The deep, thudding clink of two Jack Daniels bottles colliding in the recycling bin. Fistful of peanuts, sip of water, stick of wintergreen gum. Key in the lock. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tommy was leaving slightly late for work, but not too worried about it. The sun was shining and the street was unquiet with the sounds of the Uptown Summer Fest setting up. The beeping of a garbage truck backing up. Something metallic clanking and stretching. Outdoor grills starting to sizzle. It made Tommy feel good, feel connected to his neighborhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The stitches and two days to lie on his couch had done wonders for his mood. He hadn\u2019t woken up before noon either day. As soon as he woke up, he started drinking whiskey lemonades. Thinking of Tony Bourdain, he ordered an abundance of Popeyes\u2014two-piece dark, classic sandwich, red beans and rice, mac and cheese, large lemonade to pour Jack into. He caught a James Bond marathon on cable. He noticed and appreciated how the blinds striped his prone, drunken body. He got up and did a few kung fu moves, until his hand hurt. Around 11 p.m., he took a walk for a slice of pizza, another bottle of whiskey, and the biggest bottle of water the corner store had. He passed out in front of one of the Roger Moore movies and woke up feeling ready to get back to his grill station, certain any fallout from his lie would be laughed off, and confident that this hilarious misunderstanding would simply bring them all closer together. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Down in the locker room, he brushed off a flashback of Diego discovering his duplicity. The people at Olly\u2019s? What else was there to say\u2014they were his friends. One by one, they started trickling in, no one really saying anything beyond good morning<\/em>, probably because they hadn\u2019t had coffee yet or something. These were his friends. Tommy was dicing potatoes. Juan Carlos began butterflying chicken breasts. Reggie began dicing onions. Everyone working together for the collective goal of breakfast. These were his friends. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTommy,\u201d Mart\u00edn said. \u201cTalk to you a minute, guero?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy felt yesterday\u2019s whiskey in his throat. They walked into the manager\u2019s office, but Mart\u00edn didn\u2019t close the door. Whatever this was, an open door meant not that big a deal<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on with that wound?\u201d Mart\u00edn asked. \u201cDiego said he saw you changing your bandages the other day and it didn\u2019t look like a burn. It looked like a big old cut.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy swallowed and regained composure. He\u2019d practiced for this. Standing shirtless in front of his bathroom mirror, leaky showerhead providing a slow drumbeat of dripping water, spider hovering in the gap between toilet and wall, waiting for a summer\u2019s fly to make a mistake. Tommy had figured Mart\u00edn would ask something like this, and he was ready. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, man, I, uh,\u201d he started. Mara walked past the door and smiled. Tommy didn\u2019t want her lingering on the other side of the door, listening in. \u201cYeah, I cut myself. Pretty bad. The other night? After we were all out and stuff, when we went to Squire\u2019s? I went home, was making myself a nightcap.\u201d Tommy glanced over his shoulder. There was no reason for Mara to be listening. She probably wasn\u2019t. These were his friends. \u201cYou know, one of those nights where you just wanna open the windows and look at the city and sip a good cocktail, right? So I\u2019m trying to get some citrus peels, right, some orange and<\/em> lemon, because my drunk ass can\u2019t remember which one goes in an Old Fashioned.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mart\u00edn laughed. \u201cBeen there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no reason for Mara to be listening. So Tommy figured he could continue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMart\u00edn can I get $50 in change?\u201d Amparo asked. She was walking toward the office with her head down, light glimmering off of her pulled back black hair. \u201cOh, hey Tommy. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo no, it\u2019s okay,\u201d Tommy said. He laughed. \u201cIt\u2019s kind of a funny story, so\u2014did you tell Amparo? I\u2019ve been, uh, a little silly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou mean how you told everyone you had a burn but really you sliced your hand half off and it was bleeding the whole shift yesterday?\u201d Amparo said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy was pretty sure she was just messing with him, so he laughed again. \u201cYeah, just, stupid ego stuff. Men<\/em>, amirite? That night, you know, when we went to Squire\u2019s, I went home, and my drunk ass\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat time was that?\u201d Amparo said. \u201cYou left after me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I don\u2019t remember. Uh, too late, I guess. You know, nothing good happens at 4 a.m. Well. This wasn\u2019t, uh, no\u2014this wasn\u2019t 4 a.m. I was asleep by 4 a.m. For sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Diego walked up to them, hair gelled and thick. \u201cCoffee\u2019s ready,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s up with y\u2019all?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, man, Diego, what\u2019s up vato?\u201d Tommy said. \u201cIf you\u2019re bringing coffees, could I have one black?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe talking about how Tommy\u2019s hand looked like it went through a lawn mower?\u201d Diego asked, ignoring the man whose hand had gone through the lawn mower, ignoring the man who was telling a story. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s not really that much to it,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cJust a drunken slipup. Paring knife, my hands wet from rinsing lemons and oranges and citrus juice, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWith a paring knife?\u201d Mara asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n So she was there, too. Tommy was pretty sure she hadn\u2019t been listening the whole time, though. He figured she had just walked up, seen the crowd gathered at the door. She had a coffee, so. Probably got here after Diego. Probably. Anyway, these were his friends. This was kind of a funny story. Tommy laughed again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMotherfucking paring knife,\u201d he said, shaking his head like he\u2019d seen it all. \u201cI guess, uh, what it is, is, you know.\u201d Tommy had practiced this part. \u201cI\u2019m so proud of my knife skills, uh, you know, stupid chef thing, right? Ego. I didn\u2019t want to admit it. That, you know, I had cut myself. Lying about a burn seems so much cooler than I tried to drunk cut a slippery lemon<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The world seemed to contract on Tommy. His head felt full of blood. Pounding blood near his temples. The whiskey came back to his throat. Why can\u2019t Diego get me some coffee<\/em>. Somewhere, he smelled Reggie starting hashbrowns on the grill. Tommy felt like he was wearing the walls, that everyone was rudely too close to him, their faces too intent, their hearts traitorous and disbelieving and suspicious. <\/p>\n\n\n\n No. These were his friends. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy exhaled. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDid you go get stitches at least?\u201d Diego asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cNight after that shift you saw me, I went to urgent care. Yesterday was my day off, so I just laid around the house letting it heal. Ordered Popeyes. Feeling good today, feeling ready to get back to it. Right, chef? Let\u2019s cook some food, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey, I\u2019m glad you\u2019re feeling better,\u201d Mart\u00edn said. \u201cIt is almost open. Let\u2019s get our shit together, everyone.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Everyone began to dissipate like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind, to find somewhere else to be blooming and wondrous. His friends left the office in a cloud of glad you\u2019re feeling better<\/em> well-wishes and Tommy sat a minute, exhaling some more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When it was just him and Mart\u00edn alone in the office again, Mart\u00edn tapped his knee. \u201cLook, guero,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t come into this restaurant and lie to people, okay? I get it, you were embarrassed, you\u2019re proud. We all gotta work together here, and we gotta trust each other. Put your pride on the shelf a minute, guero. Trust that everyone here has done some stupid shit, too. A cut up hand is a potential health hazard, you know that, right? I appreciate your toughness, but you know what? I\u2019ve read Kitchen Confidential<\/em>, too. And guero, the world\u2019s changed. It\u2019s nice that you showed up to work, but we want you healthy. We want to keep our customers healthy.<\/em> Okay? Everything\u2019s fine, just be honest. Don\u2019t be a bullshitter, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cThanks, Chef.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mart\u00edn patted his shoulder. Almost like a father. \u201cLet\u2019s go cook some food.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy stood up. Exhaled. These were his friends. He took mental inventory of what he had left to do before open. Juan Carlos was on onions and potatoes, Reggie was on soup and salad. First, Tommy knew, he should have some coffee. <\/p>\n\n\n\n No one suspected him of anything other than being a drunk idiot. He\u2019d been a drunk idiot before. It was his right as a pirate chef. They\u2019d all been drunk idiots before, he was sure. Well, Mara didn\u2019t drink. He hoped that didn\u2019t mean she had some drunk idiot moments as, like, a teenager or something. Well, maybe she just never drank. Anyway. These were his friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He heard voices around a corner. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c\u2014I don\u2019t know, just seems like everyone\u2019s getting cutting up, right?\u201d it sounded like Diego\u2019s voice. His laughing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cStop, don\u2019t even joke like that.\u201d Mara\u2019s voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Diego made gurgling noises, like he\u2019d been stabbed. \u201cSeriously!\u201d Mara said. \u201cFirst Gerry, then Tommy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMaybe there\u2019s a curse on the restaurant,\u201d Diego said. \u201cA demon hanging over us with a knife. A demon knife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cStop,\u201d Mara held the word out in a long whine. They were definitely flirting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCorner!\u201d Tommy called, grabbing a tub off the counter just to have something to walk with. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh hey Tommy,\u201d Mara said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s up,\u201d Diego said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGlad your hand\u2019s feeling better, really,\u201d Mara said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy smiled at them both. \u201cMe too,\u201d he said, without even thinking about it. He was too light on his feet. He had moves in the kitchen. If he was behind you with a knife, no one was getting cut. Tommy had never cut himself or anyone in his life. Except the other night. The other night, with the citrus. Slippery citrus. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He tossed the tub on the prep table as casual as a frisbee, saw that it was potatoes, realized he\u2019d stolen prep from Juan Carlos, and returned it before the other cook could notice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Breakfast was a controlled flurry of flipping sausage patties, scattering hashbrowns, just-right flapjacks, and a steady flow of coffee fueling everything. Tommy was totally adjusted to working around his wound. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey Mart\u00edn!\u201d he called. \u201cI\u2019m slicing and dicing, Chef, I\u2019m turning and burning, I\u2019m in the motherfucking zone, Chef!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGlad to hear it, guero!\u201d Mart\u00edn called back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n These were his friends. Tommy felt so connected to everyone. He smelled foaming butter and felt like he had diner grease in his blood. He felt like his spatula was not a separate tool but a living extension of his own arm. There had been no reason to worry about Mara suspecting anything. She might think he\u2019s a weirdo, but Mara didn\u2019t think he was a murderer<\/em>. Just because she had asked a few weird questions before. And talking to Diego like that? Tommy figured it was probably some younger generation thing. He had to remember he was 30, and they were both like 23 or whatever. Gossiping about the weirdo older coworker is a time-honored method of flirting. Tommy figured he could play the weirdo role. He knew he was more passionate about food than most people. <\/p>\n\n\n\n If being passionate about food made him a weirdo, then fine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He could be a weirdo. <\/p>\n\n\n\n These were his friends.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The deep, thudding clink of two Jack Daniels bottles colliding in the recycling bin. Fistful of peanuts, sip of water, stick of wintergreen gum. Key in the lock. 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