22. Chanice
Chanice
The air is crisp this morning, blowing my hair out of my face as I walk. I’m thankful for the jacket I thought to bring, and the overall fat that coats my body like a glove. It staves off the cold until I make it to my destination.
“Lenny,” I call out as I make my way into the pizza shop.
He is behind the counter with his apron on, sprinkling cheese onto some saucy dough. He acknowledges my greeting with a head nod before returning to what he is doing. Taking a seat at the back, I wait for him to be done.
“What’s up, kid? You wanted to meet.” He slides across from me and takes off his hairnet, setting it on the table. Scratching his barely-there beard, he waits for me to speak.
“Look, I know you gave us three months, but I was hoping we could work out a deal where we stay. I’m willing to pay more.
” My gut flips like it’s turning away from this sad scene.
Even it doesn’t want to see the desperation clearly laid out on my face.
He seems to take my declaration in stride, really thinking it over.
“Can you do five hundred more?”
Hysteria has me holding back a laugh. I expected to have to negotiate, but the starting place has me feeling weary.
“I have rented from you for almost seven years. Have I ever given you a problem?”
Sure, he took a chance on a sixteen-year-old girl with three roommates and a part-time job, but I made it worth his while. When they moved on or moved out, I always found someone to take their place. And when I got the kids, I stepped up and took on the lease all on my own. I’m a good tenant.
“You’re great. I love you, honestly. It’s just, I really do have this family coming to town, and they are willing to pay more than you do now.” He looks around his shop before coming back to me. The look he gives isn’t entirely grim, and a part of me feels like he is on my side.
“What about an extra two hundred. Will that work?” I ask.
Maybe I should have read an article or something on this. Gotten some sort of idea on how to approach these types of talks. I feel like I’m failing just based on his next words.
“Best I can do is three-fifty. And that is only because I like you a hell of a lot better than I like my cousin.” The chair creeks as he leans back on it, rocking a little.
My stomach flips again, rejoining the conversation. Hope flutters in it at the possibility of making this work. That’s just an extra eighty-seven pounds a week, and with two jobs, surely I can make that work.
“You have a deal, but give me to the start of December for the first payment.” Pressing my luck, I try to give him my best smile.
Maybe if he sees how adorable I am, he will remember that he has known me since I was a teenager. Back when he let me pick up a shift or two here to make ends meet. Realistically, I probably should have come to him sooner. But then again, he didn’t do me the courtesy of saying it to my face.
“I don’t know, kid.”
“Please.” I place my hands in a pleading motion, leaning more into his line of vision.
With a sigh, he nods once before standing up. “I have to know before the end of November if you can actually make this work. Alright?”
The eager way I profess my gratitude comes off as sort of pathetic.
But if it means making sure we have a roof over our heads, then I will do it.
He hands me a slice on my way out, and I scarf it down while I head to my catering shift.
Mentally preparing for the next battle, I need the carbs to give me a boost of sugar.
“You’re early.” Chef Tomas greets me as I walk into his area in the event space kitchen and plant myself in front of his work table. Briefly looking up, he goes back to the prep he is doing.
“Yes, I actually came to talk to you.” Still in my street clothes, I try not to touch anything near me. Standing in this industrial-sized kitchen makes me desperate to work in one.
“About what?”
In one big breath I say, “I want a job.”
“You have one.” His cuts are clean as he doesn’t bother looking up while talking.
“I mean, as a cook.”
That gets him to put his knife down. He turns and looks at me through squinted eyes.
“I didn’t know you had experience.” While he handles the kitchen staff, his partner and wife, Elise, manages the waitstaff. It wasn’t until months in that he even knew my name.
“Well, I have a year of culinary school under my belt, and I worked on the line while in high school for this Italian restaurant.” No need to mention it was just Lenny’s pizza shop.
The look of skepticism that crosses his face I expected, so I brace myself for whatever he has to say next.
“I don’t think that is enough.”
Prepared for this, I’m mentally already in the place to convince him of my value.
“I learn quickly, and I have already been picking things up just from watching you before serving. Even if you just need someone to help with prep and plating, I can do that. I have the basics, and I can definitely learn the rest.” That smile from earlier comes out again, and I puff my chest a little in pride.
Standing up straight makes me feel like I am presenting myself better. Like I am a new tool on a showroom floor that he is considering.
“This is high-end food. We handle a lot of big clients.”
“I know that, and I know the menus that you offer. If you add anything else, I will be able to pick up on that, too.”
He looks me up and down in consideration, weighing my words against his instincts. The breath he releases is heavy enough that it lingers in the room.
I know he got his start working his way up through various restaurants. It wasn’t until he was a sous chef that he even took a class. Maybe his unconventional path will make him see the potential in me.
“I’ll think about it.”
I thank him for not just saying no, and try to keep my giddiness at bay during my shift.
It’s nearly impossible when it feels like my dreams are finally in reach.
If I get to work in a kitchen fulltime, while also being able to cover all of our bills, it will be like life is finally cutting me a break.
All that talk about putting my life on hold will no longer be a reality as I accomplish two goals in one. As much as I try to play it cool, my hopeful exuberance is noticeable enough that Jessie comments on it while we munch on the finger sandwiches that they served at the women’s luncheon.
“What has you so excited? That good dick?” We are waiting for everyone to leave so we can do the clean up, as the prestigious ladies of London linger to gossip about one another.
In the meantime, we take our own opportunity to talk.
“Chef Tomas said he might let me work in the kitchen.” I pop another tiny triangle in my mouth and try not to jump around.
“Why don’t you let Mr. Money pay for things? It would solve a lot of problems.” Sipping on some champagne she commandeered from the bar, she leans against the wall.
“If I get desperate, I might, but I’m not all of a sudden going to let him pay for my life.” I clean my fingers on a napkin before giving in and eating another one. She shakes her head and picks up a cupcake.
“If I were in your shoes—”
“I know what you would do.”
“Well, other than the fact that you are choosing to be poor, how is it going? You told me he took the fact that you have three kids very well.”
“He did, and now we are just moving forward at my pace. I don’t know. He is really great, and I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Jamal. I still don’t know what is going to come out of this social worker follow-up.”
She shakes her head and gives me a look that speaks of all her thoughts. It’s clear I seem crazy to her.
Just then, Elise walks in to let us know we are in the clear.
By the time we get out of there, it’s only 3 p.m., and there is plenty of the day left.
I stop back at home before my shift at the café.
When I walk in, I see the kids still aren’t back from school.
Thinking that I have enough time to cook them something to eat, I start to pull out a pan for sausages when my phone rings.
“Chanice?”
I don’t recognize the woman’s voice, and that causes a surge of panic to shoot through my body. Pulling the phone away from my face, the number doesn’t give anything away.
“Yes?”
“This is Reyna Wells from Child Services.”
I drop the pan and hear the clang of it hitting the floor echo in my ears alongside my heartbeat. That with my heavy gasp is like a symphony of my worry playing out over the line. She must hear it because she rushes through the next sentence.
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I worked with you when the children were placed in your care.”
I don’t think I remember much of that time other than the contradicting feelings of concern and relief, but her name does sound familiar.
“Um, yes, hi.”
Unsure of her reason for calling, I let her guide the conversation.
She goes on to ask me how I’m doing, and I don’t know what she thinks the answer will be after an introduction like that.
Based on the shaking of my hands and the pooling of tears in my eyes, I’m far from okay as I wait to know the reason for her reaching out.
“I’m calling today to inform you that your mother has completed her action plan. She took the parenting classes and has been able to show that she is stable enough now to take the kids. There is going to be a hearing to reinstate her rights.”
“Are you serious?” I fall back against the counter, hoping it will hold me up. It doesn’t, and soon I’m sliding to the floor, my legs pushing against my belly.
“It is always our goal to try to keep families together.”
“I’m their family.” I have to pull the phone away from my face to reduce the sound of my shouting.
“We mean parents and kids.”
Disbelief has me scoffing as I try to outright stop myself from just hanging up the phone. She can’t be serious? If she worked with us when they got taken, then she knows how bad it was. She knows what Deidre is really like.
“Giving birth doesn’t make you a parent.” The spite of years of neglect has it sounding so factual, I don’t know how she can argue with it.
“I understand how you’re feeling, but I just wanted to inform you of the date. If you don’t agree as their guardian, you can go and make a statement. But I have to say, with what recently happened with Jamal, your home will also be in question.”
Here it is. The other shoe dropping right on my head. There was no way we were going to walk away from that incident mostly unscathed.
“It was an accident. He was cooking, and he burned himself. He had a babysitter, and I was working. How can you possibly hold that against me?” I feel like a child again, trying to avoid being punished for something I didn’t do on purpose. Forced to face down the wrath of an unforgiving adult.
“My job is to act in the best interest of the children.” She has to know that there is nowhere better for them than here.
“I’m what’s best for them.”
“That will be decided by the judge. It’s honestly out of my hands at this point. But if you want the best-case scenario, I would try to hire a family solicitor.”
With what money! I want to scream at her. Instead, I ask for the time and date of the hearing. It’s not until the new year, because they want to do a few more home visits first. At least there is that.
Hanging up, I let myself fall apart for a few minutes before I force the tears to stop.
I don’t have the luxury of not pulling it together.
I need to make them food, and then I need to go to work.
After that, I can try and figure out how to keep us together.
Despite the fact that I have four solid years of a good home for them, her three months of being clean are enough to take them away.
I can’t stop the shaking, and even when I have to leave for my shift, I can’t fight the tears. I’m five seconds away from falling apart, and I don’t think I can keep it together. I need something to help me keep it together.