Page 65 of Best I Never Had

“Your parents are going to be proud of you.”

I nod, my throat tightening at the mention of my parents. “Thanks for the opportunity, Pat.”

I wish what he said were true. That my parents, especially my dad, would be happy to know that my aching decision to choose my own path in life turned out to be the best decision I ever made. I wish this was enough for him, whatever was enough for me. And maybe it’s the idea of holding on to the false hope that I can eventually repair the broken relationship I have with my dad, but I continue to tell myself it’s all worth it. To come to this exact moment and work for a dream I never realized I wanted until I discovered something my hands already knew. Something that lay hidden under the dim lights on the granite countertops in my mom’s kitchen or the low whirring of the bright red mixer I learned to use on my own. And it all started with the warm scent of home that gradually shifted into a reminiscent memory I hid for eight years.

Beer,South Parkreruns, and pork rinds are my vices. I give into them when I feel like I’ve earned it. And today, it feels like I have. I walked out of Pour Toujours last week with a lightness in my step, knowing that my life wasn’t as dead-ended as I thought. So I settle into my couch tonight after a day of going over managerial logistics with Pat, like when I would be taking Chef DuPont’s place and how the transition of my position would happen. As expected, Chef DuPont’s rage flooded through the entire kitchen when Pat delivered the news, claiming the restaurant would burn to the ground without him. It was the stubborn Band-Aid that Pat had to finally rip off. And with Chef DuPont’s final anger-filled threat to sue Pat and every busboy, server, and/or bartender that ever crossed his path at Pour Toujours, Pat was able to finally let the entire staff know how things would shift now that I would be head chef. All of it was welcomed with cheers and relieved smiles.

I’ve stripped down to my boxers and an undershirt, lazing into my vices. In the middle of Kenny’s muffled voice responding to yet another vulgar statement made by Cartman, my phone rings. I smile when I see Natalia’s name on the screen.

I just saw her today when she visited my restaurant, bringing José with her during their lunch hour, the two laughing and chatting animatedly in our crowded dining room while I watched from afar. Watching her like that, when she didn’t think anyone was looking, it caused a twinge to twist in my chest as I realized the things I felt about her. Feelings I couldn’t believe were consuming my mind.

I haven’t yet told her about my promotion. I want to blame it on the fact that I haven’t had a chance but in reality, every time I want to tellher, my feelings overshadow the words caught in my throat. I need to keep things light, surface deep and casual. Telling her something that she’ll undoubtedly be ecstatic for me about feels like peeling back more layers of me, forcing me to expose my feelings for her when I should be hiding them.

“You better not be hassling me for more pastries, Marquez,” I tease through the phone.

“And if I am?”

“I would have to tell you that the whole tri-state area has run out of sugar and can no longer fulfill your incessant demands.”

She giggles.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask.

“I, uh…”

Somewhere deep within my gut, during the moment her giggles dissolve and a cheesy smile creeps up on my face, I stagger toward her. My entire body leans toward the sound of her careful voice, wanting to envelope myself in everything about her. And that staggering, that hitch in my heartbeat, makes me realize what this feeling is.

Imissher. I miss her as if I haven’t seen her for days, weeks, or even months.

But then she stays quiet, causing me to tuck away that staggering flop of my heart as she clears her throat, her silence shifting into unease.

“Nat?”

“Um,” she continues, the hesitancy felt even through the phone. “So I know it’s not technically the holidays yet, but I was wondering if you wanted to come over this Saturday and watch holiday movies with me and eat a bunch of junk food.”

My brow furrows. Her hesitation confuses me. It doesn’t sound like something she should feel reluctant to ask me, but she does. For some reason, it feels like she’s worried I’ll say no.

When I don’t answer, she sighs. “You know,” she says softly. “In case I might feel lonely.”

“Uh, yeah. That actually sounds like fun.”

“Yeah?” she says in an eagerly sweet voice that causes me to picture the smile on her face. “You aren’t working?”

“It must be your lucky day because the restaurant has a special event that day,” I explain. “I think a bridal shower or something in the evening. It’s mainly catered stuff that I’ll take care of pretty early, and the staff will manage the rest during the party. So I should be free from the kitchen after that’s done.”

She lets out a small sigh before whispering a defeated, “Okay.”

“Okay,” I answer back, sounding more resolute than her.

“I’ll see you then,” she calls quietly.

We hang up, and I can’t help but think whether or not there’s an underlying reason for Natalia calling me. We agreed that we would call each other if either one feels lonely, but it feels like this loneliness she’s anticipating is more than just a simple bout of melancholy.

My phone rings again and I smile, expecting it to be Natalia and hoping I can cheer her up after her voice sounded so somber. I prepare myself for some quipped remark, something to change the subject and veer her mind off whatever is withering away at her heart, when I pick up the phone without even checking to see who’s calling.

“I don’t know what your movie choices are, but I think I’m going to have to throwThe Santa Clausein there. It’s a classic.”

But instead of Natalia’s soft voice, I hear a throat clear on the other side, rough and low. “Uh, it’s Dad.”

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