Page 19 of Babydaddy To Go

I try the mashed potatoes. Like Samantha’s, they’re too smooth. I prefer a little chunk in my mashed potatoes.

“Did you murder these potatoes? What did they ever do to you?”

Alyssa shrinks against the side of the counter. I can see the questions behind her eyes. She’s probably thinking, who is this guy? What happened to the sweet guy I made dinner with last night? I want to tell her he doesn’t exist in the classroom. Instead, I tell her that she should mash her potatoes less than half as much as she did here.

Her eyes are glassy, but not like she’s going to cry. She looks more… defeated.

Did I push her too far?

I check her face again, and it’s changed. This time, she looks determined. I sigh, relieved. It’s important to push her to her breaking point because that will make her a better chef, but I don’t want to push her so far that she gives up. I can see the makings of a great chef in her, but she needs guidance. That’s what I’m here for.

I’m also here to make sure none of these kids gets a big head. That can destroy a chef. We’re always learning, and it’s important to remember that.

The rest of the evaluations go about as well as the first half did. I don’t nail into anyone like I did Alyssa and I can tell by the way her eyes follow me that she notices. I avoid meeting her glare.

“How do you think that went?” I ask the class when evaluations are finished. No one responds. “I’ll tell you: it went well. It’s your first day here, and for many of you this is your first formal training. You’ll get the hang of it. You’ll find your groove. Today, I wanted to measure your individual skillsets. You’re all talented chefs, and I think you’ll excel in this class.”

They look surprised but grateful. Maybe I should be less of a dick next time we do an evaluation? That wouldn’t be nearly as fun, so I decide to keep up my current persona.

“Please clean up your stations. Remember, you’ll be using these kitchens for the full year, so keep them tidy. Also remember, I know who uses each kitchen, so if you leave a mess, I’ll be able to figure out who did it. As soon as you’re done, take your seats and we’ll go over tomorrow’s plan.”

I watch as the kids scurry around their kitchens to clean up. Calling them kids is a bit unfair, since they’re all out of high school and over eighteen. To me, they feel like kids. At thirty-five, I’m old enough to have fathered some of them, if I became a father at seventeen. That’s not unheard of. I’m nearly twice their age!

At least some of the students are older. The youngest are eighteen, and the oldest is thirty-two. She’s still younger than me, but having her in the class makes me feel less ridiculous.

Alyssa is on the younger side. I looked at her file, so I know she’s twenty. That’s probably why she gave me a funny look when I poured her a glass of wine last night. Technically, she’s not old enough to drink it. That rule is often ignored in New York City. I’d bet things aren’t as lenient in Maine. Was that wine her first taste of alcohol? She only sipped the wine, so she didn’t get drunk, but it’s possible I witnessed her first time drinking. I would ask her, but I don’t think she’ll talk to me again after how I treated her today.

If only I could tell her that I behaved that way because I enjoyed spending time with her last night! My heart clenches at the thought that she might never know. It’s worse to think that we might never get another chance to have a date like that one.

I need to push her from my mind. I’m the teacher, she’s the student. That’s the relationship we need to maintain.

Twenty minutes after I called cleanup time, the last group takes their seat. I stand from my desk and write on the white board.

“For tomorrow, I want you to have read the entire pasta chapter in your text books. I know it’s long, but you’ll need it. Pay close attention to the fettucine recipe and the alfredo sauce recipe. You’ll be using both of those tomorrow.”

The class frantically writes down their chapter assignment. Below where I wrote tonight’s assignment, I add what we’ll go over the next day.

“If you’d like to read ahead, you can move on to chapter six. Yes, we’re going out of order. The textbook is great, but it doesn’t make sense in the order its presented.”

They write that down, too.

“Does anyone have any questions?” I ask.

One of the boys in the front of the class raises his hand. “Are we hand making the pasta tomorrow, too?”

“Yes, you will be. Does anyone here have pasta-making experience?”

Only two hands go up.

“Excellent. It’ll be a learning day for most of you. Any other questions?” This time, the room stays silent. We have about thirty minutes left before our scheduled time is up, but we got through everything I had to get through today. “Well, then, you’re free to go. I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

The class packs up slowly. It’s nothing like it was when I went to school. We would have our things packed up twenty minutes before class was over. Half of us were out the door as soon as the second hand hit twelve.

Of course, Alyssa is the slowest to leave. I don’t think it’s on purpose. She seems to be re-organizing the bag she dropped when she got here.

“Alyssa?” I call. Her head whips up, clearly startled. Her eyes are wide when she realizes I used her first name for the first time all day.

“Yes, Nate?” she asks quietly.