Simmer & Stir

Chapter 35

No more letters.

No more mails.

No more messages.

I didn't require any more confirmation that Philip had moved on. Moved away from me and started a new life for himself.

But it didn't mean that I stopped loving him. It surely didn't mean, I would get drunk at some bar and act as if I had no care in the world. That was the old Daisy.

I wasn't her anymore. I was a reformed, reinvented version.

The rhythmic chopping sounds, the sifted sugary, snow dust over molten cake and the muted squeal of the lemon rind while being squeezed over butter and pomegranate powder were the sounds and scenes I was blessed to behold in my senses.

Joseph had a few meetings with some prospective clients on the revamping of Three Aces. As it turned out, GM was forced to transfer all of his managerial power to Linda, leaving her to be the management as well as the head chef.

As for Linda was concerned, she was more than happy to entertain the idea of remodeling the place. Joseph and Linda seemed to be hopped up on sugar whenever meeting with prospective clients. Or brainstorming new ideas.

With Jo's time taken up with the merger, I was in charge for the day.

I remembered the last time I had to substitute for Marcy. I could still feel the blood rush under my skin, every time I recalled that day.

"Here chef." The new girl, Yana, placed her preparation for table seven on my table.

Hover lights from above made the quail look perfect - carrying a pink dusting. The pale yellow, saffron and basil-infused sauce complimented the blushing bird, marrying all the pinks and pales together.

With a few strands of nearly placed saffron, I tapped gently at the table. The waitress, standing on the opposite side, gave a thin smile before carrying the plate away.

"Any notes for me?" Yana asked. She carried the same enthusiasm as I did when I joined the kitchen in Three Aces.

Though Yana was still learning, she was already ahead of her game than any other chef here. She was Jo's pick - after seeing her skills at a cook-off contest in a county - which she participated to raise awareness about type one and two Diabetes.

I looked at Yana's crumpled face, expecting harsh feedback.

When I nodded sidewise, her shoulders dipped, so did her head. I swear the similarities of her expressions, like mine on the first day of the job was uncanny. I too was a bundle of nerves.

How funny the cycle of life was!

Here I stood, teaching students. Turning up from being an apprentice to a master.

"Stand straight," I said softly. I wanted to give my inputs without making her cry. Like Marcy did. "Your cooking is really good, Yana. But-"

"But what?" Her intense gaze peeled a layer of my skin, proceeding with the second. She shifted her weight on her legs, her fingers travelling to her bitten lips, trying to chew into her cuticles.

Uncanny.

"But you need to be more confident, Yana. You know your cooking. You know how to make the best things come to life, better than others. Now all you need is practice. And confidence."

Like an old, wise monk, I bestowed the knowledge I carried, the wisdom life had imbibed me with and the teachings that my mentors passed onto me.

"But-" Yana cautiously slid her eyes on me, then bit into her lips.

"Don't worry, you can say it. I won't take offence."

Her back straightened and she clasped her wrists in front, standing like a soldier ready to take command. "What if I am confident but the customer isn't."

I couldn't help but smile at her; brown eyes widening, fringes peeking from beneath her chef's hat. Yana had curiosity bubbling inside.

"Well, if you are confident, then your customer would like your cooking too. After all, you know the tastes and combinations better than most." She nodded, biting into her lips and smiling into her shoes. "But in the off chance that a customer wants to talk about your cooking, if they disliked your food, then you will take it as a constructive criticism and accept his words."

I winked at the end.

Yana tiptoed her affirmation and walked back to her place.

The dance of the dishes, of servings and prepping continued till my spine dug up into my skin, scratching layers and threatening to protrude outwards if I didn't straighten up.

By the time the last of the orders went out, I was exhausted. My feet gild across the marble lobby and paralyzed as soon as I fell in the cab.

The air, cool and pleasant, was a respite from the hot, steamy, warmth that would hit my face every time I looked over any dish or preparation.

As a new routine, I started using my transit time to call and talk to my folks. Since my visit to Roseville, I transformed from being a daughter who called once a week to every day. I morphed from a barely caring girl to a woman who ensured her folks stayed happy, that their dinner was done and their worry stayed at the minimum.

Adulthood had its share of pain and responsibilities. It also had little joys of watching your parents act as infants when you'd dictated them to consume less butter, lesser salt. The concern was similar to the one my mother had when I used to consume tons of candies.

When my apartment came into view, my exhausted, battered body cried while I managed to crawl outside the car and stepped into the lobby, already dreaming about the comfort of my bed.

The cold, steel doors of the elevator rested my forehead like a washcloth to break the heat-induced fever, I caught every night. The chime at my floor was music to my ears. The rattling keys and the soft opening door click were the symphonies I loved to hear every time I walked in after a backbone crushing day.

With the draft welcoming me, I tossed my bag to a corner. The dim lights seeping from Linda's ajar bedroom door was the confirmation of her availability.

I fell on the sinking couch that nested my broken, aching body. Strangely, since the time I moved back from Roseville, our death-trap couch had been nothing but welcoming. It never tried drowning me. Maybe, it understood the ache I nursed inside, one that grew every night but diminished every morning as I powered on for the day.

The couch metamorphosed into a normal, care laden furniture that ran its soft touch over my broken back and fixed me up for the next day.

Linda's door creaked open. Our apartment was still in complete darkness except for the pale light streaming from the fridge. She walked over and placed the cold water bottle in my hand.

I was too tired to look up. Too tired to lift my heavy eyelids and thank her. So I murmured, gulping the cold water down my throat so fast, my tongue didn't register it. "Thank you, Lindo."

I fell back to the couch, nesting my head into the deep ravines of its sunken seat. A popped out spring messaged the back of my head.

Then it happened.

"Welcome, darling."

His voice emerged.

His silhouette cleared.

He was here.

~

He is back... Finally...

Are you all excited for the last chapter of the book which is next one. 

I'm so glad I got to spend time with Daisy and Philip.

I hope you have too...

Do let me know your thoughts. 

And also, if there needs to be an epilogue and bonus contents for you to read.