Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [88]
“Look,” I tell her, my tone defiant. “I managed and owned a successful New York restaurant. I’m way past the point in my career where I’m interested in working for someone else. And in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t play particularly well with others.”
She laughs. “So open a new restaurant, Mira. It doesn’t have to be a four-star ‘serious’ restaurant. It can be a tearoom, a deli, a breakfast joint, you decide. That is, after all, the point. You get to decide.”
I thump my fists into the cushions of the couch, exasperated. We have had this conversation before. “I-I just can’t get excited about something new.”
She tilts her head and gives me a quizzical look. “That isn’t really true, is it? You’ve been very excited about the possibility of doing some food writing, some restaurant reviewing. That would be a new venture for you.”
Something about my body language must have alerted her to the possibility that this is no longer an option, because she’s all over me in seconds. “So, have you heard anything from the Post-Gazette ?”
I don’t answer her right away. I fidget and look up at the ceiling. “They are not interested at this time.” My voice is tight and formal, just like the letter, and I feel a sudden heat behind my eyes.
“I see,” she says quietly. She doesn’t say anything else, but moves forward in her chair. “I know that’s a real blow, Mira. I’m sorry.” And I think for a second she’s going to say something about eggs in baskets, but she doesn’t.
I’m crying, ridiculous as it seems, sitting with my fists clenched in my lap crying real tears because I’ve received a three-sentence form rejection letter for a job I knew I had no real chance of getting.
She considers me a moment, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip before handing me a Kleenex.
“What was the biggest obstacle you encountered in running Grappa?”
I blow my nose. The biggest obstacle? Who knows, there were so many. “There were obstacles every day. Running a restaurant isn’t easy. Starting up was nightmarish—there were weeks on end, before we opened and then right after, when I don’t think I slept more than a couple of hours a night.”
“But you succeeded, against improbable odds, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we did, but there were two of us. We were in it together. I can’t do this alone.” A deep, guttural choking sound escapes me, and I look up self-consciously. I can’t believe I’ve become someone who cries in her therapist’s office.
“Mira, don’t let Jake take this from you, too.” She says this softly and, reaching over, puts both her hands on top of my own clenched fists. Her voice is low and soft, but there’s an urgency there and an undercurrent of something that sounds like anger.
chapter 19
In the lobby of the Highland Towers there is a little deli called the Brown Bag. I had planned on treating myself to a nice lunch at Casbah, and had even briefly entertained the possibility of calling Richard and asking him to join me, but I’m emotionally spent from my life coaching appointment and can barely make it down to the deli on the first floor. I order a grilled Reuben sandwich and some steak fries the instant I’m seated, without even looking at the menu.
The waitress shouts my order to the line cook and fills my water glass, slopping some onto the chipped Formica table. When the cook grumbles that it’s almost two o’clock, she fixes him with a withering look.
“After two, it’s only pie, coffee, and fountain drinks, but don’t worry, hon,” she says to me. “It’s only five till.”
She’s wearing a brown polyester uniform with a white collar and cuffs. Her nails are long, artificial talons, painted a frosted pink, and her fingers, all ten of them, are crusted with cheap silver rings. I try to imagine myself in a greasy white apron and a hairnet, grumpily manning the grill, taking orders from a waitress old enough to be my grandmother.
“Thanks,” is all I can manage.
“Coffee?”
I nod, too exhausted to speak.
Dr. D-P has earned double her fee this afternoon in a marathon cheerleading session. The latter half of the therapy hour was devoted to something she calls