Page 24 of Unexpected Pickle
My gaze sweeps the others. I’m the largest of the women. Midway of the men.
I hate that it’s the first thing I assess in a group, but it’s become second nature.
A tall man in chef whites turns to me. “You like the food?”
All I hear is:You must like sampling the things you cook!
I back away. This is why I prefer the kitchen. It’s busy, and the talk is focused on the tasks at hand.
But then the internal war begins.
You’re fine. Stop comparing yourself to others. Stop caring about this.
The mantras come in from all sides.Love yourself. All bodies are beautiful.
Then the memory intrudes.
Are you going to squash me like a bug?
I’ve stood here too long, too silent, two-fisting my booze and my bread. I let out a long, slow breath.
Be mighty. You’re Jeannie-motherfucking-Young, daughter of a Michelin-star chef. Get your chin up.
All the way up.
But everyone’s staring at me.
Why? Why are they looking at me?
I want to run back to my room.
Then a figure steps forward.
It doesn’t matter who it is. I need to get out of here.
But…it’s familiar. I narrow my eyes.
Is that…Hex?
9
HEX HITS A HIGH
Istep out of the shadows. Something is going on with Jeannie.
She’s staring at the other chefs like a deer in the headlights, and I can see her brain locking up. Does she have a hard time around new people? She seemed so comfortable when she taught the crepe class, and she has no problem bossing the deli workers around.
But these are her peers. Maybe it’s different.
She holds a champagne glass and a plate and seems frozen in place.
One of the men I met earlier, Chef Moreau, was the first to speak to her. I didn’t catch what he said, but it seems to have been as big of a blunder as I’m known for.
Damn it.
Then she spotsme.
She inhales sharply, and I’m grateful she’s reacting to something.
