Chapter 2
Caleb
“Are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t see them going for it.”
I only got in last night and Dad’s already putting me to work. I can’t blame him. It’s only six weeks into the wedding season and the Market is busier than ever. Time to put the years of culinary school and professional experience to work.
I knew what I was getting into when I chose to follow in my father’s footsteps and carry on the family legacy.
I knew my parents would pay for culinary school and let me do my own thing for a few years.
And I knew I’d have to come home eventually.
But I wasn’t ready to pack up my life when Mom called to tell me about Dad’s heart attack a few weeks ago.
I wasn’t ready to restart my life back in Charter Oaks.
And I certainly wasn’t ready for him to drop this plot twist regarding our biggest wedding of the season.
“They’ll go for it, Caleb,” Dad answers confidently.
“And you’re okay with going against your number one unwritten rule for this?”
“Son,” he says with a sigh. This conversation is taking a toll on him.
More than it usually would. The doctors gave him an almost clean bill of health, but he’s supposed to make some lifestyle changes and it hasn’t been easy.
Enter me to take the burden of wedding season off his shoulders.
“This will be great for us and set you up for the success you deserve when you take over. It’ll be worth breaking our unwritten rule just once. ”
“Not our rule, Dad,” I remind him. “Yours.”
“I have my reasons for it. Which, unfortunately for you, may become clear this summer.”
I love my dad, but he can be cryptic as fuck sometimes.
“Well, tomorrow will certainly be interesting.” I get up from the chair. “I’ve got to meet Joey, but I’ll pick you up in the morning and we’ll head over?”
He nods and shuffles through the piles on his desk.
I hang by the door for a moment, studying him.
He’s thinner than he was the last time I visited, thanks to his new heart-healthy diet.
The lines on his face are a little deeper and his once-jet black hair is shot through with gray.
It seems like an already-established fact that I’m expected to take over sooner rather than later.
I couldn’t avoid it forever—as much as I wanted to.
It doesn’t look that bad.
I park my old Wrangler on the street in front of the brick duplex.
Joey’s one of my oldest friends. I’d trust him with my life, but I was hesitant to ask for help with a temporary living situation.
The guy once dragged me to a concert at Jones Beach with the promise of a place to crash.
That place was the beach. It was the worst night’s sleep of my life, but he’s my only lead right now.
One night at my parents’ house was enough.
I love them and they adore each other…too much.
I may be a grown man, but I don’t need to see them making googly eyes at each other across the dinner table.
I sent a panicked text to Joey asking if he knew of anywhere else to stay while I figure things out.
He’s the kind of guy who always has a guy for something or some connection that can get whatever you need.
Sketchy, sure, but it does come in handy.
“The prodigal son returns!” Joey calls from the steps.
“Oh, fuck off.” I hop out of the Wrangler and make my way up the walkway, eyeing the outside of the house.
I grew up in Charter Oaks but never knew these few streets of nearly identical brick duplexes and small townhouses existed.
They’re much closer to the Metro-North tracks and I-95 than my parents’ house.
And much farther from the grand homes and country clubs where I spent my early twenties picking up catering gigs.
But close enough to the Market and downtown, perfect for a thirty-something-old single guy, if that guy plans to work his ass off with little hope for a social life…
which is exactly how my summer is shaking out.
“Not too bad, right?” Joey gestures to the door behind him before grabbing my right hand and pulling me in for a hug, clapping me on the back.
It hits me that I’ve missed him. We spent our high school summers together as dishwashers and cleanup crew at the Market and gigged our fair share of weddings.
I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch while I’ve been away, but with Joey it’s easy to slip right back into our uncomplicated friendship.
“I’m still a little skeptical,” I say, raising a brow. “I haven’t seen the inside yet.”
“Caleb, this is my property. I promise you, it’s nice.”
“You own this place?” When did Joey grow up and buy property?
“Yeah, man. While you’ve been away charming the pants off California girls, Morgan and I bought a couple of places, fixed them up, and now I’m landlord.”
“A landlord or a slumlord?”
“Now you fuck off.” Joey huffs out a laugh.
“We’ve got this duplex here and one of the townhouses down the street.
They’re cool. Built in the 1920s when the industries nearby were booming.
Companies built them as housing for their employees…
” He rambles on about the history of the area, opening the door and leading me inside.
Joey’s big and burly with a scruffy beard.
His looks and his interest in town history are very much at odds.
I don’t know what condition the place was in before, but I have to hand it to him, it’s pretty nice. There’s fresh paint and updated fixtures. And it comes mostly furnished, which is ideal—I won’t have much time to shop for furniture.
“How’s your dad doing?” Joey asks as we wrap up the tour back in the kitchen. It’s small, but has a decent amount of prep space and good appliances for a rental. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a landlord-slash-chef.
“Something must still be wrong with him if he’s still talking to you,” I joke. Giving each other shit is one of our favorite pastimes.
While I dragged my feet, Joey moved up in the ranks at Foley’s and eventually became one of the lead chefs under Dad.
He stuck with it until last summer, when he was hired as a private chef up in the Hamptons.
That's where he met his girlfriend, Morgan, who he convinced to move back so he could open his own small catering company—with Dad's blessing. Must be nice.
I didn’t take the news so great. If I was going to have to take over Foley’s one day, I wanted to do it with Joey by my side.
We work great together and he makes everything fun.
That might be why Dad gave him his blessing: We’d probably have too much fun and run the business to the ground.
The truth is that I’m envious of Joey, starting something of his own from scratch. Like how my dad started Foley’s.
“Aw, c’mon,” he says with a laugh. “Your old man knows I only do smaller gigs. I can’t do those two-, three-hundred-person weddings on my own. I won’t lie, I sort of miss Foley’s. But the crazy guests with questions like ‘how many macros are in this?’—I don’t miss that.”
“Is that what I’m in for now that I’m back East?”
“If you thought California was bad, you’ve been away from Connecticut for too long. Is this it? You’re back for good?”
I hadn’t given it much thought. When Mom called, she assured me Dad was going to be fine, but it was time to come home.
I found someone to sublet my room in the apartment I shared with another chef, sold a bunch of my stuff, packed up the rest, and now I’m here.
Home. But it doesn’t quite feel like that yet.
“Yeah, man, I think so,” I say.
“It’ll be nice to have you back, but I can only let you have this place through September. I’ve got a lease signed already, a professor at the university.”
“That’s all I need.” Whether or not Foley’s and I make it through Dad’s big plan will be determined by Labor Day. Joey hands me the keys and helps me unload my pitiful amount of luggage and boxes from the car.
Home sweet home…for now.
Joey helps me get settled and heads out—but not before I agree to go to The Warehouse Party with him tonight. It’s been five years since my last appearance at the infamous industry party, and I’d rather not be reminded of that night. I need to stay focused on the summer ahead of me.