2
Sweat dripped off Ezra’s blond hair and into his bright, focused blue eyes. The pan sizzled in front of him, sending heat up to his muscular arms. People yelled out warnings and instructions around him, the smell of dozens of dishes fighting for his nose’s attention. Saturday night. The restaurant was packed and thanks to the crazy prices they charged, the diners expected perfection.
The pressure settled over Ezra’s shoulders, a persistent voice in his ear. It was as constant as his heartbeat, as natural as breathing. Not only had he learned to live with it; he loved it. The thrill, the frustration, the deadlines, the constant demands to work faster, harder, pump out flawless dishes. Each night was a challenge, and he was eager to take on the task.
As the head chef, he didn’t get a chance to cook every night or even most nights. He was busy with other parts of managing the back of the house. Becoming a head chef was his dream, or he thought it was. But he missed cooking. Making delicious dishes was his passion. Nights like tonight gave him an excuse to return to his roots.
One of their best cooks had gone home sick. For the third night in a row. He’d be fired, of course, but that left them short a cook. So, Ezra had put his sous chef in charge of calling out orders and he got on the line. They had important diners coming in that night, and the owner of the restaurant would actually kill him if their meals were messed up. So, he was secretly grateful for the opportunity to work alongside his team.
He started up another frying pan, reached for the olive oil. As he focused on what he was cooking, the sous chef’s orders went into his ears and out through his hands. An orchestra of sorts with his co-workers and the ingredients they were given.
They were making magic in this kitchen.
The sous chef cursed as the front of the house seated way more diners than they could serve. A few cooks around him got frazzled, but Ezra never did. He was so focused that at first, he hadn’t noticed the front of the house manager had come into his kitchen.
“Ezra!” he called out, for the second time in a row. He didn’t dare walk behind the cooks. He learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years ago. “I need to speak with you.”
“Really, Vince?” Ezra asked, barely looking up from the stove. “You see the tickets on the board. Can’t it wait?”
“No.” Ezra looked up and saw the stern stubbornness on Vincent’s face. He sighed. Vincent wouldn’t want him out of the kitchen for no reason. It would cause him as much trouble as it would bring to them. He knew it must be serious.
“Liam, cover me,” Ezra ordered. “I’ll be back ASAP.”
“Behind!” Ezra called out, weaving around his team as he went over to Vince.
“You have a phone call,” Vince said.
“You should’ve told them to call back later.”
“It’s serious.”
The look on pity on Vince’s face made Ezra’s heart pound.
“Is Clara…”
“She’s fine,” Vince assured him “Just go take the call.”
Ezra rushed to his office before his mind could spin into awful possibilities. He reached the phone, hoping it’d be something simple so he could get back to work. He hated even taking this moment to deal with stuff, and if Clara were okay it couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Hello?”
“Ezra,” his sister’s voice surprised him. They didn’t speak as often as they probably should’ve, and she never called him at work. No one ever called him at work.
“Rebecca? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dad,” she said, her voice shaky with sadness. “He… he passed away.”
Complicated feelings that remained buried under the layers of Ezra’s life wormed their way up into his mind. He pushed them down for so long they were a jumbled mess now. Helplessly entangled. He couldn’t quite work though them. Couldn’t piece together anything well enough to know how he felt about this. How he should respond.
Shock dazed him. He didn’t think about his father much and he hadn’t seen this coming.
“What do you mean? Was he sick or something? What happened?” He asked because it sounded like the right thing to say. He didn’t actually care to know.
“All the stress and bad eating habits caught up to him,” she said. “He died of a heart attack that came on suddenly. I didn’t even know he was having problems with his heart.”
“I didn’t even know he had a heart.” Ezra regretted the response the second he said it. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Ezra!” she shrieked. “He just died! How could say something like that?”
“Sorry. You know it’s complicated though. I guess I haven’t worked through everything yet.”
“I haven’t worked through it all either,” she sniffled. “Still, you should have some respect. He is our father.”
Was. Ezra caught himself before saying that out loud.
“Brad and I are heading to Kaden and Maria’s house so we can be together as a family. Will you and Clara be coming?”
He knew what was expected. He knew what a good son would do. What a good brother would do.
“I really can’t. I’m sorry, but it’s just so busy here tonight. Maybe we can stop by when I get out of work?”
He was always exhausted when he left work. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn’t want to be too much of a jerk.
“Seriously? They won’t let you leave early knowing your father died?”
“They’re really tough on us here. Being the head chef means everything to me. I need this job.”
“They’re not going to fire you over that.”
Ezra didn’t respond. Rebecca sighed.
“I never knew you to be such a workaholic. Family should come first.”
Family had never come first to his father though. Not since his mother died.
“I’ll head over after work.”
“Fine.”
She hung up the phone. Ezra took a deep breath. Piled dirt back over the
