Page 18 of Summer Reading

“I don’t see how I can refuse,” Stuart said. He looked thrilled. “This is great. Give me your phone number and we can hammer out the details. Can you start this Friday?”

“Absolutely,” I said. We exchanged numbers and shook hands again.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Sam. Niceto meet you, Tyler,” Stuart said. He held out his hand and Tyler shook it. “I hope we meet again soon.”

“Oh, you will,” I said. I had no idea where that statement came from, but I doubled down. “Tyler’s my sous-chef.”

“Fantastic,” Stuart said. “The Gale siblings in the house!” He raised his hands in the air like he was raising the roof, and I laughed. I liked Stuart.

He departed with a wave, and I slumped back in my seat. My mind was racing with possible menus. I refused to consider the ramifications of failure at this point, when Tyler pushed up to his feet, glared at me, and snarled, “I am not your sous-chef and I will not be cooking with you.”

He threw his paper plate and cup into the nearby trash can with more force than was necessary and began to stalk away back toward home. Now what had I done?

I sighed, then followed.

“Tyler, wait!” I called.

He walked faster.

I thought about letting him take the lead and just follow him like a stray dog all the way home, but that sort of passivity was not in my nature.

When he was forced to wait at a crosswalk amid the throngs of tourists, I crept up behind him and said, “Why don’t you want to be my sous-chef? I’d pay you.”

“It’s not about money.”

The light turned, and the crowd moved as one big gelatinous mass across the street. I drafted in behind him.

“Then what’s it about?” I asked. “I thought we were bonding there.”

“Well, we weren’t.”

“That disappoints.”

“Welcome to my life.”

He couldn’t see me, so I squinched up my face and stuck my tongue out behind his back. A trio of girls coming toward us burst out laughing, and Tyler whipped his head around to look at me. Thankfully, I managed to iron out my expression to one of contrite concern before his gaze landed on me. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, so I widened mine with every bit of innocence I could muster. I’m not sure he bought it.

“Aw, come on, Tyler,” I cajoled. “Help a sister out.”

He glowered.

We turned off Lake Avenue onto a quieter side street that would lead us through the Oak Bluffs neighborhood to home. As we passed the famed gingerbread cottages, I looped my arm through his.

“Why are you so mad?” I asked.

“You had no right to volunteer me to be your sous-chef without asking me first,” he said. He shrugged me off. “Maybe I have plans.”

“You don’t have plans.”

“I might have plans. You don’t know.”

I considered what he said. He was right. Oh, not that he had plans. I seriously doubted that, but I should have asked him first.

“You’re right,” I said. “I should have asked you first. I apologize. I was just so excited to be offered a cooking gig, I got carried away.”

“Yeah, a cooking gig because the place you used to work booted you,” he said. He gave me side-eye. “Dad said you took the summer off to spend time with us, but that isn’t it, is it? You lied.”

He was speculating, throwing a guess at the wall and seeing if it stuck. Still, I felt busted. Shame swamped me. For a second I thought about telling him the truth about being passed over for a promotion that I had earned and quitting because of it. Tyler would be the first person I’d told. Nope, nope, nope. There was no way I was dumping my tale of woe on a teenager. Too humiliating. It was bad enough that I thought of myself as a loser, I didn’t want to see my little brother look at me that way, too. Not now, not when we were just getting to know each other.

---