Page 47 of Babydaddy To Go

“I love you, too, girly. And listen, New York has always been a dreadful city. The people there are cruel and selfish and they’ll do anything to get their way. You’ve always had too good a heart for that city. If you want to come home, you have a place here. You always do. Your grandfather and I will welcome you back with open arms and I’m sure you can get one of your kitchen jobs back. Maybe one of the local restaurants will take you on as an apprentice.”

It’s just like Grams to offer up alternatives when I’m upset. She was the one who convinced me to take a year off after high school. I don’t regret doing it – I think I needed that year to earn money and hone my cooking skills. If her advice worked then, it’ll probably work now, too.

“Thanks, Grams. I might take you up on that. I just… Well, I don’t think New York City is the right place for me. I loved the school, but I’m ready to come home.”

“Oh, girly, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. You let us know what you decide and we’ll back you one hundred percent,” Grams promises.

We talk for a bit more before finally hanging up so Grams can get to her standing hair appointment. The woman loves a blowout more than I do.

Talking to my grandmother made me feel a bit better than before. I trudge into the kitchen and scavenge for something to make for lunch. My cabinets are mostly bare since I’ve been eating with Nate. I guess, since I’m going to move back home, I don’t have to bother picking up more groceries.

I do have some chicken that’s still good, so I prepare a stir fry with fresh broccoli, carrots, peppers, and rice. It’s the heartiest thing I’ve eaten in a few days. When I take a bite, my stomach doesn’t try to reject it. That’s just another sign that going home is the right decision. I’m already starting to feel better.

After lunch, I figure I should set my plan in motion. My landlord won’t be happy that I’m skipping out on my lease, but she won’t have any problem finding someone else to take this place because it’s such a steal. I’ll call her last and apologize profusely. Hopefully, she won’t be angry with me.

For now, I dial my cable and internet providers and let them know I’m leaving and that they can shut down service tomorrow. I book a train for today up to Boston so I don’t have to spend another night in this awful city.

With that settled, I head to my room to start packing. It feels like just yesterday that I filled the closet and drawers with my clothes and now I’m undoing all that hard work. Maybe I should have just lived out of suitcases. I was bound to fail here. Everyone knew I wasn’t cut out for the New York lifestyle, even my grandmother.

I pick up a shirt and for the third time today, I can’t stop tears from falling. It’s one of Nate’s that I stole to wear after one of our many rendez-vous over the last few weeks. It still smells like both of us.

I throw it in the trash.

The sooner I move on from Nate the better. Getting out of New York is an easy way to start.

Forcing Nate out of my mind and heart will be much more difficult.

16

Nathaniel

Monday

My eyes wander to Alyssa’s empty seat as I try to lecture the class on cooking lobster.

At least she had the decency not to show up today. I take that as an admission of guilt. If she were innocent, she would have come to class and tried to fix things between us. Her not being here just means she really never cared about me.

The thought stings. Even worse, she’s probably with that guy who was texting her. Now that I’m out of the picture, they have more time to hook up.

“Mr. Glover?” A student says. Thinking about Alyssa caused my lecture to taper off.

“Sorry about that,” I tell the red-haired boy. He’s probably around nineteen. His face is still round like a child’s, but his arms are thick with muscle like he’s been trying for years to lose the baby fat. Poor kid. He’ll probably have a young-looking face for a long time. At least he’ll get carded even when he’s in his forties. That’s something to brag about to his friends. “Where was I?” I continue.

“You were talking about tails,” the boy informs me. After a month, I should know my students’ names, but his is escaping me. Is it Ed something? I can’t be sure. The only names I know for sure are Alyssa, for obvious reasons, and Samantha, because her father is a colleague. I’m fairly certain he pulled strings to get her into this class. Her cooking skills aren’t nearly as elevated as her peers’ seem to be.

“Right. Thank you. As I was saying…” I finish the lecture on lobster. I manage to pay attention the entire time without another Alyssa fueled derailment.

After the lecture, I assign the students their dishes. They’ll be working until the last hour of class, which is designated as tasting, questions, and discussion. For the first couple of weeks, the tasting part was the worst. I was worried some of the students were trying to poison me. Last week I saw vast improvements even among the weakest links. I suppose that means my teaching methods have been thus far successful.

“Anyone can boil a lobster,” I explain. “There are even fast food restaurants that offer lobster dishes. Not everyone can prepare a full lobster meal worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, though. I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I expect your dishes to be delicious.”

The class looks wary. This is by far the most difficult thing they’ve had to master. Seafood in itself is hard to get right, and lobster is among the hardest.

“I want you to prepare a baked stuffed lobster tail. You will find the recipe at your work station. Included in your recipe packet are the individual side dishes. These include a salad, a soup, and two vegetables. I know this is a lot of work, which is why you’ll be partnering up for this assignment. Your table partner will be your co-chef. I expect you to equally divide your sides, but each of you will be preparing your own stuffed lobster to be graded. Any questions?”

Naturally, Samantha’s hand shoots up. “Mr. Glover, my partner seems to have vanished,” she exaggerates. “Will you work with me so I’m not all by myself?”

“Sure, Samantha,” I say without fully realizing what I’ve agreed to. “Get to your stations everyone. You have three hours to get everything done, plated, and served.”