Where I Leave You

Malik: Restaurant

Abigail was a breath of fresh air. I never met a young woman that I liked. She was so warm. A little awkward. I knew she didn't want me to touch her. Maybe she thought of me as an old geezer or something. She was polite. And funny. When she smiled, she smiled with her whole spirit. It makes me smile too. Yet, I could tell her guard was up. Not sure if her clumsiness came from our first meeting, or was it just her natural way of moving around in this world, knocking over liquids and stumbling into life. It was cute. She started to relax towards the end. I could respect her wanting to be professional. Many times people dive in and are too "real" right away. Sorry to say, but that is a turn off. Hence why I usually don't go for twenty-somethings. Too revealing too quickly, too in your face.

It's just inappropriate to date a younger woman and ten years younger no less, and two they're usually stupid and don't have much to add to a conversation. But her, she was different. And absolutely beautiful. My God, what a beautiful woman. Chocolatey skin, dark brown eyes. Hair that accentuates her natural curls. Just beautiful. She could have any man she wanted. Why did she give me a chance? There's definitely a story there.

I headed over to my restaurant that I was getting off the ground. Kabob Rob. I decided to go into business with my best friend, Rob, or Rami (I could never really call him Rob, but he insisted on calling the restaurant by his American name. He said it had a certain ring to it). We've been friends since we could walk. Rami is eccentric, and that's the nicest way of putting it, but the guy can cook some damn food. He's the good kind of crazy where if you just steer him in the right direction and unleash it. When crazy is in the kitchen, great food comes out. We always looked after each other. I've seen him through his drug addiction and recovery and he helped me through my divorce.

I didn't even recognize myself when I separated from my ex. I thought she was going to be "the one", my everything. He moved in with me as I was going through the process. The worst year of my life.

"Ay boss man," Rob yelled over the hammering of the workers, "When you think I'm gonna get this kitchen up and going?"

I shook my thoughts out of the past and into the present. "They say in about 2 months."

"Two months? This kitchen is a fucked boss man. What you want me to do?" Rob has gotten accustomed to calling me "Boss Man". He thought that the "subordinates" shouldn't call me by my name, so he decided to give me that ludicrous title. Everyone, unfortunately, liked it, and now it's my title here.

"Alright Rami, the kitchen should be functional in a couple days. Come back then and we can start working on the menu."

"Don't worry about the food boss, just tell me how Arab you want it. Do you want a blend of American and Middle Eastern? Completely Arabic?"

"I mean, I'd like to think I want to try to bring some culture to this area, I don't know. What do you think?"

"Don't worry boss man, I got you. We'll do fusion. We can't scare the Americans away if we go hard core. I'll think of something."

"Rami, you know we're American too, right?"

"Yeah, you know what I mean."

I do. When we grew up, it was Palestine in our homes, but when we went out, we were Americans. A lot of times because of our upbringing, we were more Palestinian than American. I know I fought against that for years. What was I, Palestine or American? I centered my whole business trying to figure that out. "Where's the general manager?"

"He in the back," Rami said, looking over his shoulder.

I went to the back to meet Scotty Alm. He wasn't the nicest man, but he got the job done. He got on the workers, bills were paid, and you can actually see progress. I mean what this man did to this place just six months ago, he's gifted.