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I quickly load the dishes onto the serving tray and walk them into the dining room with my head held high. I already know the smells are enough to make their mouths water, but I’m still nervous.
“Here you are.” I place one of the salads and a bowl of white chili in front of his mother and she smiles, her expressive eyes twinkling as her gaze slides to her son.
I wasted no time moving over to serve him too. “If either of you need anything else, please feel free to let me know.” Those words feel strange because I know I will be back in just a moment and they're not going to be expecting me. Being deceptive isn't in my nature, but right now, that’s the right move.
I wait and they both acknowledge me before I leave the room with the tray. Standing before the wooden cutting board, I stare at the perfectly-cooked steak I’d left to rest. With quick hands and a quicker heart, I plate up the delicious cut of beef, noting the perfectly caramelized fat, the outer crust, and the tender inside as I push a fork through and red seeps out to bathe the meat.
With the steak carefully placed on the plate, I arrange the side of mushrooms I cooked up to go with the meat. I'm not sure how he prefers his steaks, so I'd made his the way I like mine. Medium rare with mushrooms. At this point, I imagine he'll be so excited to get his hands on this steak that he won't care how I cooked the damn thing.
Placing the white dish on the serving tray, I take a deep breath, prepare myself, and head into the dining room with my head held high and the tray held higher.
The second I enter the room, their conversation stops and he meets me with a surprised glance while his mother takes another bite and watches me with raised eyebrows.
“I apologize, I completely forgot to bring this out.” I didn't forget anything, but that seems like a plausible lie as I walk to Charles' side. Lowering the serving tray, I pick up the plate and place the steak before him.
For once, he doesn't seem able to hold back his reaction, and his eyes light up as he sits forward.
“What made you change your mind?” He seems serious as he asks the question, his gaze leaving food to meet mine for a moment.
“I wanted you to try yours the same way I like mine. Even I eat steak... in moderation.” I just need him to understand that the in moderation part is key.
His gaze searches mine for just a moment before lowering to the food again. I hold the tray in front of myself like a shield, glancing down at the steak and hoping that I won't regret this olive branch.
“Everything in moderation.” As his mother says the words, I know she's got my back. I have my suspicions that part of the reason she hired me is because she wants to make sure that her son eats healthier. It's obvious to everyone around him that Charles isn't eating healthfully, and I'm sure that that's frightening to watch. Some part of me wonders if he's eating his feelings or if there's something else going on below the surface that contributes to such an extreme diet.
“Thank you, Alisha.” He dips his head into a grateful bow, and I give a slight curtsy in return. With that, I escape the room, my heart still thundering in my chest as I think about the way he looked at me. Although in all honesty, if any man looked at me the way he looks at a well-cooked steak, I'd be in heaven. For now I'll settle for the warmth I saw in his eyes as he thanked me.
The next morning.
I'm not sure if something happened overnight while I wasn't here, but all the good feelings from the previous night are completely gone when I show up to cook him breakfast in the morning.
“Is your mother going to be here, or am I only cooking for you?”
He's sitting at the dining room table, furiously typing on his laptop. “Just me; is that going to be a problem?” His hands goes still and his gaze flicks to me over the top of his screen.
I take a step back. “That’s fine, I just needed to know how much to prepare.”
“If you’re taking orders, I’d love bacon, sausage, eggs, and pancakes.” His commanding tone leaves no room for me to argue and frankly, I’m not sure I have the energy today.
With Evie sick, at home with my mother when I should be the one comforting her and taking care of her every need, I don’t have the mental energy to waste fighting with him about his health.
“Fine.” I throw the word like a single well-aimed javelin and escape into the kitchen. I don't plan to make him exactly what he asks for, but I'm going to be a little maliciously compliant about following his orders. His pancakes are going to be orange carrot oat to keep them healthy, the bacon will be turkey, and I’ll make the sausage by hand with lean turkey and lean pork.
He’ll get exactly the breakfast he requested, but it's not going to be the breakfast he expects.
Humming a little tune, I walk around the kitchen, getting all of the ingredients that I need and gathering mixing bowls together. As I work, my thoughts never stray far from my daughter, and I wish that I had called out sick today, not that that's really an option.
Something tells me that I was the one who was sick, Charles would tell me to come in with a face mask on and just wash my hands more often. Honestly, he wouldn't be the first client to tell me to do something similar. One thing about these rich clients, they never seem to see me as a person, just ends to a means, and they’re not about to miss out on their hot meal, even if it’s at my expense.
Any hope I had that bringing him a steak yesterday would earn me a little bit of credit is completely gone. But that's fine. At least now he knows how well I can cook them, and he'll have to deal with the fact that I'm not going to make him another one. I’m sure that will absolutely butter his biscuits.
I strongly wish I was at home right now, even if that meant cleaning up puke and wiping her snotty nose. I'd rather be close to my daughter and taking care of her than wasting my time here wiping a rich man’s nose instead. Not that I actually wipe his nose, but man do I feel like his parent sometimes. Having to tell a grown man to care for his health... sheesh.
If I was feeling more charitable, I would see this as an opportunity to teach him and have him learn how to better care for himself, because obviously no one has taken the time to educate him. Of course, charitable me shuts down the moment I realize he wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't learn a damn thing. No matter how much I try to tell him to be more careful, my concerns fall on deaf ears. He doesn't hear me. Or he does - he simply doesn’t give a damn.
Again, that nagging sense that his lack of concern for his health might be something deeper worms through my mind.
Placing a large cast iron griddle over the front two burners, I turn it on and bring it to heat. Pancake mix in one bowl, the sausages and turkey bacon on a plate, I’m ready to get cooking.
