Always Cas | ✔

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE; part one

     It's Monday morning and I'm sitting at the island in the kitchen of Private Weston's. It's a bright white outside, the teaser before snow, and I've got a letter in my hands. There are some habits, I think, that just won't ever die. No matter what's been killed around it. I may be seventy and still sitting here, reading letters from a boy I no longer know.

     I've got a voicemail from Luke Doucet that's been sitting in my phone since last week. I imagine it's an apology, but then Doucet's a bit self-serving so it could be some request to spin the shooting in my favor. I don't know, but I decide to play it, anyway.

     "Dresden Gibson, can I start by saying I am so sorry? I feel awful about what happened and very much at fault for it. I know you probably never want to hear from me again, but I just couldn't live with myself knowing that this is my fault and that the situation could've been much worse. I understand you don't want me anywhere near your establishment and I totally get that. However, I pulled some strings and called in a favor. Gael Greene is going to be coming to Weston's After Hours on the seventh. I'm sure you know who she is, she needs no introduction. That's the only string I can pull so the rest is up to you. Play your cards right and impress Gael, and who knows? You could have an apprenticeship in your future. Anyway, all the best to you, Mr. Gibson. I'm not asking for forgiveness here, but I do hope you know it was never my intention to get you injured or put your life in danger."

     Luke Doucet, who's been an absolute thorn in my side for the last two months, has managed to invite Gael Greene to Weston's. When Luke had shown up, and Tasha had reacted like this was the biggest thing to ever happen to Weston's, I was skeptical. Luke's the kind of food blogger that hits a younger demo. Gael Greene is someone I know, a chef I've admired the work of. It's the equivalent of having Joe Bastianich or, my god, Anthony Bourdain at my restaurant. The opportunity to have even met Anthony Bourdain in his lifetime would've been good enough for me.

     It's enough of a gesture that I don't feel all that bitter towards Luke and even give him a call to thank him. I start my morning batches, and when Dolores comes in, I call her into the kitchen to tell her. She knows of Gael Greene and is easily more excited than I am.

     "Oh my god, that's only a week away. Less then, even. What are you making? This needs to be better than anything you've ever done."

    "I know, I know," I say with a shake of my head. "Please don't stress me out more than I already am."

     Dolores laughs. "Okay. You've got this. But also, maybe call in Ibrahim to do some taste testing? He's got a great palate."

     It's kinda weird to call my therapists husband to come and try my food, so I'm not going to do that but I appreciate Dolores's excitement. I shoot a text to Jack to tell him the news. Jack sends back a litany of happy emojis. Everyone knows who Gael Greene is. She's kind of a legend.

     Except for Rumi, that is.

     "Who?" she asks when I tell her, her tone absolutely dumbfounded. It's enough to almost damper my excitement. Gen Z doesn't even know good music, I don't know how I expected her to know who Gael is.

     "Never mind," I say. "It's just a really big deal."

     "Well that's great," she says. "If you're offering free tickets again, I'll be happy to come and show my support."

      "Right," I muse. "And who would be joining you this time?"

      "Their name is Stef and they're honestly so freaking insightful. Like have you read Pablo Neruda? Cause it's like living inside a Pablo Neruda book when I'm with them," Rumi says and she's gone all googly-eyed now. "Do you wanna hear what they sent me?" Rumi moves her gaze to mine, raising an eyebrow in question. She very clearly wants to tell me what they sent.