39. Michael
I’ve never been a fan of winter—but it isn’t for the obvious reasons.
It isn’t because of the weather or the freezing cold temperatures, the dead vegetation or the end of year.
It’s mostly to do with the fact that, growing up in Sag Harbor, there would be a massive exodus once the temperature dropped to freezing levels.
People with summer homes would stop visiting until the following spring, and tourism would drop substantially, leaving the previously-crowded beaches and towns empty. Almost ghost-like.
Many locals actually prefer it that way, to get their towns back from seasonal tourists.
But as a teenager growing up with absent parents, I loved making new friends every summer.
I liked getting to know people from different backgrounds.
And the absence of the crowds, the end of the temporary relationships I’d form as a kid with transient people, multiplied my loneliness tenfold.
Nowadays, winter in Sag Harbor isn’t as bad as it used to be.
Over the last couple of years, many people have moved out here permanently, choosing to set down roots—whether it’s to retire or start their families.
Either way, it’s been nice not to feel like you’re living in the middle of a dead town.
It’s especially nice when you have a business that depends on people.
And while it’s normal for business to go down over the holidays in this, we haven’t found it to be the case with H&H.
Nope. H&H is thriving. Dubbed by one of the most respectable food critics in the country as “the gem of Long Island,” our restaurant has exceeded expectations.
Patrons have loved my new elevated take on simple, easy-to-understand ingredients that they see in their own supermarkets every day.
They appreciate the lack of sticker shock when they peruse the menu, and are wowed that they’re getting Michelin-level tasting—and looking—meals without the price.
So much so that it has become a destination restaurant for people all over the tristate area.
It’s certainly been an incredible thing to witness my vision not just come to life, but to more than exceed expectations.
From the outside, life is going well. Rachel is doing okay in school, enjoying her drama club, and work is fantastic.
But on the inside, I’m a fucking mess. I can’t stop thinking about the last time Diana and I spoke, even though it was months ago.
Can’t stop thinking about how my words came across.
I know they were necessary, but often times, when I revisit the conversation, I wonder whether I was too stern.
Too aggressive. Whether I should’ve softened the blow when I asked her never to call me again.
But then I think back to the mindset I was in at the time, and realize it could’ve gone so much worse.
Because I could barely get out of bed back then.
The only reason I did was because I had a front to keep up for my daughter, and thank god for her, since I haven’t been able to escape this heartbreak.
I see Diana in everything and everyone, every inch of this town a memorial to the shortest and most meaningful relationship I’ve ever had, and it’s killing me slowly.
“Table six’s roasted chicken is ready.” Lexi breaks through my musings, passing over the chicken for final plating.
I come back to reality and get to work, carefully slicing the herb-roasted bird on a bias before fanning the pieces on the plate.
I accompany the protein with a colorful trio of roasted beets, parsnips, and carrots, sitting atop a thin layer of buttery mashed potatoes.
The ultimate comfort food meal for the winter, plated like a work of art.
I prepare a second chicken dish, and ring the bell for pick-up. “Order’s up for table 6!”
When a waiter comes around, I sag against the counter, and put my head in my hands until I’m called to plate again.
The kitchen doors swing open, our head waiter, Matteo, coming in with a confused look in his eyes. “Uh, we got an interesting order for table two. They ordered every item on the menu.”
I look at him with a raised brow. “Table two is a two-person table. They want to taste everything? That’s way too much food for a couple of people.”
“Yeah, it’s actually just one person.” When I stare blankly at him, he shrugs.
“I don’t know man. This lady said she wanted to make sure she tasted everything since I told her you change your menu weekly—or sometimes even daily—based on what’s fresh.
Said something about living in the moment before you kick her out forever? I don’t fucking know.”
“Before I kick her out forever? What does that mean?” What the hell?
His shrug is noncommittal, like he’s already checked out of this conversation.
“Huh.” Curious, I step through the double doors of the kitchen, thinking it might be a good idea to meet this person with the limitless appetite. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see the woman that’s been haunting my dreams every night sitting by the window. At table two.
I’ve often dreamt of what would happen if we were to run into each other again—especially after how we left things.
It feels like my mind runs through at least five different scenarios a day just to keep me prepared for this exact situation.
Except here I am, faced with the woman who took my heart with her when she left, and I have no fucking idea what to say or do.
What I do know is that I need to somehow begin with breathing, which I seem to have forgotten how to do.
As if sensing my presence, she looks up to meet my eyes. I watch as she inhales sharply, her back tensing and her eyes widening into two wide round circles, red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“Michael,” she breathes. I can hear her soft voice even over the sound of the crowded restaurant, I’m so attuned to her.
Behind me, I feel two soft hands gently push me. “Go to her,” Lexi whispers in my ear (and where the hell did she come from anyway?).
In a trancelike state, I do.
Diana motions for me to take a seat. “Would you like to sit? We can talk. Or… or I can go if you don’t want me here.”
And because I’m a fucking moron, all I can think to reply is, “Your order isn’t even ready.”
“I—uh, that’s okay.”
Duh, you idiot. She’s not here for the food.
With a deep, shaky breath, I take a seat. Keeping my eyes on the table, I wait for her to speak first. It’s a cowardly move, but I’m not the one who showed up out of nowhere.
“I’m so happy the place is doing well. Honestly, I didn’t make a reservation or anything, and by the time I got here I was worried there wouldn’t be availability. But as luck would have it, your hostess said there was a last-minute cancellation.”
Dammit. I forgot how cute her nervous babbling is.
I finally look up, wincing at her expression.
“Obviously, I’m not here for the food. Despite knowing firsthand anything you cook is so good, I always come back for seconds.”
“Is that what you’re here for? Seconds?”
She swallows once. “No. I… I miss you.”
I nod. Nod again. Keep nodding so much I could easily be confused with a bobble head until I make myself dizzy. “Right. Is that it, then?”
The hurt in her face is clear, but I couldn’t help my response.
I’ve asked her to stay away for my own mental health unless she really needed me.
And now she’s here in my restaurant? Telling me she misses me like I haven’t been dying slowly from the same feeling for the past three months of my life?
“Are you in trouble? Is that why you’re here? Did Rodrigo come after you or the—”
“No. No. It’s, uh… it’s the opposite.”
I raise a brow. “He sent you here?”
She snorts and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. In my own heartbreak, I hadn’t realized the tears that had started to build in her eyes. “No, it isn’t that. Rodrigo is gone. He waived his parental rights.”
I exhale, a wave of devastation for Diana’s daughters falls over me.
Who the fuck would ever think of leaving them?
I already thought less of Rodrigo for being dumb enough to throw Diana away, but to leave all three of them?
There was a time when I would’ve killed to have them in my life forever.
Still would. And this guy just willingly cast them aside?
Madness. Absolute madness.
“How are the girls handling it?” I ask, because I need to know how hard I’m going to destroy the motherfucker the next time I see him.
“Surprisingly well. Or at least much better than I expected. I think they gave up on their dad a couple of months ago, if I’m being honest. When school started, and he stopped coming around again, definitely.”
“How about you? Are you okay? Do you need help? Is that why you’re here?
” Because I know what giving up parental rights means: it also means giving up responsibilities, as in financial ones.
Maybe Diana needs money? But I can’t ever see her asking anyone for money unless her daughters were literally inches away from living on the street.
And I certainly wouldn’t be the first person she’d go to.
Not now. Even though I would probably still give her anything she asked for if she did.
“I’m here for you.”
I never used to be one to struggle with breathing before meeting Diana, yet it feels like almost every time I’m around her I suffer from an anoxic event. Like now, for example.
After growing a bit too lightheaded for comfort, I finally manage to suck in a breath.
Her lower lip trembles, and I can see just how difficult this is for her from the way her hands shake on the table, the pale skin on her face. Still, doesn’t she know it’s impossible for me?
“You’re here for me?”
She hesitates. “Well, I was actually in New York for a work trip and—”
Ah. There it is.