I try so hard not to ask, but I can’t help myself. “Is Kai okay? I hope he is.” I exhale a sad laugh. “But I also hope he’s missing the shit out of me because I’m missing him. And you. I miss you a lot, Dad. I wish you were here because I miss seeing your face. I got used to it this summer, I guess. I used to be so much better at this whole traveling year-round thing.” And I’m rambling. “Anyway, call me when you can, and I’ll be sure to answer. I love you. So much. Talk soon.”
Loneliness sinks in again as I hang up and lay in my quiet van where only the sound of my sobs can be heard.
I hate it here, but this quiet moment is the only place where I can be honest about that.
I find my texts again, hoping something from one of my friends will make my self-pity shut up for a second.
Kennedy: Checking in on you. How’s the restaurant? Isaiah won’t stop texting me about whether he should change his walk-out song and then proceeds to ask me what my favorite song is, you know, in case he wants to use it. And I miss you!
Finally, a genuine laugh escapes me.
Isaiah: Here with your daily dose of Max. He learned how to say “duck” yesterday but definitely pronounces his “Ds” as “Fs” so that was a fun treat to hear. I took a video for you. You’re missed, Hot Nanny.
He accompanies that with a video of Max sitting on his lap in the center of the Warriors’ clubhouse.
“Maxie, what is that?” Isaiah asks, pointing to the book they’re reading, which seems to be about a giant Mallard duck.
“A big fuck!” Max proclaims, so proud of himself.
The clubhouse erupts in laughter around him, and Max just sits there, clapping for himself, and the rest of the team joins in to cheer too.
Quickly, the camera pans to Kai, who is sitting in his locker stall shaking his head, a tiny smile fighting to break through before the video abruptly ends.
I watch it again with a smile on my face, catching Cody, Travis, and Kennedy all there, but then I pause the video on Kai.
Even when he’s sad, he’s devastatingly handsome.
I scroll down to Isaiah’s second text.
Isaiah: What do you think Kennedy’s favorite song is?
And lastly, a message from Indy.
Indy: We missed you and your desserts at family dinner tonight. But mostly we missed you! I wish you were going to be here next weekend.
Indy and Ryan are getting married next weekend. I wish my schedule allowed me to go, but I’ll send them a gift in my absence.
For the first time in my life I have friends. I have people I ache for, people I miss. People who are all within a thirty-minute drive of each other while I’m out here on the other side of the country, trying to make a name for myself in this career that I once revolved my entire life around.
I don’t know how so much could change in eight weeks. It doesn’t seem possible. And it doesn’t seem reasonable to make rash decisions based on those short two months. But the decision I made to come back to work, a decision based on years of hard work, feels like the wrong one. But it also feels like a decision that I can’t change.
Climbing off the bed, I grab the framed picture Kai gave me for my birthday, bringing it to my bed. I leave it right there next to my pillow because I’m sad and pathetic and don’t know how to handle all these newfound emotions.
This picture is all I have of Kai and Max while I’m off chasing a dream that feels more like a nightmare the longer I’m away from them.
Chapter 39
Miller
I wake, reorienting myself.
I’m in Chicago.
Kai’s bed.
A smile immediately blooms on my lips until I blink away the sleep, looking around, looking for him.
Only I’m not in his bed. I’m in my van.
I’m in LA.
My stomach dips just as it did the first day without him because each morning, as I wake from my sleep, the realization sinks in that I’m two thousand miles away.
The realization that today I won’t be baking in their kitchen, won’t hear Kai’s encouragement, won’t get to kiss him. And I won’t be playing outside with Max in the afternoon. I’ll be at Luna’s to meet with Maven over her menu changes.
Stretching, I roll my way out of bed but as my feet hit the floor, so does the framed photo I slept with, crashing with an undeniable crack.
No, no, no. I’m too fragile for this right now.
I cautiously pick it up. The glass from the frame is completely splintered with the center of said crack landing right over my face.
That seems fitting.
A pathetic whimper creeps up my throat because yes, now I’m the person to cry over a broken frame. I guess that’s what happens when you start forming attachments.
I carefully place it upside down on the counter, promising to buy a new frame on the way back from my meeting with Maven. I unclasp the prongs, loosening the backboard so I can pull the picture out, hoping it didn’t get scratched in the fall.
And as I disassemble the thing, Kai’s handwriting comes into view, right there on the back of the photo.
Our names—Max, Miller, and Malakai are accompanied by the date and year with a small inscription below.
I hope you’re out there finding your joy because you’re the reason we found ours.
And just like that, on day eight, I’m ruined all over again.
“I’ve followed your career since I was in culinary school,” I admit like the fangirl I am. “You did a four-day seminar on brioche. Mixing, shaping, proofing, baking, all of it, and I don’t think I had ever been so excited about bread before.”
“I remember that. I think I gained like thirty pounds going around the country and teaching that class.” Maven brings her espresso to her lips. “You’re impressive, Chef. I enjoyed watching you on the line last night.”
“As are you. Your line is . . . well-trained.” I blow on my chai tea latte, helping it cool.
“They’re the best, and I’m looking forward to having you join us for the next three months. I can’t wait to see what kind of changes you’re thinking about for the dessert menu.”
I pull out my notebook and pen, setting it on the table between us. The pages are filled with ideas on how to incorporate all the fresh California fall fruits. I don’t know that it’s inspiration that’s struck me since I got here last week, but instead, a fear of allowing my mind to be quiet. To allow it the space to miss everything I left behind.
“There’s a pomegranate dish stirring in my brain that I can’t wait to play with,” I explain as Maven flips through the pages of my notebook.
“Why haven’t you opened your own patisserie? With your name on the project, there’d be a line down the block.”
“I uh . . . never felt the desire to stay in one place long enough to do that. I liked getting to live in a new city every three months.”
She nods, continuing to flip through my notes. “Do you still like it?”
“Huh?”
“You said ‘liked’. Do you still like it?”
Her brown eyes lift from the pages to find me sitting in silence.
I take a sip of my chai. “I won’t lie, it’s lost a bit of its luster.”
She chuckles, closing the book and sliding it back to my side of the table. “My advice, after twenty years in the industry, stop giving your brilliance to other people. Put your name on it and own it.” She pulls her espresso back to her lips, smiling behind the tiny cup. “After you finish donating a bit to me this fall, of course.”
Chuckling, I tuck my notebook back in my bag.
“Sorry we haven’t gotten a chance to sit down like this yet,” she continues. “You know how hectic prep time is and I’m sure you’ve noticed I only work two dinner shifts a week.”
Thursdays and Sundays, to be exact.
“Shannon, your second in command, is great too. The kitchen really respects her.”
“She’s a lifesaver, having someone I trust so much to run things while I’m not here. When I decided to open Luna’s after my daughter was born, I promised myself and my family that work would come second. It’s a hard balance to have. This industry isn’t conducive to families, as I’m sure you know.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.”