Say Uncle

Vamos

“You can’t ignore me forever,” Josie said. I rushed past her through the kitchen, checking if all the preparations for tonight's dinner reception were staying efficient. With more gusto, she added, “You will tell me how your date went.”

Rolling my eyes, I ushered past the pastry station where Ahmed was placing the finishing touches on tonight's dessert, a tres leches cheesecake topped with sopapillas and fresh whipped cream on the side. “Is this the first?” I asked him. There’d be a long list of guests for tonight and I knew this small cake wouldn’t be the only thing.

Ahmed shook his head. “The fourth. I have one more to set up.”

“Nice.”

He paused placing the sopapillas on the plates to look at me. “You know she’s been waiting to hear for two days.”

I sighed as he returned to the plates but waited for a reply. Of course, he knew. Josephine and Ahmed just moved in together a few weeks ago, so she probably pestered him about what could have happened to make me not want to talk about it for two days now. But what could I say? Yeah, the guy I went out with? Total creep. But the guy I met at the bar, then later took to a s*x dungeon? Yeah, I flew the coop after I realized I was catching feelings for a stranger! She’d make an entire conundrum of it all, pretend she didn’t judge me about still visiting Mise En Place, then convince me I made the wrong choice of not getting the guy's number.

Ahmed gave me a side-eye when I kept opening and closing my mouth like a gaping fish, unable to find the right words, so he said them for me. “Went that bad, huh?”

The corner of my lip pinched upwards with a slightly confusing nod-shake combination. “The initial date: horribly. The unintended date: …sur…prising…?” I didn’t know what to call what happened with Demetrius that night. Couldn’t say horrible, couldn’t say it was a date, per se, but it was a surprise in every sense of the word.

His eyes widened at the confession of an unintended date. “With the same guy?” I bit my lower lip before realizing that was one of my tell-tale signs, quickly unbitting before he noticed. But he noticed. That’s all it took for him to realize, there was a second person. “Oh, you’re gonna have to talk to her—tonight. I can’t have another sleepless night of Josephine’s speculations. It took everything in me to convince her not to spiral into the worst-case scenario.”

“And how’d that go?”

“Poorly.”

Hearing the sound of a pot boiling over, I gave him a pat on the shoulder before taking my leave. “I’ll tell her when I tell her.” And that’s all I left him with. Yes, after tonight's event, she’ll be bugging about it again but I had to get my story straight. It always felt like a police investigation when I didn’t get my story straight and eventually, I’d cave into her, spilling my guts almost immediately. This time, I had to be prepared or she’d know I had…feelings for someone. The thought brought a vexatious chill down my spine, only dispersing when I returned my focus to an overflowing pot of vegetable soup.

“What?” I cut the stove off, the vegetables threatening to bubble over the edge finally simmering down into the mush of liquid. “What is this?!” I shouted over the scrapping and clattering of dishes being prepared. A few eyes peeked over but no one said a thing. “Who’s station is this?!”

“Um…mine,” a mouse of a voice answered. Squeezing between two busy chefs, Andrea, a novice in the kitchen, appeared with a handful of vegetables. She approached me fearfully, debating whether to place the vegetables on the counter or keep holding them for dear life. “I kind of added too many jalapenos and messed it up. I’m so sorry, chef.”

With heightened senses, I could already smell the jalapenos before taking a look, the scent overwhelming and harsh in the air. Taking a spoon from the overhead, I took a sip, hoping she wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of starting over. We only had thirty minutes before guests started arriving. Taking a tiny bit of the spicy liquid into my mouth, I could taste the overwhelming spice that would have thrown someone off, but I could also taste a hint of carrots and peppers. It had a nice flavor underneath.

This can be saved, I thought.

“Hand me two tomatoes, a lime, a pinch of sugar, basil, shrimp, and diluted water.”

“Yes, chef!”

Acting quickly, she placed what she already had on the counter and rushed to the back for the rest of the ingredients I requested. While she did that, I hastily grabbed a cutting knife and board and began to chop the tomatoes at professional speed. This is what got my adrenaline moving the most. The rush of finishing a decadent meal just in the nick of time, concentrating on the flavors and blends, setting it in a bowl, and making it look appetizing to the best of my abilities.

This is what kept me going.

Not a relationship, not the preparation of a nice, long weekend. Being in the kitchen, preparing a seven-course meal for hundreds of national and international guests, and knowing the moment they take a bite, their faces will light up as the melody of delicious flavors melts along their tongues. And whatever day they’ve been having—a bad day at work, lost luggage, or a bout of depression—will all be met with a nice meal, at the least. A good meal that left them satisfied.

Just as Andrea returned with a handful of the supplies I requested, the kitchen door slammed open, barely catching anyone off guard. We’d gotten used to it over the years. “Mija! Where is my daughter?!” a familiar voice shouted. My stomach lurched at the sound of my mother’s voice bellowing through the calamity of meal preparation, knowing her eyes would find me soon enough. Still, I continued to chop and stir and sautee and pour to keep the flow of the kitchen going. The clicking of her heels on the tiled floor alerted me to her approach to my current station, the mix of adrenaline and terror conflicting for the first place inside me. “No eres cocinera esta noche! You are my daughter tonight and you’re not even dressed! Vamos!”

Finally getting a nice flame-grilled roast on the tomatoes, I placed them in the pop with a little sugar and lime juice to cut the spiciness. “Mom, I need to finish this.”

Mom looked around the kitchen until she finally spotted her goal. “Josephine!” Mom barely said her name before she rushed over, wiping her hands on her apron before appearing. “Can you be a dear and take over?” She fanned her clutch purse at her, staring down at her uniform. “And I need to get ready as well—when you’re finished, cariño.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before I could protest, Josephine took my place at the station, Andrea looking between us nervously before finally focusing her attention on opening the contents of the shrimp. Thankfully, I knew Josephine would do me justice, but still, I wanted to see the end results before everything left the kitchen. It was very ceremonial for some reason. Like a job well done.

I felt so incomplete as my mom grabbed my hand, rushing me toward the doorway. No one batted an eye, except for Ahmed who chuckled at seeing his boss be reprimanded by her own mother. And at this point, I wasn’t (that) embarrassed by the display, seeing as my mother grew into her role as the to-be wife of Thatcher Collimore, owner and CEO of Collimore Hotels, Resorts, and Bistros before he even proposed. To her, this entire hotel was her domain and no one could stop her from hounding her daughter to get out of doing her job and into a cocktail dress.

“... they're nice, they're elegant, and they’ll show off that figure of yours,” she stated, pinching my waist as though to pick at my curves and frame. I flinched at her touch, heading to the elevator towards the presidential suits. She’d actually booked the entire floor for the wedding, tonight being the wedding rehearsals and dinner before her bachelorette party and wedding the day after that. “And it’s not too late for a plus one.”

I gave her a grumpy expression. “It’s too late, mom.”

She shrugged but didn’t hassle me about it. “Bien. But I need you to get dressed so you can meet us in the ballroom for the rehearsal and meet Thatcher’s brother before the big announcement tonight.”

The elevator doors closed behind us. “Big announcement?” I questioned, hinting that I wanted to know this news before everyone else. It kept me on my toes, especially if that big announcement had anything to do with my mother.

She smiled giddily like a lovestruck teenager hiding a secret about her crush. It was cute. I thoroughly enjoy my mother’s happiness, especially after a childhood of grief and turmoil, mainly brought on by my father who fled in the night and left her destitute with a child to raise on her own. But through hard work and many sleepless nights, we got through it together. And when I got employed after culinary school at Collimore, like a proud mama, she visited constantly, and soon bumped into Thatcher, and her whirlwind romance began.

Placing a finger on her lips with a sneaky smile, she said, “Can’t tell. That’s what makes it a surprise.”

With a smirk, I rolled my eyes while she opened the double doors with a swipe of a card. Almost immediately, our senses were met with a vanilla and sandalwood blend, clinging to dark oakwood floors and beige furniture beneath a spiraling crystal chandelier. The living room had already been prepped with a selection of dresses on racks, boxes of shimmering jewelry on the glass coffee table, and two lines of heeled shoes handpicked weeks pryer by Thatcher’s personal shopper. In the corner sat a golden serving cart holding an ice bottle of rosé and two sparkling glasses.

Once upon a time, a sight like this would’ve had my mouth dropping and my heart pulsating with the different varieties all at once. However, after two years of dating, many lavished vacations, hundreds of social banquets, and family-friend gatherings, the sight seemed as natural as dew on a flower petal.

Okay, not entirely natural, but it wasn’t a mind-boggling surprise at this point.

“So, what should we start with?” she asked eagerly, already headed towards the bottle of rosé. “I suggest that pretty pink one, mija.”