“—or did you find a new line of work?” The hostility is still right under the surface, even after three years. His voice overcompensates for something. Probably a disappointing penis.
“I’ve been—” Ari hesitates for a few seconds, before remembering that she officially has the right to say it. Yeah, it’s a fact now. No qualifiers. No trying to “do comedy.” “I’m a professional comedian.” Chase or Jake is no longer paying attention, occupying himself with closing tasks. A server stifles a yawn as she runs her last table’s credit card, her nails clicking against the screen protector on the point-of-sale system. “I came here to celebrate with Rad. I sold a script.”
“For television?” Josh asks. There’s a slight dubious note in his voice.
“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Well, a streaming platform. It’s going to be the Netflix of comedy.” She’s surprised at the way she wants to keep chattering about this with Tall Sweater Nightmare Man. There’s an enthusiasm in her voice—an almost coked-up vibe, but clear, too. “And I did a really great set tonight. It really flowed. So I thought Rad and I could celebrate by getting blackout drunk and trying not to barf in the cab home.”
Enough. Jesus. Ari takes another sip of the whiskey sour to stop the giddy rambling.
“Your definition of ‘roommate’ hasn’t changed, either,” Josh says, shaking his head.
“Radhya and I are strictly platonic. Haven’t you noticed she’s hopelessly straight?”
He looks surprised by that. “We don’t exactly keep up with each other’s love lives during the dinner rush.”
“So she hasn’t heard your soulmate cookie theory? How’s that working out for you, by the way? Did you find your other half and make her breakfast?”
* * *
“I HAVE A girlfriend.” Josh pauses, considering how much to reveal. This conversation is a convenient excuse to be in the dining room for the tableside presentation of the duck at Table Five. “Sophie. She’s in brand management consulting. Speaks four languages. She’s the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met.”
“Wow.” Ari rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “Sounds like you really admire her.”
“Yes,” Josh agrees. “But it’s mutual.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the server slice into the bird. It’s a choreographed dance—the strokes of the carving knife revealing perfectly roasted duck.
“How many eggplants?” Ari asks.
“Three—no, four,” he says quickly, feeling ridiculous for leaning into her eggplant scale, but oddly defensive.
“Lies!”
“I’m lying about my own girlfriend?” A girlfriend of two and a half months who likes responding to I love you with “that’s so nice.”
Maybe Ari and Jace will fuck each other later tonight. If he had to make a prediction, Jace will earn two emojis, max.
“See, I use the volcano emoji when—”
But she’s interrupted by the sound of clattering cutlery over Josh’s shoulder. Josh turns around, anticipating the delighted exclamation of a satisfied food critic at Table Five. Instead, he watches as the server looks over at him with a panicked expression.
* * *
—
“THAT DUCK WAS FUCKING UNDERCOOKED!” Josh bellows, slamming the swinging door to the kitchen against the wall.
Radhya flinches, looking up from the counter she’s scrubbing. “Jesus!”
“Turn the grill back on!” He heads straight for the walk-in, grabbing two Wagyu skirt steaks—the fastest entrée he can prepare. There’s no time to roast another duck.
Radhya bursts into the walk-in behind him. “I was following your instructions.”
“?‘Your instructions,’ Chef. It’s the most straightforward dish on the menu.” Josh blows past her, heading for the meat station. “I need the fiddlehead ferns and the cipollini in seven minutes!” he yells to the line cooks.
Radhya reaches for the steaks. “I’ll fire them—”
“Get the fuck off the line,” he says, wrenching them away. “You’re done tonight.”
“This is my station.”
The server rushes in from the dining room. “Table Five asked for the check, Chef.”
“Tell them there’s another fucking entrée coming!” Josh yells. He turns back to Radhya. “I told you to get off your phone and babysit that duck.”
“And I told you it needed ten minutes,” she retorts. “And it doesn’t matter how it’s cooked. Lavender and fennel is a disgusting combination.”
Josh wipes down the surface in front of him in angry, slashing movements. “If you ever learn how to properly roast a duck as well as a first-year culinary school student, I’ll ask for your opinion on my flavor profiles.”
The kitchen falls into an awkward silence.
“I’ve been cooking just as long as you have—”
“I’m not going to warn you again, Radhya.”
“Fucking off to Europe for a couple months doesn’t make you Jacques Pépin.” She pauses, like she hasn’t quite decided whether to put a button on it. “It doesn’t make you different than any other man in this city who got a job because of his dad.”
A specific kind of rage boils up under Josh’s skin. His knuckles turn white around the kitchen towel he’s still clutching.
The rest of the kitchen staff breaks into an assortment of under-the-breath curses in English and Spanish and general tittering. They’ve all fully paused their tasks, devoting their full attention to the spectacle of an impromptu face-off.
Josh recognizes how precarious this is. There’s probably a significant portion of the staff who believes Radhya should rightfully be in charge. Any sign of backing down and allowing dissent to flourish would be disastrous—a total loss of confidence.
And he has one trump card left. Or maybe it’s the nuclear option.
Either way, the words fly out before he has a chance to think twice. “You’re fired.”
* * *
ARI DOESN’T NOTICE when the servers begin resetting the dining room. She’s distracted by Jace and his accent. He’s saying things that would be unremarkable in standard middle-American English, but sound like Neruda poems with the lilt of his accent combined with the whiskey sours he’s been pouring her.
It’s the muffled yelling from the kitchen that catches her slightly inebriated attention, followed by Radhya’s heavy footsteps marching through the dining room, her backpack slung over her shoulder.
“We’re leaving,” Radhya announces, veering toward the bar. “Actually, tequila. Now.”
Jace hurriedly grabs for a liquor bottle and a shot glass.
“W-wait.” Ari gathers her bag and jacket, sliding off the stool, only stumbling half a step. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s wrong.” Radhya slams down the shot and turns to face her, eyes watery. Even during the worst of the divorce aftermath, Ari can’t remember seeing Rad cry. “I cooked that duck exactly the way he told me to. I was right, he was wrong, and he fired me.”
“Who fired you?” Ari pushes Radhya’s empty shot glass back toward Jace for a refill. Radhya is constantly outnumbered by aggressive mansplainers in her job so it’s hard for Ari to keep track of every single one she complains about.
When Josh bursts into the dining room a second later, his face red, the pieces start to snap together.
“You fired her?” Ari asks.
“I can’t work with someone who doesn’t respect my authority in the kitchen.”
“Your authority?” Radhya backs away toward the front exit. “You have an enormous fucking chip on your shoulder.” She turns to Ari and Jace. “He only got this job because the owner’s a regular at his dad’s deli.” She pushes through the door.
“That’s a lie!” Josh says, even though Radhya’s already outside.
Ari slowly turns back to him.
“What is wrong with you?” she asks.
“Me?” He takes a step toward her, gesturing at the door. “I’m not the person who just made a scene.”