Cocky Chef(74)

I look up when I hear a knock at the door, striding across the office with a frown on my face to yank it open.

"Hello," the young woman behind it says, beaming an innocent smile. It's Maggie. 

She steps back and Chloe shuffles forward, the girl looking up at me with her gap-toothed smile.

"Hi Cole!" she says excitedly, running into the office.

I turn back to the woman.

"What's going on? The young chef program is done."

"Yes I know," Maggie says, with teacherly softness. "But Chloe finally competed in the finals of the statewide cooking competition, and she wanted to tell you how it went." I nod, still bemused. "Plus, we were in the neighborhood and I really needed to run to the ladies' room-do you mind? It'll give you two a few minutes to catch up."

"Of course," I say, pointing down the hall, and she zips away from the door, leaving me alone with my former mentee.

"Cole, you'll never believe it! Look at this," Chloe says, holding something out toward me.

I look down to examine the bright blue and gold ribbon she's got in her hand.

"Third place?" I say, trying to hide the disappointment I'm feeling for her.

"Yeah! Isn't that great? I'm soooo happy!" Chloe says proudly, looking back at the ribbon and stroking it tenderly. "Thank you so much, Cole. I couldn't have done it without you."

She launches herself at me, hugging my side tightly while I give her a few careful, mentorly pats on the back and try to process the insanity of everything that's going on right now. When she finally lets go I stand and rub my brow.

"Why not first place?" I say. "What happened?"

"Well, first place was amazing," she says, without a hint of envy or anger. "It was this mustard and tar …  tarregan-"

"Tarragon."

"Mustard and tarragon chicken-so delicious. He deserved it. He was really nice too, and he gave me his e-mail so we could trade recipes! Plus it's not really about the trophy or the ribbons anyway, it's about showing everything we learned, and making friends with the other chefs, and seeing how other people cooked. The competition was the most fun ever."

I suppress the urge to stop her, to look her in the eye like a bad chef and tell her third place is meaningless, that it is all about winning, all about the food, all about who's best. That friends and learning don't get you anywhere in this world, that only being better than everyone else will do that.

But she's smiling so much, happiness expressed the way only a child can, without restraint or cynicism. Big brown eyes aglow, glancing constantly at her ribbon to remind herself over and over that she went, she saw, she conquered-and she had a great time doing it.

Seeing that kind of joy so vividly, I suddenly feel like I'm the ridiculous one. Like being disappointed that she didn't get first place is the wrong perspective, rather than the other way around. Twenty years of hard standards, of having it all figured out, of pushing people aside to get to my goal-and all it takes is a kid with a third place ribbon to make it all seem shallow and frivolous.

I laugh gently, partly at the infectiousness of her elation, and partly because I don't even know what to think anymore. Stepping back to the desk, I cut up the remaining pieces of dragonfruit and offer them to her on a napkin.

She gasps, eyes wide. "This is a fruit? It's so pretty!" she says, taking it from me.

"You should try it. Careful, it's got a lot of juice."

"You have to come to celebrate with me tonight," Chloe says, still eyeing the fruit as she takes it slowly with both hands like it's a small animal.

"I can't, I'm sorry to say. I'm busy here with a private party."

The supervisor reappears in the doorway. "You guys done?" she says.


      ///
       
         
       
        

"We are," I say. Chloe nods, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth and grinning.

"Come on then, Chloe. Let's leave Mr. Chambers to his work. What's that?"

"Dragon's fruit," the girl answers happily. "Bye, Cole. Thanks again for everything."

"You're welcome," I mutter as they walk away, Chloe still waving over her shoulder.

A profound, deflated emptiness permeates the office now that her round cheeks and musical voice are gone. A feeling of being proven wrong about something settling deep inside my chest.



When the dinner shift starts there's a sense of urgency and importance more elevated than it usually is on a typical night. Before the first diners even arrive, the prep work is done hurriedly, chefs hunched over their work with complete focus, communication curt and efficient, none of the usual banter that's flung around during the pre-opening lull. This one is different, a calm before a storm, warriors readying for a siege. Everyone is tense, and I wonder if it's my vibe they're picking up on, or if Charles is more of a gossip than I realized.