You, Again(14)

The rest of the kitchen staff breaks into an assortment of under-the-breath curses in English and Spanish and general tittering. They’ve all fully paused their tasks, devoting their full attention to the spectacle of an impromptu face-off.

Josh recognizes how precarious this is. There’s probably a significant portion of the staff who believes Radhya should rightfully be in charge. Any sign of backing down and allowing dissent to flourish would be disastrous—a total loss of confidence.

And he has one trump card left. Or maybe it’s the nuclear option.

Either way, the words fly out before he has a chance to think twice. “You’re fired.”



* * *





ARI DOESN’T NOTICE when the servers begin resetting the dining room. She’s distracted by Jace and his accent. He’s saying things that would be unremarkable in standard middle-American English, but sound like Neruda poems with the lilt of his accent combined with the whiskey sours he’s been pouring her.

It’s the muffled yelling from the kitchen that catches her slightly inebriated attention, followed by Radhya’s heavy footsteps marching through the dining room, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

“We’re leaving,” Radhya announces, veering toward the bar. “Actually, tequila. Now.”

Jace hurriedly grabs for a liquor bottle and a shot glass.

“W-wait.” Ari gathers her bag and jacket, sliding off the stool, only stumbling half a step. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s wrong.” Radhya slams down the shot and turns to face her, eyes watery. Even during the worst of the divorce aftermath, Ari can’t remember seeing Rad cry. “I cooked that duck exactly the way he told me to. I was right, he was wrong, and he fired me.”

“Who fired you?” Ari pushes Radhya’s empty shot glass back toward Jace for a refill. Radhya is constantly outnumbered by aggressive mansplainers in her job so it’s hard for Ari to keep track of every single one she complains about.

When Josh bursts into the dining room a second later, his face red, the pieces start to snap together.

“You fired her?” Ari asks.

“I can’t work with someone who doesn’t respect my authority in the kitchen.”

“Your authority?” Radhya backs away toward the front exit. “You have an enormous fucking chip on your shoulder.” She turns to Ari and Jace. “He only got this job because the owner’s a regular at his dad’s deli.” She pushes through the door.

“That’s a lie!” Josh says, even though Radhya’s already outside.

Ari slowly turns back to him.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks.

“Me?” He takes a step toward her, gesturing at the door. “I’m not the person who just made a scene.”

“Do you have any idea how hard she’s worked to get here? How many born-on-third-base assholes like you she’s had to deal with?” He opens his mouth, but Ari continues. “You can’t fire someone over one dish.”

“One dish served to a food writer can close a restaurant. There’s no room here for someone who can’t follow the most basic fucking technique. She’s been sloppy and unfocused for weeks. I didn’t spend seven months in Provence mastering sauces mères to look over Radhya’s shoulder while she fucks up a simple duck recipe.”

“You’d also be a little distracted if you were going through a divorce.”

He appears momentarily caught off guard…possibly even slightly shamed? It doesn’t last. “There are hundreds of Radhyas in this city who could churn out competent food.” Josh wipes his hand on a towel. He stares down at Ari, that know-it-all look in his eye. “I’m not going to argue with someone whose great culinary achievement is microwaving a corn dog.”

There’s a moment where nothing happens. She doesn’t blink or flinch or even breathe. Ari recognizes the look on his face. He thinks he’s won.

So it’s not a surprise that he doesn’t see what’s coming next, when in one swift motion, she grabs the remains of her whiskey sour from the bar and splashes it on his chefs whites and the lower half of his face.

Josh wipes his chin with his rolled-up sleeve.

Ari sets the empty glass on the bar with a hard thunk, blows her bangs off her forehead, and marches out.

She’s definitely had better things in her mouth, anyway.





3


THIS ISN’T HOW JOSH HAD planned to spend New Year’s Eve. If he had to rank the various options, attending a party thrown by his sister’s college T.A. wouldn’t have made the list.

Plan A: a quiet dinner with Sophie, not anywhere too obvious. One of the places on her To Try spreadsheet. Returning home just before midnight, they would have watched New Year’s fireworks from the balcony of his apartment, flutes of 2006 Clos Lanson Blanc de Blancs Brut in hand.

But Sophie decided to stay in Vancouver, leaving Josh with a serviceable plan B: a recipe for cassoulet that takes eight hours to cook and a Gil Evans album spinning on his turntable. He could use the break after spending every waking hour of the last three months meticulously planning a “reimagining” of Brodsky’s and fending off well-meaning people wanting to reminisce at him about Danny.

Josh’s father passed away unexpectedly in the fall, leaving the deli in the hands of his family.