IT’S A WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS and the restaurant is almost ready. I can’t believe we’re getting so close to opening this place. My dream restaurant. We still have to do the hiring and training of the staff, but that won’t happen until after the holidays. Still, when I walk around the building, I have to watch where I’m going so I don’t run into the tables and chairs that are now set up.
I’ve been so used to this place being completely empty, it catches me off guard sometimes to see it fully decorated. It’s exactly the way I envisioned it . . . a little modern, a little rustic, trendy but still rough around the edges and absolutely perfect. People of all backgrounds and bank accounts should feel comfortable and welcome here and, hopefully, they will.
“Hey, boss. We got more silverware in today and it’s all been washed, but I sure could use some help organizin’ it.”
“You got it, Randy. Be right there.”
Randall Leger is known as one of the best up and coming chefs in New Orleans and was earning quite the reputation while working at a well-known restaurant a couple blocks down the road. That is, until I offered him more money, along with some creative freedom with the menu. Of course, it also helped that I’ve known Randy since he and his family moved to The Settlement while we were in junior high and have been friends ever since.
“Sorry I’m making you do physical labor, boss. Try not to break a sweat or anything, I’d hate for you to pass out,” Randall says with a crooked smile.
“Hey, now, don’t make me send you back to your old place or even worse, I could send you to work with Deacon at Grinders. We both know what a joy he is to work with.” It’s the first time in a while I’ve said my brother’s name and it’s been even longer since I said it in a joking manner. Over the past few weeks, my anger with Deacon has slowly morphed into something else—sadness, a little regret, frustration. I’m not ready to apologize, nothing to apologize for. I mean, look at this place. But I do miss him. “Besides,” I continue, trying to ignore the twist in my gut when I think of Deacon, “I told you not to call me ‘boss’. ‘Micah’ is just fine.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Randy gives me another one of his goofy grins, and then begins showing me where he’d like to store the silverware.
Thirty minutes into the job, Alex strolls into the kitchen, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder—always making her presence known. There’s really no reason for her to be here, so I’m immediately on edge, even more so than usual.
“What are you doin’ here?” I ask, not really caring how rude I sound.
“To be honest, I was kinda bored,” she hums, leaning over the stainless steel countertop. “So, I decided to come down here and see if you needed my help for anything.”
I don’t trust this woman as far as I can throw her, but if she’s actually offering to help, I’m gonna put her to work. Too bad the toilets have already been cleaned.
The three of us settle into a nice routine of cleaning, sorting, and storing various items in and around the kitchen while having brief but pleasant conversation. When Alex asks about Dani, though, I’m reluctant to answer.
“So, what does Sheridan do all day while you’re away?” she asks. When I don’t answer, she jumps straight into another question. “Did she move here permanently?” Then, “New York is so different, she must get bored here.”
I don’t like that last statement. It plays on fears I’ve had creeping in lately. What if Dani gets bored with me working so much? What if she feels like moving to Baton Rouge was a mistake?
“Dani has her own things going,” I finally reply. “She stays busy.” I leave it at that.
But Alex doesn’t need to know things are still rocky between me and Dani. She doesn’t need to know we seem to fight more than anything else these days. So much so, make-up sex isn’t as exciting as it used to be anymore. Dealing with the restaurant and Alex, while also trying to salvage my relationship with Dani, and feeling guilty over the tension between me and Deacon, has me exhausted and stressed the fuck out. I’m so ready for the week-long break we have coming to us for Christmas.
When I don’t indulge Alex with a full-blown conversation about Dani, she eventually changes the subject and asks Randall about his family. I have to admit, she’s actually being quite decent today. Maybe she got hit on the head before coming here. Or, maybe she realized Santa is going to leave coal in her stocking if she doesn’t start being nice. Whatever it is, I’m going to silently appreciate it. If I bring up a change in her attitude, I’m sure it’d backfire on me and cause the bitchy part of her personality to come back in full force.
“So, what are you and your family doing for Christmas, Micah? Your parents still put Christmas lights on all those trees in front of your house?” Randy asks, switching the conversation back to me. He’s not a big fan of Alex either.
“Now, you know my mama, Randy. Do you really think she’d ever stop decorating for the holidays? I’m pretty sure they can see the house from the International Space Station this year, with all the lights she has up.”
“I’d forgotten how beautiful the plantation is at Christmas,” Alex adds. “Oh, and the hot chocolate! Your mama makes the best hot chocolate in all of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty damn good. Maybe I can get her recipe and we can sell it here when it gets cold.”
“That would be amazing,” Alex gushes, giving me a genuine smile.
Getting caught up in the moment, I ask “What are your plans for the holidays?”
Her smile fades and is replaced with a stoic stare.
“Oh, nothing much,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. “My parents are going on another cruise this year, so that leaves me here by myself again. It’s not too bad, though. I can stay in my pajamas and eat ice cream all day, if I want.” Her voice gets small and I can tell even she’s not convinced by her reasoning.
I feel a pang in my chest and it’s directed toward Alex. The sensation almost causes me to stumble as I walk across the kitchen and toss an empty box onto the growing pile.
No, no, no, Micah. Don’t you fucking fall for it. Your entire family will hate your guts if you invite Alex to spend Christmas with them.
I watch her for a moment, trying to find any sign that she’s full of shit. It’s very possible that her parents will be gone. They’re well-off and tend to travel a lot, but that doesn’t mean Alex will be alone. Surely she has friends, people she can spend time with if she gets lonely. People other than me and my family.
She glances at me, then quickly looks down, sniffing.
Dammit to hell. Is she crying? What am I supposed to do?
On one hand, I can hear my mama scolding me for even thinking about letting someone be alone on Christmas Day, even if that person is Alex Collins. On the other hand, I have that orange dude from Star Wars telling me over and over, “It’s a trap!”
“Hey, boss, I think I’m gonna call it a day. Everything is pretty much ready to go for training next week,” Randy says, saving me from what I was about to offer. “Wife’s at home cooking today. We’ve got so many places to be, our first Christmas is tomorrow and we’ve got two more before the actual day.” He chuckles.
I laugh with him, but feel the knife turn in my chest when I catch a glimpse of Alex over his shoulder as I lean in for a manly hug.
She puts up a nice front when he turns and shakes her hand, but even as rehearsed as Alex is at putting up a front, I see right through it.
I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to say, but damnit, Santa is watching.
And it’s almost Jesus’ birthday. With all the shit going on, I’m feeling benevolent, like I need to do more good deeds. I haven’t been to church in a month of Sundays. So, maybe this is my way of getting back on the Big Guy’s good side.
“If you really are going to be alone on Christmas, you’re welcome to stop by the house. You know we always has room for one more.”
Alex smiles again, and again it’s genuine.
“Thank you, Micah. That’s a very sweet offer.”
Maybe she is human after all.
“I’ll have to see what the day presents. I really was thinking about a spa day. The hotel next to my apartment has wonderful services. I thought it’d be a great Christmas present to myself . . .”
She fills the rest of our time working with mindless chatter about spa treatments and how she deserves them. I grab onto the glimmer of hope she follows through with her plans and doesn’t take me up on my offer.
Dear Santa,
I’ve been a good boy, mostly. And all I want for Christmas is world peace. Or at least peace at the Landry Plantation. So my mama doesn’t murder us all.
Amen.