Chapter Eight
Everly
For the first time in a month, I had the chance to sleep in. I threw my phone beneath my bed and snuggled under the blankets, hiding from the noisy stripes of sunlight dancing on my pillow. It was late when I got home from the date, and after a few glasses of my own wine, bottom shelf, I had sat on the couch and went over the entire evening in my head multiple times.
Maddox was handsome, and charming, and hadn’t taken offense to anything that I said. It wasn’t for my lack of trying, but he handled it like a true gentleman. I’d thought at any moment he’d put me in my place, but instead, he wanted another date. Glutton for punishment, maybe? But I’d let him off the hook with my refusal.
He wanted another date.
But that was far too complicated for my life. He was rich, and no doubt powerful. And living in an entirely different world than me. Still, it had been fun thinking of a new dessert, and he had eaten at Thad’s with no problem. I supposed he was a down to earth billionaire.
I laughed. Did such a thing exist? Who knew? It wasn’t every day I met one, but then again, I hadn’t let myself meet anyone over the years since school. I was content to do my work and get my career off the ground without anything or anyone getting in my way. Turns out it wasn’t too bad after all, but I’d take those things in small doses. I reminded myself to look him up again, to figure out exactly why his name was so familiar. His face certainly wasn’t, but Seattle was huge. Unless he was the mayor or someone important, there was no way in hell I would remember him. My memory sucked, as it were.
Maybe looking him up is a bad idea. I’m not interested anyway.
Sleep was just barely on the horizon when someone knocked on my door.
Ignore it. I told myself. It’s not important.
But the knocking continued, and just as I believed it gone, a key was inserted into the lock, and the doorknob turned.
Great. I tried burrowing further into my bed. It was either a murderer or Lacey and Belle, and last I checked, I hadn’t given any murderers a key.
“Evie!” Belle’s voice rang throughout the apartment. I would have rather faced the murderer.
“Everly.” Lacey knocked on my bedroom door. “I know you’re cursing us right now, but Belle really wanted to help wake you up. And we thought it would be nice to have breakfast together.”
“This is why I moved out,” I yelled and forced myself out of the bed. “Because Belle wants to wake me up every morning.”
“She’s a good alarm clock, I’ll give her that.” Lacey joked. I laughed to myself and slipped on a pair of comfy lounge pants and a thermal. “I’ll start breakfast.”
“Are you sure this isn’t because you’re insanely curious about my 20,000 dollar date last night?” I asked, as I met Belle on my couch. She hugged me and told me about the newest Shopkins that she wanted. For a toy series about tiny groceries and miniature kitchen sets, they could get expensive. But Belle had matured beyond what was average for other 5-year-olds, and she always asked politely and somehow understood when it was beyond our means.
“A 20,000 dollar date at a ‘20 dollars for two meals’ restaurant,” Lacey said from the kitchen. “I can imagine that only went one way.”
“A disaster?” Belle asked. I laughed, and the little girl smiled sheepishly. “We were talking about it on the way here.”
“It wasn’t a disaster.” I pulled out the miniature fridge that Belle carried everywhere with her and helped her stack the tiny food toys inside. Belle giggled as they threatened to fall over, and together we jammed them all inside. “It was decent. He liked the steak, at least.”
“He liked the steak,” Lacey repeated. She spoke over the sounds of bacon sizzling and potatoes frying, and soon my apartment smelled like a 24-hour diner. I took a deep breath. “Waffles or pancakes?” she asked.
“Why not both?” Belle and I said at the same time, and we laughed. The girl was thinking more and more like me every day.
“So if it wasn’t a disaster, did he ask you for another date?” Lacey asked. I bit my lip. Do I tell her? I didn’t want her to think there was anything more than one paid date. But there was something charming about Maddox. An annoying itch that I couldn’t scratch in my head.
“No,” I lied. Lacey set up my kitchen table with stacks of pancakes and waffles and heaping plates of bacon and potatoes. “You do realize I’m a chef, right? I’m not going to starve if you don’t leave me leftovers.”
“All this food was getting near the expiration date. I’m doing this so you don’t poison yourself,” she said. “And I can take some leftovers home. All Belle ever does anymore is eat.” The little girl was stuffing her face with waffles as her mother spoke. “When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”
I thought about it. “I haven’t had time, honestly. Prepping for the dinner rush takes way longer than I thought, and then I help the station chefs through the rest of the night. I’m stuck there.”
“What do you eat on your days off?” she asked.
“Lacey, when’s the last time I had a day off? And yesterday doesn’t count.”
“Mr. Moore probably didn’t think it was stupid.” Lacey smiled between bites of potatoes.
“Well, he didn’t want another date, so I wouldn’t say that as fact,” I quipped. “Plus, it’s not like I have time to even think about him. I need to focus even more at Saint Padres; there’s rumors that Remy, the sous chef, is planning on retiring in a year. If I can get a spot as a station chef before he officially has a leave date, I can throw my name in for his position.”
“Sous chef? That’s basically head chef, right?” Belle asked. I smiled, happy that she remembered my lessons.
“It’s one step lower, basically an assistant to the head,” I said.
Lacey groaned. “Well, your love life can’t take a backseat to your career forever. Find someone who will support both, Everly. There’s no reason you can’t have both. Like you and Belle always say.”
I contemplated her words as we finished up our breakfast, and I helped Belle put away her Shopkins.
“I have to drop Belle off at kindergarten,” Lacey said as she slipped both of their coats on. “She’s finishing up her painting today.”
“Oh, the secret one for me that I’m not supposed to know about?” I smiled as Belle counted each one of her Shopkins.
“That’s the one. So be surprised,” Lacey instructed me, and I nodded. I said goodbye to them both and glanced at the clock hanging above my kitchen. I still had a few hours before I had to leave for work, and with a full stomach, I could feel the edges of sleep pulling at me. I lay down on my couch and got comfy within the warmth of a throw blanket.
For a brief moment, I wondered what Maddox was doing. And then I reminded myself that it didn’t matter. He was probably sleeping in his giant, four-post bed with one of those canopies over it, on sheets that were more expensive than my monthly rent. Yearly rent? Then another thought popped into my head and my face burned. Was he alone in that giant, four-post bed?
“It doesn’t matter,” I yelled at myself. Just fall back asleep.
Something poked my side, and I wiggled my arms until I pulled out a tiny chocolate cake Shopkin. I smiled at the memory of our fictional dessert, and fell asleep with the chocolate cake in my grasp.
My eyes opened, and without even glancing at the clock I knew I was going to be late.
I got ready in a rush and pulled out of my parking spot with tires screeching against the road. I used my knee to steer as I tied my hair into a tight bun at the top of my head, and glanced in the mirror to make sure my face looked decent. A few bags beneath my eyes, and makeup from last night still smudged, giving me an almost smoky eye. At least I was presentable.
I was still sitting in traffic when my shift started. There’s goes my planned speech to Phil about me moving up to a station chef within the next few months. But, as I stared at the cars slowly inching forward, a new determination grew within me. I wouldn’t be licked. I may be late, a little too often than I’d like, but I always stayed far past my shift, never once blinking an eye as everyone else left before me, and I’d never once disappointed Phil. I’m a hard worker, loyal, and dependable. This was just a hiccup in my plan, sure, but surely Phil would recognize my resolve and at least offer a discussion about a promotion.
Third Street was nearly right off the highway, but the parking was a few blocks over. I zigzagged through traffic and nearly screamed in a fit of rage as another car cut me off, but I eventually found our parking lot and was grateful as I pulled into one of the last remaining spots.
“Thank God,” I murmured and held my bag against me as I hurried down Fifth. As soon as I crossed onto Fourth, I realized I hadn’t locked my car, and after a quick sprint back to the parking lot, I was finally in the back alley of Third, behind Saint Padres.
“Everly, I was looking for you!” Timothy, a station chef for meats, called as I stashed my purse into my locker and tied an apron around my waist. “I needed the meats carved, and Anthony needs the potatoes blanched.”
“I’m on it,” I said and immediately went to work.
“You seem out of it.” I jumped as Catalina, one of my only friends at work, scared me as I peeled potatoes.
“I had a long night,” I said. “And morning; my sister and niece woke me up way earlier than I’d planned.”
“Oh, you mean your date?” She smiled, brushing a small black curl off of her forehead and took over the other half of potatoes.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. Catalina was station chef for the desserts, but she often helped me with my own chores. She shrugged, and I knew better than to argue with her. “And you know about that?”
“Phil was talking nonstop about it,” she said. “He was so happy that a woman he brought was bought for so much.”
“He didn’t buy me,” I argued, and Catalina laughed. “At least not liked that. We went out to eat at a small restaurant, nothing fancy, and had casual conversation. He paid, I thanked him, and we went our separate ways.” I realized then that I hadn’t thanked him for paying.
“Really?” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “All the men here would pay more than he did for a single conversation with you. And they would do a lot more than talking.”
“That’s gross,” I said and nudged her with my hip. “He was a gentleman, thank God. Completely proper.” I watched as Timothy struggled at his station. The older man was buried in mountains of potatoes, each one needing to be shaped differently, and I realized he must have been hours behind. There was literally no reason for me to be blanching these potatoes. “Phil hasn’t been too happy with Timothy recently, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, the rumors say he might be fired soon. Phil even mentioned hiring another station chef to pick up his slack,” Catalina said. “You’re gunning for that spot, right?”
“That station helps all of the other ones,” I said. “Decent exposure to the whole kitchen, and then the sous chef is leaving soon. I could make head within the next two years if I play my cards right.”
“You’re crazy.” Catalina smiled and laughed. “I’m perfectly happy where I am. Head chef is a whole other ballgame. But,” she gestured behind us, toward the restaurant’s offices, where Phil was just entering through the back door. “The pitcher just got back from the bank, if you want to make a swing at him.” Catalina knew I had been planning on making my pitch for station chef. “I’ll finish the rest.”
“Thanks, Catalina,” I said, and met with Phil outside of his office. His bald head was freshly shaved, and his suit was crumpled at the seams. I thought of Maddox, and how perfectly straight his suit had been.
“Everly, how was your night?” he asked.
“Very good, thank you for taking me. Maddox was a perfect gentleman,” I said.
Phil made a funny face, and I realized he most likely didn’t know who Maddox was.
“I heard you were late again today,” he said, and I winced. “Traffic?”
“I’m sorry, yeah. It was bad earlier. I’m staying past close and helping prep for tomorrow, if that makes up for it,” I said and followed him into his office. Phil took a seat behind a large mahogany desk and rummaged through metal bins.
“Of course, Everly. I’d expect no less. You know, sometimes I count on you being late, only on days that I know we’ll need more help later in the night.”
“I’m glad to help,” I said and took a seat. He raised an eyebrow.
“Is there anything else I can help with?”
I swallowed, this was my moment.
“I’ve been here for two years,” I said. “Started dishwashing, and now I’m prepping.”
He nodded. “You’ve worked hard these past years, yes.”
“But I’ve been helping the station chefs a lot more, and most of the shifts are spent subbing for station chefs,” I said.
“Every position is expected to fill in,” Phil said, repeating the same words he had said during our interview two years prior.
“Yes, and it’s given me plenty of experience, and I’m so grateful for it. And recently, I’ve noticed a need for an extra station chef, and I’m trying to be modest here, but I am perfect for that position.” I lowered my voice as Phil glanced between me and the various files on his desk.
“You’re asking for a promotion?” he asked.
“Yes, to station chef. I’ve never been shy about telling you that I’m going to be head chef one day, and being a station chef is my next step,” I said. “Remy retires within the year, which is more than enough time to get the experience necessary as a station chef before applying for the sous chef position.”
Phil rubbed a hand down his jaw.
“It sounds like you’re getting a little ahead of yourself there,” he said. My heart deflated.
“I just want to make sure I’m prepared,” I said. “I can recreate all of the menu items here perfectly, and I’ve assisted Remy enough times to know that I can manage an entire kitchen on my own.”
“You are talented, Everly, and I’ve never disagreed.” Phil leaned back in his chair. “But I have to deny your promotion. I need you where you are. There are no new station chefs, and when it’s time for Remy to leave, whoever the top station chef is at the time will replace him. There’s a natural order to the chain, and if you try climbing over others to get to the top, you might find yourself delinked.”
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
“You know what it means,” he said and focused his direction back to the files. “Stay where you are, Everly. You’re a wonderful prep cook, and given time, you’ll get to where you want to go.”
He dismissed me, and I walked back to my prepping station in a daze.
Two years. I’d bled for the restaurant for two years, giving up a life, time spent with family, losing friends, and two years later, all I can do is blanche frites. Catalina threw me a look of pity, recognizing the distress in my face.
Two years, and I’m still at the bottom of the ladder. I blanched my potatoes. Maybe it was time for something new. It was going to be a long ass week, for sure.