“No. There’s one more. Oscar Belmonte.”
“Oscar?” She slapped the steering wheel and let out a robust belly laugh. “Why, he’s nothing but a big ol’ teddy bear. He couldn’t hurt a fly. Did y’all know he’s raisin’ that granddaughter of his all by himself? Poor dear. Lost her parents a few years back in a terrible accident. He moved here from New Jersey just to make a better life for her.” She shook her head again. “No, Oscar’s not your man. Listen to your mama on this one, hon, and don’t be wastin’ time barkin’ up the wrong tree.”
I sighed. “If you say so.” But I couldn’t help but wonder if her instincts weren’t being derailed by her personal feelings. Obviously she felt some sort of friendship with this man. I was about to ask her about it when I noticed we were pulling onto Walden Woods Circle. “I’ll make you some of that pasta you were talking about, if you like, Mama.”
“No need. I ordered takeout.” A sly smile played on her lips.
As we rounded the corner, my heart gave a little leap. Trey’s blue Honda was parked outside my cottage! Then it fell flat when the angry thoughts came flooding back. “What’s going on? Why is Trey here? Has he moved back home?” A little part of me hoped that was the case. That he’d come by asking for my forgiveness, admitting that he’d made a horrible mistake and begging to come home for a little while until he could get reenrolled in classes. I exited the truck and stomped through the snow to the front door. He better not want me to pay for this crazy little excursion from reality. One thing on tonight’s plate was going to be a heart-to-heart about how he planned to make up for the tuition I’d already paid out for this semester.
Inside, I zipped out of my boots and tossed my coat over the back of the recliner in the front room. The wonderful smell drifting from the kitchen momentarily quelled my anger as I realized I hadn’t really eaten anything more than a few pretzels at the wine tasting.
“Trey?” I called into the kitchen, ready to get to the bottom of things.
He turned from the counter and stood facing me, a smudge of red sauce under his dark eyes and his hair all whooshed to one side. I had a sudden flashback to the little boy who used to swipe Mama’s baking tins and wooden spoons, disappearing in the backyard to make mud pies. I remembered clumsy little hands mixing and stirring, patting and pouring and painstakingly decorating with bits and pieces of nature. How delighted he’d be when I’d make gobble noises and eat it all up!
Next to me, Mama whispered in my ear, “He’s his own man, Lila. Let him prove himself.”
I looked from Trey down to the stove, where he was tending to a large pan filled with bubbling red sauce, chunks of juicy-looking meat, and plump garlic cloves. The kitchen smelled wonderfully of tangy tomatoes, spicy pork, and starchy pasta. It was enough to make anyone else want to yell out Buon appetito! and make a pig of themselves, but it only made my own heart ache all the more to think this would be the extent of my son’s life—a cook, with his only security held by his next restaurant owner’s whim. I swallowed back my reaction, cautiously weighing my next move. But when I spoke—“Why do you want to be a chef, Trey?”—I heard my voice crack with a mix of desperation, anger, and confusion.
He looked down, gathering his thoughts as I waited patiently for his reply. “It’s like art to me, Mom. Putting together ingredients to make something beautiful for people to enjoy. And every time I’m in the kitchen there’s something new and challenging. How can I make this better, spicier, or more delicious? And then there’s the joy of watching people eat my food.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom. Guess it probably seems weird to you.”
There it was. A simple but heartfelt reason why my son had left school, even though he knew I’d be upset. He’d found his calling. Not one I’d have chosen for him. Not one that was safe or secure or prestigious. But it was his choice, what he loved. I’d often regretted that it took me until I was forty-five to stumble into my dream job, and here he was, so fortunate to have found his at a young age. And here I was, trying to keep him from pursuing this dream of his. What was wrong with me? I crossed the room and engulfed him in a giant hug. “It doesn’t seem weird to me, Trey. It just sounds like you’ve found your passion.” Then I pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, smiling through tears of happiness. “I’m glad you’re home, son.”
“So am I, Mom. So am I.”
“But I’m angry that you didn’t tell me yourself, Trey. You lied to me! I thought you were still at school all this time. And what about your tuition? Can we get it back?”