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“Good shit. Let’s get out there and make this money, yo.”

***

“Oh, my God. I’m going to lose it. Where is my duck? My table is about to walk!” Bailey shrieked at DeAndre, who looked like he was five seconds away from having a complete meltdown.

We were two hours into service, and the kitchen felt like a deadly pressure cooker without a release valve. I was drenched in sweat, had accidentally burned myself when I grabbed a saucepan from the eye without a glove, tickets kept piling up, the complaints started whirling in, and servers kept snapping at each other like dogs over a bone at the pass.

“DeAndre, how long?” she asked again, palms flat on the stainless-steel counter.

“You’re not the only one waiting on duck,” Esteban muttered under his breath as he brushed past a busser, nearly clipping him.

“How long on two ducks, Hart?”

“Five minutes.”

“You said five minutes, five minutes ago,” Bailey said exasperatedly as she massaged her temples. I stayed locked in and blocked out her complaints. Timing was off, tempers were shorter than usual, and everyone could use something stronger than a cigarette to make it through the night.

“Door!” Tara shouted, entering the kitchen. Esteban barely missed being hit by the swinging door and shook a fist at the woman.

“Tara, give me an update on what’s happening on the floor,” I insisted as I drizzled a cherry cognac sauce on the duck plates. It was my slick way of asking for an update on Vera. I wanted to step away from the line and check on her personally, but I barely had a moment to breathe, let alone have a private conversation.

“It’s going as smoothly as a tornado can. As far as I know, we’ve comped five bottles and two appetizers.”

“Is Vera keeping up?”

“Surprisingly, well. She’d gotten into a little dust-up with a couple, but she checked them, and they’ve been model guests ever since.”

That’s my girl.

“Make sure someone covers for her and she gets a break.”

“I offered her a break, but she said she’s fine. She’s actually covering for Malaysia right now.”

“Door!”

Esteban entered the kitchen again with Vera trailing behind him. “Is my duck ready yet?”

“Yes. Bailey, duck; Esteban, duck. Leave,” DeAndre demanded, slinging a towel over a shoulder.

“Thank God,” Bailey commented before hoisting her table’s meal onto her shoulder. “Coming out hot!”

“What do you need, Vera?” DeAndre asked.

“Two cod.”

“Two minutes out,” I answered.

Esteban ducked down and glared at me. “I hope you have three cods coming because I’m waiting for one.”

I cursed when I realized the line was short a cod.

“Just take mine. I’ll wait,” Vera offered.

“Are you sure?” Esteban questioned.

“I’m sure. They’ve been chill about the wait.”

“Thank you, Vera.”