1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 bunch basil leaves
1 pound ground beef
? cup red wine
? cup parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon oregano
2 bay leaves
3 tablespoons olive oil
Splash of balsamic vinegar
METHOD:
It’s late afternoon, in between lunch and dinner service. I’m facing a mountainous heap of dirty dishes, and over the sound of my spray hose I can hear the kitchen clamoring. Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone poking their head in.
It’s Emma’s lovely face. She’s somewhat stoic, as she tries to be when we’re in the restaurant and her mom might be lurking. I can always spot a little glimmer in her eyes, though, meant only for me. It makes me want to rip my apron off and take her to the lake, watch her swim, read, watch the world become secondary to her, its beauty just a backdrop. “Um, Carlos, someone’s here to see you.”
The first thing that crosses my mind is that Emma’s making up some cover to sneak me away for a few minutes. I peel my gloves off and hang up my apron, and then I follow her out of the kitchen and into the empty dining room, where bussers and servers are seated at a table, folding napkins. Out of habit, I look beyond them to the patio, the golden light of the sun drawing out the shadows of the chairs outside. What a world.
When I turn my head, Emma is holding the front door open, and I still think for a moment that she wants to take me somewhere, until I see Mom standing outside. I freeze, my brain trying to wrap itself around the fact of her presence.
Emma gives me a little smile, while Mom looks like she’s about to cry. She’s wringing her hands nervously, and a few tourists are walking past, looking into the restaurant curiously. Emma tells them that we’re still closed and then puts a hand on my shoulder before closing the door behind me.
It’s so bright outside compared to the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen that it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
She wraps me in a tight hug, and I’m pretty sure I feel tears on my neck. “If you ever greet me like that again, I don’t care how old you are, I’m giving you a spanking.”
I laugh. “You’ve never spanked me.”
“Oh, trust me, I feel like doing it now.” She pulls back and wipes at the tears on her cheeks. Then she breaks out into a smile.
I can’t believe how long it’s been since I saw her. It’s the longest I’ve been apart from my parents my entire life. Still, I can’t resist looking over my shoulder into the restaurant to see who might be watching. It’s so strange to see her here.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?”
I hesitate. “I’m working.”
She looks like she’s about to cry again. Rummaging through her purse, she pulls out one of those miniature packs of tissues and blows her nose a couple of times, and then she crumples the tissue in her hand. Spotting the bench, she walks over and takes a seat. I follow her.
We sit quietly for a while, Mom looking around as she occasionally dabs at her eyes. “Pretty town.” Then her eyes flick forward to the Provecho sign. “I’ve been hating this place ever since I found out you were here,” she says. “I even left it some bad reviews online.”
I chuckle. “Why?”
She turns and gives me a heavy look. “Oh, please. You know.” When I don’t say anything, she looks away. “It took my baby away from me.” A family walks by, comically eating ice cream, happy, careless. I watch them uncomfortably, aware of the time that I’ve spent away from the sink, the work piling up. Aware, too, of Mom thinking about what to say. I can practically hear her mind whirring. Mine’s still wrapping itself around her presence. It’s so unexpected, as if I haven’t told her where I am, as if I’ve been hiding out from a whole other world.
Felix’s absence weighs heavy in our silence.
“You know, I’ve caught your dad a few times looking at the satellite images of this very street. He tries to hide it, clicks out of it as if I’ve caught him looking at...” Thankfully, she doesn’t finish the thought. “I can see how the stress of you leaving has affected him. He can’t sleep.” She turns to look at me, puts a hand on my forearm. “Please just come home. We can talk about everything else once we get back. But we want you to come back.”
Of course. I should have guessed this was coming as soon as I saw her. They don’t want another Felix on their hands. They don’t care about how well I’m doing, how happy I am here. My first reaction is to just stand up and leave, go back to the kitchen where I belong.
But it’s Mom here. She flew all the way to Needle Eye to talk to me, and I’ve missed the hell out of her. The least I can do is stick around and listen.
“Please, Carlos. We miss you. You don’t know how much this is affecting your dad.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” I say, rage bubbling up. It’s been easy to forget how I felt when I left, but their attempt to guilt me brings it all back to mind. “He doesn’t ever bother to call, does he? Not that I’m surprised, after the things he said about Felix in his stupid little speech, and before I left.”
She reaches into her purse again and grabs another tissue. “You don’t understand. Your father doesn’t show his emotions well.”
“Oh, I’d say he does a damn fine job of showing how he feels.” I stand up, ready to end the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mom. I miss you, and I wish it didn’t have to be like this. But I can’t leave. Did you guys not notice how badly I was doing back home? Could you not see me disappearing right under your fucking noses?” I hold up my hands, knowing I’m making zero sense, but I’m not able to stop. “Look at how much better I’m doing here! I can feel every moment I’m a part of now. I’m not thinking of the future or the lack of one. I’m happy!” I’m shouting. I take a breath to calm down. “You want to take this away from me?” I say, much softer.
Mom lowers her head, and it hurts me to see that this fresh new batch of tears is without a doubt my fault. But I’m not going to unravel everything I’ve built for myself here because Mom’s sad or because Dad’s Googling stuff out of guilt. I take a breath or two, lower my voice.
“I hope Dad feels better. I really do. And if he wants to call and talk or if he decides to come visit, that’s great.” I sigh, realizing how many people passing by are doing little double takes, interested in the sidewalk drama. It’s been too long. I should go back inside. “This is my life now. This is what I want for myself. And I’m not just going to step away from all of it because Dad’s guilt is chewing him up.”
I walk back to the restaurant, open the door, turn back to look at Mom, who’s trying to contain her mascara from running. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here.” Then I step back inside, letting the door slam behind me.