turned to find Kal crouching to pick up a bowl. The place had gotten so busy that I’d had to pull him off dishes to help catch up on orders. Clearly, I’d left him alone in the weeds for too long.
I faced my best friend and gave her a quick, tight hug. “Thanks, Nat. Seriously.”
She saluted before pushing through the swinging door back to the dining room. I called after her, “I’m getting back at you for the slap!”
Nat flashed me her middle finger before the door swung closed.
* * *
“Wow, Slugger. You’ve really outdone yourself.” Dad slung a thin arm over my shoulder as the last of the dinner stragglers filed out the front door. “Everyone’s going to line up to eat at Southern Charm when they come to Roswell Falls. Mark my words.”
“You must share the collard recipe with me, Lollipop,” Mom said, hooking her arm through mine.
“Sorry, can’t, Mom. Secret family recipe.” I winked.
Mom shoved lightly at my arm.
“Just kidding, of course. I’ve got the recipe right here.” I pulled Grandma’s tattered recipe book from my apron pocket and held it gently, like a precious artifact.
Dad whistled. “I haven’t seen this thing in forever,” he said, taking the book and flipping through the pages. He smiled as he took in my handwritten notes mixed with Grandma’s instructions.
“I’m thinking of putting it in a shadow box and hanging it there,” I said, pointing to a framed photo of Grandma Gladys by the front door.
Dad ruffled my already messy space buns. “That’s a nice idea. But don’t you think recipe books should be used, not stuffed away behind glass?”
“That’s why I started my own!” I said, pulling out a second notebook. It was nearly pristine except for the words on the front, written in big fat black permanent marker: (Even More) Foolproof Recipes for a Damn Good Home-Cooked Meal by Lola Gladys Maloney.
I’d had an idea for a new recipe variation the other day.
It was for a dish that wasn’t even in Grandma’s notebook—something I would create from scratch.
I’d waffled over whether it was even worth working on if it wasn’t already Gladys-approved.
Would the end result be worth the effort spent trying?
But I caught myself letting self-doubt win.
I wondered why it was so easy for me to believe in everyone other than myself. I needed to stop that. I needed to see what they already saw in me.
And then I thought about Kal, who cared for me so effortlessly, but who seemed to care for himself so little. In that way, he and I filled in each other’s gaps. Complemented each other, the way the sun complemented the moon.
My eyes cut to Kal bussing tables with the begrudging help of my little brother. Yes, even Jacob had pitched in to help with Southern Charm’s grand reopening, and he did it with minimal complaining.
As I watched them together, Kal said something that made Jacob roll his eyes exaggeratedly. But behind his ornery teenage exterior, I could see that my brother was smiling. Somehow, Kal had even won over a thirteen-year-old.
It was funny—I think that was the first time I could imagine a world in which Kal was part of my life indefinitely. It was so obvious that he belonged with me, with us, in Roswell Falls.
And I wanted that future.
So why did my intuition tell me that Kal was holding something back? Why did I feel like I was on the cusp of losing something? Something bigger than a job, or a restaurant, or a close friend. Something otherworldly.
A pair of fingers snapped into my view. “Earth to Lola,” Dad said with a laugh.
I blinked in surprise and attempted a laugh of my own, but the result was shaky at best.
“Methinks you and the man friend are more serious than I thought,” Dad joked, poking me with a bony elbow and pointing his chin in Kal’s direction. “And before you ask, yes, you have my approval.”
“Pfft,” I blew a raspberry at him. “It’s the twenty-first century, Dad, not the sixties. I wasn’t asking for your approval.”
“But you got it all the same,” he said with a soft smile and a squeeze of my forearm. “Enthusiastically.”
Dad gave me a knowing glance, the kind that said everything that needs to be said without a single word being spoken.
I know how deeply you care for people, it said.
I know you want to be there for everyone else.
And I’m happy, so happy, you finally have someone who will take care of you like you take care of everyone else.
My parents didn’t linger for long after that, both pressing kisses to my cheek and telling me how proud they were.
A part of me still wanted to downplay their praise.
Shout that they wouldn’t be so proud if they knew just how badly I’d failed the restaurant at first, if they knew how many times I had thought about giving up and running away.
But the fact of the matter was that I didn’t give up, and that was something to be proud of.
I waved my parents and brother off, and clicked the deadbolt behind them.
When I turned, my best friend and my—well, my Kal—were holding fluffy bouquets of bright pink flowers.
Then I did finally break down and cry. Happy tears, obviously.
“I told him he shouldn’t have picked them from out front,” Nat said right away, pointing an accusatory finger at Kal.
I laughed and wrapped them both in a bone-crushing hug.