When I get home from work, I finally get a chance to check my phone. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t had dinner, and that it’s far, far too late. It’s dark, which means it’s at least ten o’clock. I meant to leave earlier, but one of the other associates needed to leave and someone had to stay to finish up.
There are several texts from Lucy and a missed call from two hours ago. I rub my eyes and open my fridge as I scan the texts. They’re excited, bubbly, and I love that Lucy’s found our spot. She’s attached a few photos, and I stand with the fridge door open, looking at them instead of grabbing food. The space is bright, airy, small but not in a bad way. It’ll work perfectly for us, and the kitchen space is useable. That had been one of my biggest fears, having to cook on tiny induction cooktops in a makeshift kitchen, bumping elbows and squeezing into too-small spaces. As it is, I still worry about us getting the menu right and managing the restaurant. What if something happens and it all goes wrong?
I check my fridge. Embarrassingly, there is very little. My goals of cooking every night and figuring out new recipes have been just that: goals. And goals that aren’t being met. Not nearly enough for us to have a proper menu in place by opening night.
When will that be? I hope Lucy was able to sort out the permits.
I take a bit of cheese from the fridge and dig out some crackers. I prepare a plate and take it with me into the living room, sinking down onto the sofa. I look at the plate on my lap and the glass of milk that I put on the coffee table.
Something has to change here. I need good, real food. Not this snack food in a pinch. My stomach grumbles again, and I eat a couple of the crackers with slices of cheese. Not nearly enough, but it’ll have to do. My feet ache and I feel a deep tiredness. And I’ll have to get up and do it all over again early tomorrow morning. I knew making partner would be hard, but these late nights and long days are more of a grind than I had imagined.
I check my voicemail, also from Lucy.
“Hi, Kitty, I’m sure you’re still at work, but I wanted to tell you all about the space. It’ll work so well for us, and I can’t wait for you to see it. I went to the town office too, and I’ll update you on that when we talk. I can’t wait until we can do this. Give me a call when you get home. Later!”
My heart warms, silly as it sounds. Her voice is the best thing I’ve heard all day. I set my plate aside and call Lucy.
The phone rings five times before she picks up with a sleepy, “Hello?”
“It’s me. Just heard your message.”
“Kitty!” Lucy sounds like she’s perking up, but I hear a yawn.
“Did I wake you?” It’s ten o’clock, but that’s not super late. Is it?
“A bit,” Lucy says, “but that’s okay. I’m glad you called. I thought you might call earlier, though.”
“Long day, sick associate, too much work,” I say. “That’s the short version.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen every day. You need your rest. This weekend we need to go see the space,” Lucy says. “I know you’ll love it. Small yet airy, and just right.”
“Like Goldilocks?” I joke.
“Not too hot and not too cold,” Lucy teases back. “Although the bathroom is a bit drafty.”
“Not a bad thing in the summertime.”
“No, but in the winter, it’ll be awfully brisk.”
“Maybe by then we’ll have a full-time restaurant.” That’d be brilliant.
“Maybe we will. I’ll have the permits and licenses in motion once Beatrice gives the town office a call, but it may take a little while. I know we talked about a month, but I think it’ll be longer. She says the office won’t guarantee a quick turnaround. The town is growing, and there are a lot more businesses starting up.”
“We’ll do what we can,” I say. “Cindy made sure my weekend was clear. Do you want to come here and we can experiment with the menu?” A weekend cooking in my kitchen with Lucy sounds like a perfect, blissful way to spend the time.
“I don’t think I can this weekend,” she says, but I hear the reluctance immediately. “I have work here and the farmers’ market in Calgary. Why don’t you come out here next weekend? Mama can show us some more of her magic with the wok, and we can experiment with some of our produce. I also pulled out a few more cookbooks from her stash. I’ll have to translate, but they look promising.”
A weekend on the farm. We’ll have to wait, but I’ll manage somehow. I close my eyes, picturing Lucy and the greenhouses and the cozy worn sofas and homey atmosphere. And real food. Full meals. I open my eyes and look at my apartment, its crisp minimalism. It feels cold to me, somehow. It never did before.
“Let’s do it. I’ll drive out on the Friday night. I think. Hold on.” I pull the phone back from my ear and flip to my calendar. Late meeting. Of course. “Make that Saturday morning. I have a late meeting on Friday.”
“You work too hard,” Lucy chides, but kindly.
“It’ll be worth it,” I say. “Once I’m partner, I’ll be making more money and will be able to dictate my own hours.”
“When will that happen?”
“Soon, I hope.” I don’t really have any idea. It’s at the whim of the other partners, not just my boss, if I can impress them enough.
“I hope so,” Lucy says. “I miss you when we’re not together.” My heart clenches, and suddenly I want to get up, to leave all this behind, to drive out to the farm and crawl into bed with her and never leave.
“Me too, Lucy. Me too. Long distance relationships suck.”
Lucy chuckles, a musical sound I love to hear. “It’s not that long distance. We’re only an hour or so apart.”
“Too long for my taste,” I quip back. “I want inches, not miles.”
“Saturday morning, next week,” Lucy says. “Then we can be joined at the hip.”
“It can’t come soon enough,” I say. The need in me is an ache.
I hear Lucy yawn again. “Sorry,” she says.
“I should let you sleep,” I say, though I know I’m reluctant. I’d love to talk to her all night, but I have to think of her, not myself. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Sleep well, Kitty,” Lucy says. “I want you rested and happy next weekend.”
“I will. You too.”
“Miss you,” she says.
“Miss you back,” I whisper. “Good night.”
I hate hanging up the phone. But I do.
An email pings into my inbox, the notification popping up on my phone. It’s from my boss.
* * *
I’m in the office at what feels like the crack of dawn. My boss’s email was a list of things needing doing since Jeff, my associate colleague, is down for the count for another day. Even with Cindy’s help, I won’t be getting all of this done today, or even tomorrow. I set my coffee down on my desk and check my calendar. It’s packed, even without Jeff’s action items. I have no idea what I’m going to do, absolutely none. I can’t clone myself and meet with my clients and his at the same time.
By the time Cindy arrives at seven thirty, I’ve made a list of changes to the calendar, which clients need to be seen, and which ones can be moved to tomorrow. Looking at my sketched-out calendar, I feel exhausted already. I will be in meetings from eight thirty this morning until at least eight this evening.
“You look wiped,” she says, setting down a tray of coffees. She takes one and hands it to me. “Here, you’ll need this. I got an extra shot of espresso.”
“You are a lifesaver,” I say and take a sip. It’s hot and goes down smoothly. Today will be a day for caffeine. All day.
“I know,” Cindy says. She glances down at my calendar sketch. “Who died?”
I manage a tired chuckle. “No one, but don’t go to get lunch from wherever Jeff got his,” I quip. “That’s today and tomorrow. I still don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
Cindy comes around to my side of the desk and takes a closer look at the calendar. “This client here”—she puts a finger on one of Jeff’s corporate clients—“will be happy to reschedule. Jeff’s assistant always complains about how they don’t keep appointments. I’ll call them. And this one”—she sets her finger on one of my clients—“would likely be able to move to Friday. That’s what she’d asked for originally, but at the time I had a free spot today.”
Two short blocks of time. Just enough time to take a bit of a breather. I might even get to eat lunch.
“Did I mention you’re a lifesaver?”
Cindy grins. “Only every day. Now, drink your coffee. Did you have breakfast?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll grab you a breakfast bar from my stash,” she says. “Let’s get moving.”