Page 48 of True North
“I start tomorrow,” Misha said. “You drive?”
“Of course I will.” JT took Misha’s hand and squeezed gently, and kissed him again. “I’m proud of you. It’s a big step.”
“Yeah,” Misha said, a little glumly, as the reality of the situation set in. He was going to have to meet new people and speak English to them, and his evenings would be spent away from JT now. He didn’t reallyneedto work, did he? Couldn’t he keep on with his life of leisure? He liked sleeping late and reading his mystery novels while JT was out of the house.
But his idyll wouldn’t last forever. JT played hockey; at some point, he would have to go back to playing hockey. Misha knew his charms weren’t sufficient to tempt JT into retiring early and never leaving the lake again. At some point in the not too distant future, he would be on his own.
JT drove him into town late the following afternoon. The restaurant was along the road they usually took into town, an unassuming brick building with an auto mechanic on one side and a house on the other. Four cars sat in the paved parking lot behind the building, presumably belonging to employees. JT pulled in beside one and threw the truck into park without turning off the engine.
“Good luck,” he said, smiling at Misha. “Text me when you know what time you’ll be done and I’ll be here to pick you up.”
“Thanks, JT,” Misha said, and leaned across the gearshift to kiss him.
JT turned his head aside. “Not in public.”
Misha sat back, stung. This hardly counted as public. There wasn’t another person in sight. “Sorry. See you later.”
A bell tied to the front door jingled as Misha entered. Wooden tables sat scattered in a large dining room with a bare wooden floor and minimal decorations aside from a single fake palm beside the door. JT had told him the place served Italian, so probably more along the lines of pizza and sandwiches than elevated pasta dishes. Not that it mattered; JT wouldn’t be working for tips, so he didn’t care how expensive the menu offerings were.
A guy standing behind the hostess stand glanced up and smiled at Misha. He could have been Brent’s twin, and Misha decided after a moment that he probablywasBrent’s twin. They were basically identical down to the glasses, only this guy was slightly less chubby.
“Misha, right?” the guy asked. “I’m Brandon.”
“Yeah,” Misha said, extending his hand to shake as the guy came around the stand toward him. “Good to meet you.”
“You’re right on time. Let me show you the kitchen and introduce you to some of the guys. The rest of them will be straggling in here soon enough.”
Misha hadn’t ever washed dishes before, but he’d worked in kitchens long enough to know that it was demanding, fast-paced work with a lot of skill involved. You had to keep track of what the kitchen was running out of to know what to prioritize washing, and know how to load the machine most efficiently, and all sorts of other little details that he’d never paid all that much attention to, too busy with his own job to learn anyone else’s. He regretted that a little now, but he was also confident he could learn what to do after a week or so of helplessly goofing up.
Fortunately, Brandon seemed to agree that there would be a learning curve. “This is a slow night for us, which is good, because you’re going to suck. Here’s Miguel. He agreed to come in on his night off to give you a hand. He’s one of our line cooks, but he used to wash dishes here, so he knows the ropes.”
Miguel nodded at Misha. He was a short, round-faced guy wearing a backward baseball cap. He didn’t look impressed with Misha. “You know English?”
Misha wobbled one hand from side to side.
Miguel laughed. “Me too. It’s okay. Okay, bye Brandon, we learn now.”
With Miguel’s help, Misha survived his first night with his dignity more or less intact. They worked together in their shared second language with only a few minor miscommunications. Miguel was ferociously efficient and seemed justifiably impatient with Misha’s slowness, but he gave Misha all kinds of good tips and helped him understand how this kitchen’s workflow operated. Misha had only worked in fine dining, and Gianni’s served a different style of food, so Misha’s cooking experience didn’t help him much. Miguel, though, was a godsend.
“Thank you,” Misha said to him at the end of the night, when they were loading the dishwasher for the final time. Misha was sweat-drenched and exhausted, but pleased with himself. “It’s big help.”
Miguel grinned over at him. “Now you will wash my dishes best. Before the other guys.”
“Okay, I promise,” Misha said, returning his smile.
He had texted JT earlier to let him know that the restaurant closed at ten and he would be ready to go by ten thirty. When he stepped out the front door into the cool night, he saw JT’s truck in the parking lot and felt a huge smile spread across his face. He would be so glad to see JT and tell him how the night had gone.
“Thanks for come get,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “I know it’s far.”
JT scoffed. “It’s like twenty minutes tops. No big deal.” He smiled at Misha. Out of sight of anyone who might be lurking around, he reached over to squeeze Misha’s knee. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was something. “How’d it go?”
“Great,” Misha said. “I tell?”
JT turned the key in the ignition. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
* * *
By the end of the week, Misha was flying high. Work was going well, or at least he hadn’t broken so much as a single plate yet. Brandon seemed to like him and hadn’t batted an eye about paying Misha under the table. The cooks were already teasing him in the fondly harassing way of kitchen staff everywhere, as Misha blushed and tried to think of something witty to say in response.