“I honestly have no idea what to do. He's still at this and I think I might be losing my mind,” I complained to my friends.
“There's no need to worry, sweetie. He'll let it go soon,” Inés stroked my arm soothingly.
“That's what you said last Sunday and it's another week now!”
I put my face in my hands.
It had been precisely two weeks since Carson started on his quest to find Butterfly and he was going nowhere fast even with a PI.
I remembered the conversation with Big Mac like it was yesterday.
I was pacing my office when the door opened and the beefy, massive form of Stanley MacIntosh entered with his signature half-moon smile and unruly mop of ginger curls.
Big Mac was what he was affectionately known as to the people in Miller Inc. who used his services. Despite his intimidating size he was really a teddy bear and I actually hated that his line of work didn't bring him by often.
“Alex! Always a pleasure to see yah,” he boomed in his heavy Scottish accent. Everything about that man was big.
“Hi Mac, it's good to see you too.”
“I was beyond surprised to get your call, you know, after the 'ol Gallagher incident,” he winced. “How 'bout we catch up after I see the big man in next room? You know how he hates to be kept waiting.”
He made to leave but I stopped him. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you before that.”
I had been so nervous that it was obvious in the way I almost tripped over the syllables and Mac caught on it immediately because his brown eyes narrowed slightly.
“I know what he's going to ask you to do and I need your help,” I kept my gaze on the carpet. “He's going to ask you to help him find someone who really doesn't want to be found and I know you can't really refuse the job so all I'm asking is you be slow with the results. I'm only asking because I know how good you are.”
After a few seconds went by I summoned the courage and looked up at him.
Mac seemed impenetrable standing there in his suspenders and plaid shirt.
“Could you do that for me?” I begged.
“Why do I feel like there's a lot you're not telling me?”
I really didn't want to go into it, not when Carson was in the other room and could walk in at any moment.
Thankfully Mac saw my reticence and didn't push it.
“But I don't need to know, I understand not wanting to say too much. So you want me to stall, eh?”
“Yes, very much,” I nodded vigorously.
“Strange request, usually when people come to me they want everything fast-tracked, but for you? Why not. I would still like to catch up later, if you're up for it, Joan would like to know how you're doing.”
“Of course. Go on in, and thank you so much, Mac.”
He tipped his invisible hat and left.
Stall till when? I had no idea, all I knew was I wasn't ready.
“You know why he hasn't moved on?” Willow asked making me raise my head. “He hasn't met anyone new. I bet if he has his attention some place else he'll forget you easily.”
“Willow!” Inés hissed. “We're supposed to make her feel better. That is not making her feel better.”
Willow shrugged. “Just saying it how I'm seeing it.”
“No, what he needs is the truth,” I sighed at my own confession. “I know that and I know I owe him that but you guys don't get it. Coming clean means breaking the illusion he had of me. It means actually facing his true opinions and what if they're not good?”
“Since when do you care about anyone's opinion of you? Especially Carson?” Willow's question was all over her oval face. Her pink sunglasses was on top of her head and her grey hair had been tossed into a hasty bun. She was in a paisley-patterned two-piece bikini even though Inés didn't have a pool.
“Well, I don't. Not really, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't hurt.”
“You're going to have to decide what to do, dear, because this indecision is killing you from the inside,” Inés' tone was warm and motherly.
“In other words, you look like absolute crap,” Willow took a sip of her Hawaiian punch.
Inés hit her arm and uttered a string of words in Spanish.
“Ow!” Willow exclaimed and rubbed her arm. “What does that even mean? I'm Greek but you don't hear me confuse you with the language, do you?”
“Believe me, you do not want that translated.”
I knew Willow was right. I could feel it.
I was sleeping less and less because the nightmares were more fearful than I was used to and I was sure I looked terrible.
I thought I needed this brunch to get my mind off things but as much as I hated to admit it, these women were starting to remind me of the unpleasant situation I was currently in.
Even though it was just eleven o'clock I had to leave.
I put the last cranberry in my mouth and gathered my purse.
“I have to get going guys. I have errands I need to run. Maybe a less painful solution to my dilemma will fall from the sky as I leave.”
“That never works. Trust me I've tried.”
I rolled my eyes at Willow and after a quick hug to Inés I left her bright backyard.
I was about to reach for the front door when it opened, almost smacking me in the face if I hadn't stepped back in time.
A groaning Sonia appeared in nothing but a leather jacket over a bright pink bra and blue frayed jeans.
“Hi Sonia,” I greeted. “Are you alright?”
She paused in rubbing her already red-rimmed eyes and broke into a smile.
“Alex! What a sight for sore eyes,” she fell forward and engulfed me in a hug.
Feeling awkward I returned the hug and placed my chin on her pink tinted, buzz-cut, black hair that had grown a couple of inches since I'd last seen her.
“Your eyes do look really sore,” I said in order to disguise the fact that I had no idea what she meant by that.
It must be another one of those idiom thingies.
“And that's just one of the many things that make you so freaking adorable.”
She finally released me and proceeded to adjust my brown, almost-black, unshampooed hair that I'd left flowing past my shoulders.
“Um, there are fresh, homemade croissants and coffee in the kitchen if you care for it.”
Sonia gave a muted shriek like a little girl.
“You're a lifesaver, Alex, hungry and hungover is not a very pleasant combination.”
She gave me another hug and true to God kissed me on my temple before skipping off to the kitchen whilst yelling to tell her sister she was home to no doubt start another quarrel.
It was such a thoughtless action but it had me thinking about the last time I was kissed on the exact same place. By a certain six foot dreamboat with a voice made out of cotton candy and lips of pure honey.
The pulsating hole in my heart widened and a few unwanted tears entered my eyes.
Fortunately, Willow appeared slinging a large orange beach bag before the tears coould accumulate further.
“They're at it again,” she started as if I couldn't hear the shouting women. “Better head out. Need a ride?” She asked as she pulled out a long wraparound dress over her bikini.
When she was done we stepped outside and I saw the pink motorcycle parked outside.
“On that?” I pointed. “Yeah, I don't think so. That could not possibly be safe, where are the seat belts?”
“In the SUVs of tired soccer moms where they belong,” Willow straddled the bike and pulled her pink helmet on. “Sure you don't need a ride?”
“I would rather put myself in a box and snail mail myself to my destination, but thank you for asking.” I offered a brilliant smile.
“Suit yourself, hobo,” she revved the engine. “See you Monday.” And with that she left with a trail of smoke behind her.
With nothing left to do I headed to the nearest bus stop and boarded the bus.
As the vehicle began to move I took out my earbuds and inserted them into my ears.
5 Seconds of Summer became the soundtrack to my thoughts as I stared out of the window.
Somewhat purposely I tried to steer my thoughts toward anything but what I had to do.
That didn't last long because the bus came to a stop at my destination and I had to step back out into the brilliant sunshine.
My final stop was just at the edge of Chinatown and as I started walking with my hands tucked in my pockets it brought back memories of culinary school.
Memories of coming here after a long day at school with friends to eat orange chicken and wontons and argue about our thoughts on what was taught that day.
After graduation and with me getting the job at Miller Inc. my visits have been few and far between.
I entered the tiny grocery store outside of Chinatown that I usually frequented, the bell jingling as I passed the checkout close to the door that was currently occupied by a young Asian woman blowing pink bubblegum and playing with her phone where a loud electronic music was coming from.
I was disappointed that it wasn't Mr. Kim at the check out today. Even though he spoke very little English he was still easier to get along with than his grunge, deadeyed daughter.
I picked up a red shopping basket and joined the handful of people browsing the different racks.
The reason I always came to this small, middle-of-nowhere store for all my purchases? I had no idea. It just seemed more homey than any Walmart I'd ever been to what with its immaculate tiled floors that gleamed no matter how many feet trudged over it and its characteristic tangerine air freshener that delighted my senses.
The Who was blasting in my ears as I dropped the rose scented shampoo among my other picks of a pack of coffee and sugar.
I turned around and — because I was more absorbed in changing songs than looking where I was going — ran into another man making his basket fall and its contents spill on the floor.
“Oh my God,” I took out my earbuds, finally letting something other than lyrics in my ears and stared at the mess on the floor. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. Here, let me help.”
I dropped my basket and proceeded to pick up the items.
“Oh it's alright. These aisles are barely big enough for a child,” the owner of the groceries chuckled and bent and started helping me pick everything up.
I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me but I could swear I recognized the voice.
With the last item on the floor — a can of tuna — in my hand I handed it to him and finally looked into his face.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties with small black eyes and diamond studs decorating the shell of his right ear. It was the scar across the bridge of his nose that made me realize that I did in fact know him.
“Ken? Is that really you?” I asked and straightened up.
“Alex? I should have guessed the tall woman so absorbed in the music that she had no idea it was deafening for the rest of us was you.”
“I can't believe this.”
I gave him a hug.
Ken Phan was one of my very good friends back at school. After graduation we tried to keep in touch but soon we fell out of contact.
“Of all the places to run into Alexandra bloody Holdman a grocery store two blocks from my grandma's would not have made it to my list,” he started as I broke the hug.
I chuckled. “How've you been, Ken? After school you kinda just dropped off the face of the earth.”
He reached up and a scratched the back of his head. “It's a long story, Lex. Hey, how 'bout lunch? I'd have suggested Fong's but we both know it's not been the same since he passed.”
“Oh, anything but Fong's.”
Fong's passing was the reason I stopped going to Chinatown. His restaurant was still open but Ken was right, it had never been the same since.
“Cool, you done shopping?” he gestured to my basket.
“Pretty much. I would've liked some sardines but it looks like they're out,” I scooped up my basket.
“As I recall you never liked the stuff, even the thought of cooking with it had you heaving, explain to me the logic behind wanting to buy it?”
I shrugged. “My dog likes them.”
Ken laughed and as we got to the checkout he insisted on paying for mine.
“So tell me everything,” I started as soon as we were both settled in a booth at a McDonald's.
Ken shrugged. “There's really not that much to tell. After graduation I worked some odd jobs before I found one I sort of like. I mean the pay's nothing to write home about but at least I'm doing something I love, what about you? Kicking ass as some head chef somewhere I assume, you always had it in you.”
I laughed. “More like the complete opposite. I don't even cook professionally any more,” I shrugged.
Ken was so still that I thought he was having a stroke. “That's not right! That just isn't,” he adjusted the cuff of the blue sweater he had on that clung to his slim body. “You're joking. Please tell me you're joking. I promise I'll laugh.”
“More than anything I wish I was,” I toyed with my glass of water. “It's just, things came up and suddenly cooking wasn't going to suffice.”
“I get that,” he plucked a piece of thread from his sweater and played around with it. “Life sucks.”
I nodded and drank some water.
“Just out of curiosity, if there was a chance to get back to cooking, would you take it?”
I considered his question.
There were only two things in life that I excelled at: DJing and cooking. They were the only things that brought me peace and since I couldn't do one of them without hurting, of course I would turn to the other one. Without something peaceful to do I'd be the sad, useless pile my dad left and I just refused that.
“Yeah, why not? But do you know how cutthroat the industry is? I couldn't even become a line cook if I tried.”
“Maybe I can help with that,” Ken leaned forward. “But you have to promise to hear me out.”
I nodded.
“So that place I said I worked at? Yeah, it's a hotel. Right now they're doing some expansion in the kitchen and once they're done they're going to have a brand new pastry station and I can't think of a better pastry chef than you, Lex. I'm fairly certain you went to God himself to get the recipe for your soufflés, no kidding.”
I smiled.
Even without the flattering I was already enticed by the offer. Pastries were my speciality and there was no recipe I couldn't replicate to perfection.
“It's this serendipity or what? But there's a catch though.”
I frowned. “What is it?”
“Before I tell you, are you interested?”
“Of course. That sounds amazing.”
“Now I want you to keep that in mind, don't go backing out after I say this because I can see your eyes all lit up.”
“Just say it.”
“Fine. This hotel I've been talking about, it's in London.”
My jaw dropped.
“What?” I yelled involuntarily before I brought my voice down. “London? As in Europe London or California, because I know there's a . . .”
“As in God save the Queen London.”
I leaned back on my chair. “It all sounds really good, Ken, but I would have to move and I don't think that's likely at this time.”
“I get it. I just showed up today and now I'm asking you to uproot your entire life, I know it's not fair, but Alex, I wouldn't be telling you if I didn't think you could do it. They'd be lucky to have you.”
“Even if I wanted to, I don't even know where to start.”
“How about this? You come over and give it a trial run. If after say, a week, and you don't see yourself staying there then you can come home. What's the harm in giving it a shot?”
“That's part of the problem. Staying where? I don't know anybody.”
“Oh, you can stay with Ian and me, no problem.”
I stopped. My face split into a smile before I could stop myself. “You finally got yourself a boyfriend.” It was not a question.
Ken's cheeks blazed pink. “Why do you automatically assume he's my boyfriend?”
“He isn't?”
“Of course he is but you said it like it's some damn miracle of nature.”
“Gosh, I'm so happy for you, I remember the days when you would break out in hives at the prospect of speaking to a cute guy.”
“That was one time,” he murmured. “Anyway, you're dodging.”
“I don't know, Ken, I really don't know. I have a job here and my mom and sister need me.”
“What happened to I'm going to have lots of adventures and cook in every continent?”
He repeated the affirmation I made the night before graduation.
“That's what
you say when you're twenty-one and under peer pressure.”
Ken shook his head. “Fine, ok. You don't have to agree now. I'll be here for two more weeks, maybe by the end of it you'd have changed your mind. But you should know that positions like that don't stay open very long. Tick tock.”