Eww. Terrible joke, she responds. What are you up to?
I tell her, a little proud that I can answer with something truthful, that I’m not just passed out in a motel room, begging for sleep to save me from my thoughts. You?
The same thing I do every night, Carlos.
Trying to take over the world? I write, sure she’s making a Pinky and the Brain reference, this old cartoon that Felix got me into.
Her response isn’t immediate this time. Elias is at the bar getting us one more round. Aside from a lone couple necking in a corner booth, we’re the last ones left in here. Nope, scrolling through the internet to feel less lonely. Talking to you.
I hope I’m helping, I write.
Sleep is tugging at me, begging for bed. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be well-rested again. But there’s a momentum to things here that I can’t break, and instead I sink the three ball, take a long drink from my beer. Lisa is starting to close up the bar, and she keeps the door propped open as she takes out the trash. More stars are visible than before, as if they’re coming out just for me.
Back at you, she writes, and that’s our good-night for the evening.
CHAPTER 13
BANH MI TORTAS
25 bolillos
7? pounds flank steak
6 stalks lemongrass
16 ounces pinto beans, soaked overnight
7 carrots, grated
7 cucumbers, sliced
4 jalape?os, sliced
3 bunches of cilantro, roughly chopped
METHOD:
Two days later, when I try to buy my morning coffee, my credit card gets declined. I’m guessing Dad wasn’t too thrilled when Mom told him I was staying longer. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken him this long to try to force me back home. There’s a moment of panic, which subsides strangely easily once Anne, the nose-ringed girl who usually works mornings at the bakery near Provecho, just tells me not to worry about paying, that I can get her back next time.
I remember how Felix used to talk about money, how even when he didn’t have much he was okay letting it slip away. He was always so candid about it too, confessing to sleeping on park benches and eating nothing but rice, like he wanted to rub his lifestyle in Dad’s face.
The memory calms me down a little, but I can’t quite shrug it off the way Felix clearly could. A part of me is clawing at all the awful things that could happen, all the terrible possibilities hidden among the world that could destroy my precarious position of independence. At least I paid for my room another week in advance. Plus, I’ll be getting a paycheck soon. My very first paycheck, and it’ll have a restaurant’s name on it. Not Dad’s company. There’s something thrilling about that.
Though I now have access to that employees’ entrance, I still prefer to knock on the glass and wait for Emma to appear. The moment she greets me carries me through the day, late into my shift when my muscles ache and no one has yet to say a word to me.
“You are the best,” Emma says, taking the cup I brought her and holding the door open for me.
“Not really. Yours spilled and I didn’t want to get another one, so I just kind of scooped it all back in there. Got most of it! Hope you like asphalt-y coffee.”
“You kidding? It’s my favorite.”
It’s a more relaxed morning. Midweek, we still get booked solid, but service only starts at lunch, so the early hours are slower. Plus, it seems Chef’s out of town, leaving Michelle and Elias in charge. Memo’s playing banda music nice and loud, and he’s not the only one who knows all the words. Isaiah’s singing along too, the words clumsy as they come out, all the r’s slipping instead of rolling. Matt yells at him to turn “that mariachi shit” off, but even he’s in a good mood. When I come by offering to take out his garbage for him, he even looks away from his prep sheet and says, “Sure. Thanks, man.”
Then he dumps out a whole gallon container of sauce into the bag so that it’ll leak, smirking at me as he does it. Baby steps, I guess.
The pleasantness in the air makes it easier to work, and I speed through my stack faster than I have all week, even though Roberto is again working cold foods and I’m on my own. Scrub a pot, load the washer with dishes, stack saucepans according to size. I carry glasses over to the server station, mugs to the coffee station, garbage to the dump. I walk past the hostess station, where Emma is on the phone, and I make a face like I’m shrieking to make her laugh.
When I walk past the office, Elias calls out to me from inside. “Hey, man. You busy?”
“Nope,” I say, leaning into the doorway. I almost do a little dance while I say this. It might be the first time that I’m completely caught up on everything in the middle of the day. It won’t last long, but I want to bask for a moment. Felix always told me to celebrate small victories.
Elias looks away from the computer monitor where he’s checking who knows what. He’s got a pen in his hand that he twirls a few times. “You up for making staff meal?”
I freeze. Of course I’ve imagined this happening before. The fantasies while I scrub dishes are not reserved for Emma alone. But then I think of Chef’s warning not to touch a knife unless I’m washing it. “Um,” I say. Suddenly, my fantasies—which always end in culinary triumph—feel like a joke. I’ve never cooked for more than five people. My knife skills compared to everyone else’s are sad, like I chop in slow motion.
Emma shows up at the doorway, smiling at me as she turns to Elias. “Hey, just so you know, Sylvia called in. She’s sick or something.”
Elias groans, looks at his computer, clicks around. “Call Bill, see if he can come in. If not, try Linda.” Then he turns back to me. “So, what do you say, man? I’ll take you into the walk-ins, show you what you can use. The rest is up to you.”
Emma quirks an eyebrow.
“Come on, man.”
“I’m not qualified, am I?”
“Okay, now’s not the time for humility, man,” Elias says, chewing on the back of a pen. “Everyone’s slammed. You told me you can cook. Just grill up some burgers or something.”
“I can’t believe you’re hesitating,” Emma says, nudging me with her elbow. I break out into a smile, but I can’t bring myself to look at either of them.
“Look, man, we’re still short, and you’re caught up on your work. Even if I thought you couldn’t put cereal in a bowl, I might put you in charge of staff meal.”
“Dooooo iiiiiiit,” Emma says, now grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that her touch undoes the doubt within me.