Creep

Hannah

“We’re at Lair on the corner of Bathurst and Dundas. She’s…” Angel’s words trail off as she paces the sidewalk in front of me. “… don’t want to send her in a ride-share…”

My head is buzzing as I sit on the bench at the bus stop. There’s no way I’m taking the bus right now. I may have indulged a little too much, but after the situation with Ivan this week and the complicated reality of having Caleb back in my life, I needed a distraction.

Vida leans me against her and wraps one arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to be so hungover.”

I close my eyes and nuzzle into Vida, willing the world to stop spinning. To be honest, I don’t even know why we’re sitting out here.

“Your dad is on his way,” Angel declares, dropping into the spot on the other side of me.

I grumble without lifting my head. “This is so embarrassing. I’m nearly thirty and my dad is coming to get me. Ugh. Stupid Hannah. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed to…”

But I don’t hear anything else as my eyes flutter closed.

The room is spinning when I open my eyes. I’m not sure how I ended up back in my childhood bedroom, but here I am with my dog curled up beside me. My mouth feels like I ate a tablespoon of flour, and daggers pierce my skull when I try to move. Textbook hangover. The likes of which I have not felt for… ever.

I pick up my phone to check the time, noticing it’s almost noon. I’m scheduled to work at two, which means I need to get myself in gear. This entire day is going to suck.

My mom is in the kitchen when I drag myself down the hallway to get some water. She doesn’t speak at first; instead, choosing to greet me with a smirk, partially hidden behind her mug. Even the light of the refrigerator hurts my head, but the sweet relief brought by a tall glass of water is worth the pain.

“Have a nice time?” Mom finally asks.

“I have no idea. You’d have to ask Angel and Vida.” I try to return her smirk, but my eyes are closed now, so I’m sure I look like a lunatic. Maybe I am. I’m definitely a sucker for punishment.

“Your dad told me you were talking about Caleb. Is that why you drank so much?”

Curse my stupid drunken rambling. Until now, I’ve managed to keep my new boss a secret from my parents, but I was fairly certain if my mom and Noa had spoken, she would have said something. Judging by my mother’s raised brows and creased forehead, she isn’t privy to the details yet.

“Caleb is my new boss. Apparently, he got back from France in January and landed his dream job at the same place that's supposed to be mine.”

“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you say something?”

I don’t have a good answer for that, so I keep sipping my second glass of water.

“You know you can come to me, right? With whatever’s on your mind. I might not know how you’re feeling, but I can always listen.”

I swallow down some more water… and a heaping mound of guilt. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mom. I really do have to get ready for work, though. Are you home to look after Akili, or do you need me to walk her before I leave?”

My mom strides across the floor and pulls me in for a tight, motherly hug. “I’ll take care of your little diva. Your dad flies out early tomorrow morning, so we’ll both be home.”

“Oh, nice. I’ll be home late, but I’ll call later to thank him for being my DD last night.”

She still doesn’t let go. “There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you. Even if I have to buy lye and a shovel, just say the word.”

I chuckle. “That won’t be necessary. Caleb and I are long over and we can both be mature adults about it.”

“He’s not who I was talking about.” She releases me and turns to grab her tea from the counter. “Just don’t think you need to handle everything yourself, okay? Dad and I are here for you and so are your friends. Don’t let yourself be closed off again.”

I swallow down more guilt without the side of water. “Okay.”

With that, I head back to my bedroom to get ready to face the day. I can already tell it’s going to be miserable.

I may have danced last night until my outfit was more sweat than cotton and drowned my sorrows in too much whisky, but none of that works to ease the same stab to my chest when I walk into Hibiscus and see Caleb instructing Ellen how to do something. They’re standing close, and logically I know it’s a teachable moment, but I can’t stop the surge of jealousy I feel. He never takes the time to teach me like that.

That’s probably for the best.

As the afternoon drags on, I’m lagging. My reaction time is slow. My pace in completing tasks is rivalling Ivan’s. I’m dehydrated, tired, and grumpy. Each time Caleb shouts an order, my pounding head makes me want to bite back. My desire to keep this job stops me from doing so.

“Hannah, what is this?”

I look over at a plate I sent out about ten minutes ago, but it’s returned almost full. That never happens to me. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Look at it! This fish is so raw, it could join The Little Mermaid in a duet.” He’s never looked at me with that kind of anger before—or worse, disappointment.

“Sorry, Chef. I’ll make a new one.” I step around the corner from the stove, hiding for a second while I pull myself together. This isn’t me. I don’t screw up in the kitchen.

In order to help me focus, I rush across the room to my purse, down half a litre of water and a couple of acetaminophen tablets, hoping they’ll kick in quickly.

When I return to the stove, ready to recreate the visual masterpiece I had already sent out, but this time in an edible version, Caleb’s furrowed brows capture my attention. If he’s worried I’m going to screw this up again, he can relax.

“I’ll handle this, Chef. Watching over me won’t make it cook faster.” I start sauteing the flounder that should be the showpiece of the plate. “It was a onetime screwup.” Every part of me is screaming not to look at him, but I do anyway. To prove to him that I will not cower in the corner or stare off into space again. And to myself that I’m not going to fold under pressure.

Caleb is the first to look away, which leaves me to get back to searing this fish to perfection and him to dish out some colourful insults to Ivan. I’m nearly done plating another meal—pain medication doing its job so I can do mine—when I hear Caleb shouting from the other end of the centre island.

“I know how Russians love oil reserves, Ivan, but this is ridiculous. They’re about to launch a takeover of your plate. There’s enough oil under here, they’ve mistaken it for Venezuela.”

Ivan doesn’t seem bothered by the cultural dig or the critique of his plate. He sets it on the serving station, disregarding Caleb’s assessment. My dish is ready and if it doesn’t go out quickly, the customers are liable to riot, so I walk past both men to set the dish beside Ivan’s. Caleb was right, and he knows it, because he takes the entire thing and throws it in the garbage—plate and all. The shattering glass in the steel trash can startles everyone. Collective gasping and curious gazes add to the uncomfortable situation.

Caleb catches my eyes for a second, but returns his focus to Ivan. “Do it again, and do it right. There won’t be a third chance.” His voice is so full of rage and frustration, that when he storms off, I fight the urge to follow him.

Why? I’m not sure.

So we can commiserate together over the disaster this day has been?

Because behind that abrasive chef personality, I know the Caleb who used to live underneath.

Or maybe it’s because, without him, this kitchen doesn’t operate. He runs it with a no-nonsense mentality, but it gets work done. He calls people out on their mistakes and makes them correct them. We’re all learning under his command, and I, for one, am grateful for that. He pushes people to be their best.

I respect him as a chef, even when he’s dishing out insults, because the food he’s dishing out is world class. Everyone else here knows what he’s capable of, so the pressure on his shoulders must be overwhelming.

This job comes with long hours and a lot of stress, and I know aside from his grandparents and sister, he doesn’t have a huge support network. Or at least, he didn’t ten years ago. A lot changes in that time.

But I don’t try to comfort or encourage him because I learned my lesson on my first day here. Do the job I was hired for. Nothing more; nothing less.