Salty

Fifteen | Truffle Fries and Anxiety Attacks, the Perfect Combo

Fifteen | Ollie

Sent.

I put the computer back into sleep mode and glanced at my watch. It was eleven. I couldn't remember the last time I placed the produce order that early, and I was damn certain I'd never placed that order and the poultry order on the same day. There was time left in the day that wasn't there before. Some mornings—like this one—that was a good thing. Some mornings it wasn't.

"I should have hired someone a long time ago," I told myself with a sigh and dragged my hands down my tired face.

Sloan was only helping in the mornings with prep work, but a few weeks in and she was catching on faster than I could have hoped. Every single thing I taught her got me one step closer to walking away from this place. She was smart—really fucking smart. Yeah, she gave me lip ninety-five percent of the time, but I could deal with that. Sloan was a feisty thing in the kitchen and wasn't allowing any of the guys to give her a hard time. Anything they dished at her, she was giving it back and then some. Maybe they thought I couldn't hear them laughing, but I did. It always ended the moment I walked back into the room. I preferred the staff with their noses down and focused on work. Someday, if this plan worked, it would be hers, and the kitchen needed to respect her.

I spun my phone on the desk, wondering what life away from here would be like. No Mikah, no more memories in Mulligan's, no need to avoid the office at the bottom of the stairs, no Shelby...

I exhaled with that thought. Was that possible? To finally give up hope that she'd come back? It was one of the main reasons I wanted away from here... and soon. And away meant where? Nowhere near Chicago; that was for sure.

The phone lit and buzzed beneath my palm, causing another exhale. There was little doubt it was another text from my mother, verified by tilting the screen and seeing her number. Using my thumb, I swiped the screen to read them, even though I knew exactly what the subject was going to be.

New Message: Mom (Cell):
You haven't said yes, but you haven't said no. I'm expecting you on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

New Message: Mom (Cell): I'm disappointed in you. Maybe Mikah and Kit don't enjoy being here either. Ever think of that? They still come to be with their family.

My throat threatened to close in on itself. I darkened the screen, feeling nauseated. I needed a cigarette.

From the top of the fridge, I pulled down the carton of Marlboros and then pulled a single package free. I'd probably smoke two before starting in the kitchen for the day—one for each holiday that I now needed an excuse for. One cigarette went to the corner of my mouth, with the other tucked safely behind my ear.

As I descended the iron stairs, I knew that getting out of both holidays was dreaming. There was just no way. I'd have to pick one, and the longer I held off on it, the better—meaning I would have to show up for Christmas Eve. That worked better anyway, since Mikah wouldn't be there until Christmas Day. I'd just have to tackle Christmas Eve when it came. Thanksgiving was two days away, and I could fake the flu if Sloan could handle the kitchen for a day. I had faith in her to do that if we kept the menu simple enough. We could do a stew or something simple, keeping a limited menu because of the holiday.

I rounded the bottom of the stairs and patted the pocket of my pants, feeling them flatten. "Fuck!"

With one look, I glanced up the steps and decided it wasn't worth it to run back up them for a lighter. I put the cigarettes into my palm, knowing I'd have to hide them before grabbing a lighter from the kitchen. Mikah mocking me about smoking wasn't high on the priority list right now, and it really didn't look good to customers either, even if there were currently only two booths filled with patrons.