Chapter 29
AYLA
Grandpa is at the restaurant today. So I’m going to tell him my plans.
I find him at the bar, laughing with two customers, a glass of Pepsi in his hand. I get myself one, then lean on the bar next to him, smiling at Mr. Martin, who’s talking.
“At my age, getting lucky means walking into a room and remembering why I went there.”
“Yeah,” Grandpa says. “Not only is my short-term memory bad, but so is my short-term memory.”
I laugh.
“I remember when I could remember things,” Mr. Cohen says sadly.
“You men are all sharp as a chef’s knife,” I tell them.
“Well. I must go.” Mr. Martin drains his glass and sets it on the bar.
The two gentlemen take their leave.
I turn to Grandpa. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure, honey.” He doesn’t move.
“Maybe in your office?”
“Oh. It’s serious, is it?”
I smile. “Don’t worry, nobody’s dying.”
“Well, that’s good.” He leads the way to his tiny office at the back of the building. “What’s on your mind?”
“Carson and I are trying to work things out.”
His eyes brighten and a grin splits his face. “That’s good news!”
“Yes. We’re working on some issues.”
“You know I really like that man. Seeing you together at the birthday party was good for my old heart.”
“Nonna and Rachel apparently had a plan.”
“I know.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head. “Did everyone know?”
“No. Some people can’t be trusted.”
I cover my mouth with my fingers to stop my smile.
“So he’s moved home with you.”
“Not yet. We’re not rushing it.”
We’re spending time together, as much as we can, building a new framework for our relationship. Trusting each other with our vulnerabilities and insecurities. Feeling safe with each other.
“And… I’m working on, um, myself. I’ve decided I’m going to go back to college. I got accepted to Montclair State.”
His thick, gray eyebrows pull down. “Oh. That’s great, honey.”
“I’m excited.” I catch my bottom lip between my teeth briefly. “It means I won’t be able to work here as much. Or maybe… at all.”
He gazes at me. “Well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well.” He rubs his jaw and looks around.
“We’ll find someone who can take over for me. I’ve been thinking about it. I know I’ve been handling a lot of business things, but I think Ashley would be willing to take on more—”
“I’m the manager here. I own this place.”
“Yes, I know.” Um… “You haven’t… You’ve been…” Ack. How do I phrase this? “It seems like you want to scale back how much you’re here.”
“I love this place.”
“I know you do! But Grandpa, you’re seventy-five.”
“You’re saying I’m old.”
“I didn’t say that. I said you’re seventy-five. Is that wrong?”
“No.”
“I thought you were easing into retirement… maybe.”
“I can’t retire. Who will run this place? Your father’s not interested.”
“No,” I agree. Dad’s a dentist; he’s not going to give that up to run a restaurant. I can’t see my mom stepping in either; she loves her job at the flower shop. The rest of the family are all pretty well established in their own careers.
“I can’t hire some stranger off the street,” he gripes.
“Why not?”
He throws up his hands. “That’s crazy talk!”
My stomach is starting to hurt.
“This is a family business!”
“Well…” Grandma used to work here sometimes, but she’s seventy-five, too.
She hasn’t worked at the restaurant for probably a decade.
The other family members who’ve worked here over the years only did it as a part-time job.
Which was how I started, and somehow ended up practically running the place.
I feel bad. Grandpa clearly wants the business to stay in the family.
Am I being a selfish little bitch?
My stomach hurts more.
“We can talk more about it,” I say gently. “I won’t start college until September, so there’s lots of time to figure it out.”
“Hmmm. Yes. And lots of time for you to change your mind!”
I don’t want to argue with him. And I hate letting him down. But setting boundaries for myself isn’t selfish.
Is it?
Damn. Working on this is going to be hard.
I remind myself of things Tessa has taught me… It’s okay if others get angry. It’s okay to say no. I am enough.
I’m glad Grandpa is happy about Carson and me, though.
Carson doesn’t have a game tonight, so he’s coming over for dinner. I end up taking home veal scaloppine al limone with carrots and rapini for our meal since I won’t have time to cook.
I do have time to shower, shave my legs, and apply my favorite First Rain body lotion.
Silly me. He’s my husband. But every time I’m going to see him, I get a little giddy.
The first few times we went out, he brought me flowers—my favorite freesia, sweet peas, and stocks that smell so fresh and beautiful. I asked him if he went by Mom’s flower shop so she could tell him what to get, and he was deeply offended. He remembered them.
As we eat dinner at the island in the kitchen, I tell him about my conversation with Grandpa.
“I feel so bad. He really wants someone in the family to take over.”
“It doesn’t have to be you.”
“I know. But I feel sad. Because I don’t think there’s anyone else. Maybe I’m making a mistake?”
He regards me thoughtfully as he chews a mouthful and swallows. “What did your nonna say? Just as we were leaving?”
I think back. “Oh. She said, ‘Don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.’”
“Yeah.”
“Ohhhh. I see what she meant.”
He dips his head in agreement.
I poke a carrot with my fork. “It’s not easy.”
“Yeah. I know you care about your family.”
“I do. But the whole point of going back to college was to take care of me, for once.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, his jaw set. I can see he’s trying not to jump in and take charge. And my heart squeezes.
My cell phone rings. I reach across the counter to grab it from where I set it down. “It’s Grandma.”
Carson’s mouth pinches up.
“Hi, Grandma.” My stomach tightens.
“Hello, Ayla. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Just eating dinner, actually.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt. I can call back later.”
“No, no, it’s fine. How are you?”
We make some dumb small talk, then she says, “I hear you and Carson are not getting divorced after all.”
“That’s our hope.” I glance at Carson, who’s watching me.
“That’s such good news. I’m happy for you both.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” Is that what she called about? Maybe this is okay.
“Also, your grandfather told me about your plans to go to college.”
My gut contracts again. “Yes, that’s right.”
“How could you do that to him? He needs you.”
I close my eyes.
Carson’s hand lands on my back in a gentle press. I take a breath and open my eyes to meet his reassuring gaze. “I’m sorry, Grandma.”
“He’s very upset. I’m worried about him.”
“Oh no.” I press my hand to my chest. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
“I hope so.”
Carson’s forehead creases.
“Grandma, I’m not going back to school until September. We have lots of time to figure this out.”
“Well, he’s worried now.”
Inhale. Exhale. “What do you want me to do?”
Carson’s frown deepens.
I make a face at him.
“I want you to rethink your plans. Your family needs you.”
Those words.
Those words that used to make me feel so good. So needed. So loved, even.
But I am loved. I know my family does love me and they’ll still love me even if I don’t do what Grandma and Grandpa want. Carson loves me. I love me.
I felt so stuck. I felt like all I was good for was helping my family. Working in the restaurant, looking after them. How hopeless I felt that anything could change. My whole life had to fall apart for me to realize I can change things.
I lift my chin. “I’m not going to do that. But I’ll help Grandpa find a solution. We’ll find someone good who can take over for me.”
“Oh, Ayla.” Her disappointment makes me wince.
Stay strong.
I swallow past the golf ball stuck in my throat. “I hope you can understand that this is important to me.”
She’s silent.
“We can talk more another time. I think when Grandpa has a chance to sit with this for a while, he’ll understand. Bye, Grandma.”
I end the call and lower my phone. I meet Carson’s eyes.
He smiles at me. “That’s my girl.”
Warmth swells behind my breastbone. I slide off my stool and move to him to hug him. His strong arms come around me, so safe and secure.
“You know what I wanted to do?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“I wanted to rip that phone out of your hand and tell your grandma to fuck right off. But in more polite language.”
A laugh bubbles in my throat.
“Like, please fuck off.”
The laugh breaks free. “But you didn’t. I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I lift my head to look at him, his face wearing a pleased expression.
“I also want to drive over to Uncle Ernie’s and give Ernie shit.” His expression is rueful. “But I won’t do that either. Unless you want me to?”
I grin. “That’s okay.”
“I know I can’t fix all your problems.” He gently pushes my bangs out of my eyes. “But I promise you won’t ever face them alone.”