Chapter 6
Augie met Zami Martinaj when she was sixteen, her first summer at the Club. It was Zami’s first summer too but because he
started after her, he joked she was a veteran. “You were running the place, don’t pretend,” he teased, flattering her. Zami
was magnanimous. He had lake blue eyes with black eyebrows and a gray beard. He always brightened everyone’s mood.
Zami was a hit with the Club members. Augie watched him ascend quickly from line cook to grill master to any front of house
role, impressed by his ability to shuck oysters and chat business with the bigwigs, prep bruschetta and ask about people’s
kids, work the pig roast and start sing-alongs. Even the old GM became enthralled by him. Zami also frequently discussed the
war he had fled, proudly explaining he was Albanian Kosovar.
This was another reason no one challenged him: Say the word war and sheltered Midwesterners went stiff.
Augie figured most people didn’t know where Albania or Kosovo were.
But she felt comfortable with Zami, so when she told him she couldn’t remember much about the Balkans, he welcomed the conversation.
He explained that he and his family had stayed in Pristina the first few months of the war, hiding out at their apartment, but after the night their restaurant was burned, he packed his wife and daughter up.
They followed a cousin to Iowa, then to Minnesota.
Zami’s wife died from a heart condition soon after arriving in the States, but over the years, Augie got to know his daughter,
Teuta. She was twelve years older than Augie, but Augie loved her like a sister. Their bakery was also down the road from
Augie’s house, so she and her mom visited frequently. Leah and Augie spent a lot of time there in high school, too, doing
homework and eating Balkan delicacies—everything from byrek and mantia to Augie’s favorite, ajvar, a dip made of charred red
peppers.
They especially loved being around Teuta. Like her father, she commanded a room. Additionally, she was gorgeous, with thick
eyebrows, a full mouth, and a heart-shaped face.
Fueled by her work ethic and scratch card winnings, she was also determined to make Hyla as successful as their family’s old
restaurant in Pristina. There was no way she’d go back to waitressing, either, she lamented, bitter about all the years she’d
spent at The Manor.
Still, because it was off the beaten path and people weren’t familiar with Balkan food, the bakery struggled. This was why,
when Augie had to choose a client for a marketing competition in high school, Hyla came straight to mind. Zami and Teuta were
all in, and with the help of her mom—who’d picked up all there was to know about owning a restaurant working with Augie’s
dad before the divorce—Augie developed a campaign that included everything from rebranding to partnering with influencers
and farmers markets.
In the years that followed, the bakery took off. Zami was able to follow his true passion of working as a chef; he started
a part-time catering business and helped families like the Crawleys with parties and meal prep.
Augie hadn’t seen Zami or Teuta since she got home.
While they’d heard she was back from her mom, Augie was dodging them—they’d been so excited for her life in New York.
Even so, Augie wasn’t surprised when, one morning as she was eating cereal, her phone flashed with Zami’s name.
She dropped her spoon as she read his message.
Love, Teuta and I could use help for a party. A drive north but easy. Good money. The Crawleys? Their cabin. July 4. 9 people.
Would love to see you. Would love your help! Call me. Yours, Zami
Augie’s ears began to ring. What was the universe doing to her?
If it was all couples, Chat would be number nine. He had to be. She took a moment before responding. Instantly, her mind returned
to the last time she’d seen Chat—and Mrs. Crawley—laughing and playing with the boys across the pool.
That stupid, condescending wave.
She hadn’t seen Chat or Mrs. Crawley in the days since the meet, and while she knew it was a self-indulgent thought, part
of her wondered if they were avoiding her.
Augie turned her phone over and focused. She made a mental list:
Pros: good money, time with Zami, I hate working the Club’s Red, White, and Blue party, the Crawley cabin is supposed to be
insane. . . .
Cons: Mrs. Crawley, and everything else.
It still sounded too complicated. Yet as Augie picked up her phone to say she was sorry she couldn’t make it, she felt suddenly
foolish. She stopped.
If her goal this summer was to recalibrate—and not let anyone get in her way—she had to go. She had to make money, support Zami, remain in control. And really, fuck Mrs. Crawley. It was time she stood up for herself. These members—she was sick of them all. People like them got away with everything.
Just look at Micah.
Augie began typing, not allowing herself to register the way her heartbeat doubled as she imagined Mrs. Crawley seeing her
at the cabin. For once, Augie would be the one making the passive-aggressive power play.
She didn’t allow herself to register how excited she was to see Chat, either.
Zami!! she wrote before she could stop herself. Anything for you. When do we leave?