Spices (FIRST DRAFT) ~ An Alejandro and Alfred Story

𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Just as promised, I began to visit the restaurant more often, bringing representatives of other companies over to negotiate over a plate of nachos.

I came more by myself, too, trying a new dish every time. Alejandro seems to enjoy my presence. Well, I think he does.

He continues to be closed off and depressed-looking, never putting on a happy face for new customers, saying the least amount of words possible in a thin, chipped voice.

Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but I think when I come to rant my thoughts, he's more alert, nodding occasionally as I talk, eyes more at ease, not heavy, with his eyebrows furrowed together, unhappy with something.

I don't only rant about my company, too. After spending many long days in my office, worrying about nothing but Noeia, I grew lonely. I go out exploring the city in my free time, and reading, finding a new topic to occupy my mind with.

Once I do learn something new, I almost immediately need to communicate it. Alejandro is quiet, doesn't demand things, doesn't cut you off. He listens. I don't know if he even understands me or cares, but he has now become my little diary where I dump new information to.

It's been around a month, but I've only tried six dishes so far. Today, I was planning on having a small appetiser meal before returning back to the office and working late, but when I arrived at Casa Vallarta, the lights were off.

I closed my hands around my eyes and peeked through the window, but all I saw was a dark restaurant, chairs still on the tables.

Usually, the restaurant is open on Mondays, as it is written on the schedule taped to the door, so I had an uneasy feeling. It's not a holiday, so why is it closed?

I stop by a fast food place, pick up a burger and fries, and then head back to my office.

I flung myself onto my cushioned office chair, which sent me back a few feet, and take out the paper with Alejandro's number.

I stare at it for a few seconds, turning it around between my fingers. There's a few round grease stains on the paper, and the number is slightly smudged. Alejandro's handwriting is nice; thin and slanted.

I pick up the phone and press the correct buttons to dial his phone number. It rings for a long time. My heart drops lower and lower with every ring. Eventually, he does pick up. I hear a sniffle, a voice being cleared, then a slow and soft, "hello?"

"Alejandro, it's me, Alfred. What's going on? I noticed the restaurant is closed."

He doesn't respond for a long period of time. I stare at the receiver in my hand, waiting to hear his deep voice again. Finally, there's a long inhale. "I'm just feeling a little sick, so it's closed for today." I press the receiver hard against my ear. His voice is so quiet I can barely hear it.

"Oh," I exclaim. "Alright then. …you want me to bring you anything?" I don't know why I suggest that, my mouth says whatever it wants to.

Another sniff. "I'm good. Thanks, Alfred." I nod. "Okay. See you then."

He doesn't say anything else, and the phone clicks.

He certainly sounded under the weather, so I shrugged off the situation. Perfectly normal reason. Although, I sit for a bit and wonder why he doesn't have more workers and why he needs to be at the restaurant for it to be open. If he's the owner, he should have many people working for him while he does more important things.

After work, with nothing to do, I take a walk around the city, getting familiar with the place.

It was clear that summer was ending, and soon leaves would begin to fall off trees. I breathe in the warm air of Louisiana, soaking in any last-minute vitamin D I can get before winter.