Page 100 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“Byron if you don’t take three steps back I’m going to elbow you in the nuts,” she snaps.

“Go do something useful.”

Not wanting to disturb the artist while at work, I grab the menus we printed and place them with the table settings.

We are the third group to go during the first week of restaurant presentations. The French and Indian dishes were amazing. This isn’t really a competition, we all get our own grades, but I’m fucking competitive and I want to have the dish that everybody is talking about. I might be biased but nobodywill be able to top our table settings. Having free reign during our stop in the city we picked hand painted dishes to line the tables. We used the money we were allotted on centerpieces. The lemons and wildflowers make the cold culinary classroom feel like a winery in the hills of Tuscany.

“Can believe the semester is almost done,” I ask, poking at my savory pie.

“Do you think this is done?”

Lola brings a spatula with her and lifts the corner of the puff pastry.

“They look golden to me. Let’s take them out and put them on the serving plate.”

She checks her surroundings then rises on her tip-toes and places a gentle kiss on my lips.

“Ten weeks ago I absolutely hated you. Glad my nosey ass brother told you to earn my trust back.”

Lola turns back to her boiling sauce. I take a moment to look at her in her white chef’s coat. This is what her life will be like next year. Learning from some of the most accomplished chefs in the world, honing her craft. There is an ease that comes over her the moment the burners turn on.

Last year I watched Lola prepare for her pre-vet tests. She worked hard to get the grades she needed to get into a top veterinarian school, but there was one thing missing, the passion that lights up her face as she puts the finishing touches on her pasta dish. Our classmates flood the room. Their slacked jaws and rigid postures reek of jealousy.

“Well doesn’t it smell delicious in here,” Chef Stroll comments as she takes her seat at the head of the table.

There was an awkward amount of time between when Lola and I finished our presentation and when I had to be at the Riley Center to prep for practice. The arena smells like fresh ice. There is something about skating alone in an empty 10,000 seat arena that makes you realize how insignificant you are. The pressures of the last few weeks melt away as my skates carve into the smooth ice.

There are no thoughts about the grade we’ll get on our culinary project, wondering how the second opinion appointment will go with my dad next week, or trying to figure out how Lola and I will keep our relationship strong if we end up in different cities next year.

The thud of the heavy entryway door causes the championship banners to shake as Oliver makes his way to the ice in full pads.

“Looks like we had the same idea. Would you mind helping me warm up?”

I spend the next thirty minutes I give Oliver all I have. I pull out every trick in the book and there aren’t many pucks that sneak by him.

“Let’s take a break before practice starts.”

I tilt my head to the bench before skating off.

Oliver follows after me.

“Dude where the fuck have those shots been on game day?”

“They’ll come out when they need to,” I inform him with a sly smile plastered on my face.

“I spent some time with your dad on Saturday, he is a cool guy.”

“Yeah he had the time of his last weekend. He didn’t go to college so he was living out a lifelong dream.”

“Lola said you guys haven’t really spoken much in the last few years. If I’m overstepping but Lola mentioned that it meant a lot to you that he came but—”

“No it’s fine,” I cut Oliver off.

I wasn’t the only one of my friends to grow up with a single mom, but I was embarrassed. I always wondered why I wasn’t worthy of his love. As we reconnected over the last week, I asked my dad the questions that have been burning in my heart since I was a kid. He answered them all honestly without an ounce of hesitation. That gained him a good amount of my respect and the reason I’ve decided to give this relationship a try.

“My parents were childhood sweethearts from opposite sides of the track. My mom grew up in a middle class family. Her mom and dad were the perfect role models. Her two sisters were and still are her best friends. My dad had the exact opposite childhood.”

I take a deep breath before sharing the new stories I’ve heard about my dad’s youth.

---