5. Chapter Five
Chapter 5
Risto
B efore Silas left the day before, he insisted I program his number into my phone. As I entered my house from my morning walk, his name lit up my device screen.
“We meet again,” I said, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door.
“Forgive me, but I made a few calls on your behalf to some investors—”
“Whoa, now. Didn’t you hear me yesterday? I’m not looking to move.”
I’d just met the man and had no intention of letting him stampede through my life in the same way he’d ambushed my kitchen. But I had to hand it to him. The dude was persistent.
“Not move, expand,” Silas said. “Spread your wings and fly to Manhattan.”
After one meal, he presumed to know me and my life’s goals? Nobody knew that, not even me. But maybe that was his point. I should want more.
Besides Dot, there was no wise elder guiding my life. My grandparents had passed away, and they did their best raising me after my parents died. I was six when it happened. Mom and Dad were on their way back from a date night when the sleeping driver of a semi-tractor trailer crossed into their lane. The collision forced their car over an embankment and out of my life. I awoke the next morning at my grandparents’ house into a world forever altered. All the sparkle gone, save for a single glimmer.
Cooking.
The kitchen had been the center of our happy home. I helped Mom prepare family favorites, standing on a stool at her side. My dad, a cook at a restaurant, taught me how to dice an onion so every square was the same size. It only took a few well-placed slices, and that technique served me until culinary school upped my game. But back then I’d beg to tag along with Dad. He’d arrive at work and sit me in a corner, warning me to stay out of the way. He never fully understood how fascinated I was by it all. In minutes, skillful hands transformed ordinary ingredients—meats, onions, plantains, rice, and more—into the savory dishes I loved.
Comforting arroz con pollo.
Garlicky mofongo con camarones.
Golden maduros, fried until the plantains caramelized to perfection.
It was nothing short of magic, and I wanted in. Part of that came from my mom, always at the ready with a smile and a storybook full of wizards. She helped Dad keep the faith that he’d soon have a business of his own. Tragically, he never did. Every day I worked for myself, I honored his memory and his passion for cooking. Would my parents have been like Silas and encourage me to stretch myself?
Of course they would.
“Suena en grande,” they’d say each night with a kiss. Dream big.
“Why me, Silas?”
“Why not you? Top marks in culinary school. Impressive stints in several excellent Philly restaurants until you opened Boricua. You’re a proven restaurateur. And from what I can tell, an honorable man.”
My little pest had done his homework. I sighed into the phone. “Okay. Fill me in.”
Silas had spoken to three different restaurant groups interested in meeting with me. Each had ideas for bringing Boricua to New York. Puerto Ricans were no longer the dominant Hispanic group they once were within the city’s diverse Hispanic population. This created a prime opportunity to celebrate the pride many Puerto Ricans held for their culture. Each investor thought the time was right to innovate the culinary game in this space, with some suggesting locations along the Fifth Avenue route of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. A spot like that would build instant awareness for the restaurant and definitely got my attention.
I strolled to my kitchen counter and poured a mug from my waiting coffee maker. I took a fiery sip, dabbing my mouth with my hand.
This was more than I expected. Smart investors were giving this serious consideration. But did I really want to open another location just as Boricua was settling back to normal post-construction? Plus, I’d never had a partner who wasn’t family. Well, technically, Dot wasn’t family. But she was to me. And I knew our patrons felt likewise. As hostess, Dot remembered guests by name and was the driving force behind the homey vibe that kept diners hooked. How would it work partnering with investors who only cared about the money?
It was a lot to consider, and I had to talk to Dot. She had a financial stake in Boricua too.
“I’m blown away.”
“Well, you deserve it. New York is the right move for you.”
“And this from a Philadelphia guy,” I teased.
“Give it some serious thought.”
“I will. But I also have to discuss it with my business partner.”
“Yes, yes. But take the meetings. You’d be a fool not to.”
I hung up with Silas, a stupid grin taking over my face. While I’d been happy owning a restaurant and living my life, every time I saw a culinary school classmate make it big, I wondered if I could too.
Mind buzzing with possibilities, I cooked a poached egg, fried plantains, and made a small salad. Fork poised before my mouth, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. Dot knocked at my sliding back door and I waved her in.
“I’m out of coffee and sniffed yours…” She stepped in and made a beeline to the cabinet for the sparkly blue mug I brought back for her from San Juan.
“You eat yet?” I asked.
“I’m good. Thanks.” She faced away from me as she poured her mug full, but something was up. Board-stiff, she paced a room she’d seen a thousand times, inspecting every corner to avoid looking at me.
“Everything set with the surgery for tomorrow? Gabby taking you?”
“About that.” She turned to face me. “Gabby has a business trip, so Leslie is coming to stay for a while. She’ll help me with my surgery and the recovery for a while afterward.”
“What!?”
“I’ll be out of commission for several weeks and need the help. And so will you at the restaurant. You’ll be down a hostess, and I figured she could fill in.”
I slammed my mug down harder than intended, sloshing coffee over the lip and all over my hand. “That’s not happening.”
“Don’t be stubborn. You’re short-staffed, and she can help. She’ll arrive in a few hours.”
“Anyone but her. No. It’s out of the question. You couldn’t have given me more warning?” I dried my hands on a dish towel.
“What was I supposed to do after the hospital moved the surgery date? Anyway, we’re down two servers and everyone else is needed in the kitchen. We don’t have a choice.”
I grumbled, knowing she was right. But instead of ramming my fist through a wall, I aggressively stabbed at my breakfast, not eating. The food had lost all appeal.
“I was afraid you’d react this way. Honestly, you two are so silly. Can’t you work this out? You still love each other.” She clutched her chest with both hands as if the memory of our breakup four years ago gave her heart palpitations.
But indulging my feelings wasn’t the answer. I’d only end up wrecked and crying in my office. Too many people depended on me now to risk another emotional meltdown. To stay strong, I had to distance myself from Leslie.
I slouched in my chair. “Can’t Ava come instead? She lives closer and only works part-time.”
Dot crossed her arms. “Ava’s filling in for me at yoga. Besides, I can visit with my favorite niece if I want.”
“She’s your only niece.”
“All the better.” Dot tilted her chin up, her tell for when she was up to mischief. She only got stubborn when she knew she was wrong. Like when she confused the paint colors for the restaurant’s interior remodel, and we ended up with psychedelic purple walls.
“Please give up this fantasy of yours. It didn’t work between us.”
“Neither of you has moved on. She’s miserable and you’re miserable and I’m tired of it. I won’t live forever, and I’ll see you both settled and happy so I can enjoy it.”
I ignored her, aggressively scraping my breakfast into the compost bucket. But Dot wasn’t done.
“I’ll eat my sofa if you two don’t end up together. There. I said it. Sue me.” She crossed her arms in defiance.
Of course, I still loved Leslie. But that didn’t matter. Try as I might, I failed to get past the wall she erected between us. Shit, the woman couldn’t even make it through a meal without hopping up to clean or leave. An endless string of nonsensical excuses prevented her from helping me when I was short-staffed at the restaurant. On vacation, she’d abandon me at a table or before planned excursions while she took naps or disappeared for some alone time. The way I saw it, I put us both out of our misery.
Or at least one of us, given my lovesick limbo.
Hearing she was single left me perplexed. Dot tried to hide it, but I’d heard Leslie dated that anchorman of hers for a while. Thought they were still an item. Had Leslie dropped him because she had lingering feelings for me? Despite Leslie’s odd behavior at times, I missed her terribly. I’d thought we were forever, until we weren’t. All this time, I assumed the pining went one way: me regretting letting her go with every fiber of my being, despite knowing I had to. My hurt cut too deep, and I could only stand being rejected for so long. I chewed my lip, thinking, before spitting it out. But not fast enough.
“Aha! That’s what I thought.” Dot sipped her brew with a wide smile.
I washed my breakfast dishes before anything stupid flew out of my mouth. Guess today was the day to pile on Risto before 9 a.m.
Actually…
“I’ve got news for you too,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Silas Greene called me this morning.”
“Is he giving us a good review?” She clasped her hands in anticipation.
It was the first time I realized I had no answer to the most obvious question. Silas and I were so engaged with investor talk I’d forgotten to ask. But given the ecstasy on his face when eating, I expected nothing less than a stellar review.
“He loved the food, so don’t worry. He’ll probably get to the write-up after he finishes rounding up investors for our expansion to Manhattan.”
I filled her in on our odd visit and even odder business proposal from our new guardian angel.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Dot said when I finished.
“Not interested?”
“Exhausted is more like it.” She hopped onto a chair at the counter and swiveled to face me. “I’m sorry. With my surgery tomorrow, and being told to take it easy, the timing just seems bad. I won’t be at the restaurant or at my yoga class for at least a month. Do you mind running with it and filling me in after?”
“You sure?” My burst of excitement was a surprise, even to me.
“Yes, absolutely. I trust you.”
An hour ago, I crapped all over the idea. But now that Dot was hesitant, my emotional investment was obvious. Starry visions of flickering candles, clinking glasses, and soft murmurs of New York diners danced before my eyes. Christ, I could already smell the garlic. Philadelphia’s top food critic had me excited about a future I’d thought impossible.
Since opening Boricua, my life followed an easy routine. The renovations were exciting, but part of me was restless for another challenge. A move to New York might be it.
But before that happened, I’d have to survive a few weeks without my partner.
She sat brooding, so I reached over to rub her shoulder.
“Hey, no matter what happens, it’s still you and me. This is your baby too. But you’re right to focus on getting healthy. Deal with your surgery and I’ll handle any meetings Silas cooks up. We can talk after we see how serious they are.”
She stood, cupping my face. “You’re a talented chef. I’m sure they’ll love our food as much as we do.”
Dot washed her cup, then slipped out the back door. She crossed the patch of grass between our homes. That was how close I’d be to Leslie when she arrived. I shook off the idea and headed upstairs to take a shower. I had to get out of the house before Leslie got here.
Before long, my ex-girlfriend would invade that space too. And not just any ex. THE ex. The one I still dreamed about every damn night.
Not every night.
Often enough.
Fine.
I’d head to work, prep for lunch, and make a few calls. Then I’d rip the Band-Aid off when she arrived.
Liar.
I laced my fingers behind my neck, sighing.
I’m screwed.
But I had to keep reminding myself why Leslie and I could never be. She doesn’t love me like I love her, and never will.
What am I going to do?
Dot had made avoiding Leslie nearly impossible.
Guess I was about to find out.