Sixteen | Sloan

Thanksgiving-eve at Mulligan's proved to be a completely useless shift. In four hours, two customers had shared an appetizer while every other patron sat at the bar. The Mulligan family likely paid more to keep the lights on for the evening than they made the entire day. It was understandable; those that were in the building looked to be the loner type, and I found myself among my people.

The menu for the night was limited. A turkey stew and a light house salad with cranberry vinaigrette. One batch had lasted the day, and it wasn't because it was not delicious. I had a bowl for lunch and one for dinner. After my shift had ended, the remainder of the day was spent from a booth with a textbook open. The table was filled with empty water glasses that Mikah had kept supplying me with. He had left early for the day, leaving a pitcher behind instead. Mikah seemed nice enough, other than the incident on my first day when he tried to turn me away.

All the ice in the glass pitcher had melted, and the water was warm. It wasn't something that bothered me, though. My finger twirled around the circle of condensation left by my glass as I studied.

"Oof." A deep voice from above had me clutching my chest. "Baking, eh?"

I looked back at Ollie, wanting to smack him for scaring the life out of me. There was no one here, and he snuck up on me stealthily. His smirk was cheesy, playful, a little too cute for my liking. He seemed pretty proud as he rounded the booth to drop himself across from me. The book was snatched away, glanced over by a pair of crazy-blue eyes, and then smacked shut.

"Baking blows."

I completely agreed with a bobbing head. Words were failing me with the sight of casual Ollie sitting across from me. I wasn't used to seeing him without the chef jacket anymore. Jeans and a plaid shirt made of various shades of blue—to match his eyes—had taken the place of the uniform. It laid open to reveal a white tee that was clinging to his wide chest.

He looked... good.

Really good.

Okay, so maybe the day in the supermarket I had misjudged the plaid.

Since when did hick become hot?

"What?" The toothpick between his lips rolled, coinciding with a chuckle.

"Nothing." My cheeks flushed. I reached for the warm water like that would help stop it. "I thought you were sick? That's what Mikah said."

"I..." He paused for a moment while the glass was pressed to my lips. A flash of a frown was gone before I even swallowed. Ollie's head shook. "I'm not good at it either. The family shit, I mean."

He was referring to our chat yesterday—the one where he talked me down before I had one of my debilitating panic attacks. We talked. Opening up about Steve to a stranger might have been the best or worst decision I had made in a long time. Ollie was probably the last person I thought that would happen with. When we had returned to work, losing my husband wasn't fresh on my mind, but Ollie attempting to open up was. He was still guarded, like now, and that left me with a lot of follow-up questions.

And anyway, we definitely weren't talking of the term 'family shit' in the same way. Ollie obviously had a family to speak of.

"So, you're faking sick to get out of the family holiday that Mikah already left for?"

Ollie leaned into the back of the booth. "Correct."

They couldn't even share a holiday together? That seemed pretty bad. Maybe it was because I didn't have siblings or parents to go home to tomorrow, but not even a family riff would keep me from family time.

"Do you get along with your mom?"

His eyes lifted from the textbook to me, causing my stomach to twirl. I reached for the water again.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"I love my mom." Ollie sighed. "It's just the whole going home and being with them. That's the problem." He rubbed the scruff on his chin. "It's hard to explain. It's better for everyone if I just stay here. Especially for myself."

I would not pry any further. In fact, I couldn't figure out why I was interested at all. Maybe it was just nice to hear about someone else's problems for once. Selfishness had become normal for me this last year, and it wasn't something I was proud of. Pride for me came from my own hard work. This year changed that. I broke and left Hallie to pick up all the pieces while she was trying to keep up with her own life. For a long time, I didn't allow that to bother me, but it was catching up. This job was a big step back in the right direction.

"Didn't your shift end like two hours ago?" Ollie lifted his sleeve to peer at his watch. "Why are you studying baking when you should be enjoying your break?"

"I like noise," I confessed, pulling my book back. "Hallie went home to the burbs for Thanksgiving. My house is empty, and it's just..."

I couldn't finish the sentence but gulped loudly instead. The word was swallowed and now my mind struggled to find it again.

Ollie frowned. "Quiet," he answered for me, understanding.

I exhaled. "Yeah."

Thanksgiving was never really a holiday to look forward to. No family, no money for the enormous meal, no cable to watch football—even though I would have never watched it, anyway. Last year was even worse, with Steve being sick. It was around the same time that he could no longer leave the bed. We stayed curled up together and watched some movies, skipping the meal part of the day completely. He had no appetite, and even though I always did, I couldn't bring myself to leave him—not even for a second to eat when he couldn't. That was when I realized that every single moment with him was going to matter and that we were running out of them.

The bed was empty enough. With Hallie not being home, the night was sure to be terrible. But knowing that I needed to do this as a step towards moving on, I tucked the baking textbook into my backpack and zipped it shut.

Looking back at the man across the booth, I didn't quite know what to say to him. The last two days were... odd. His own look shared the confusion. Were we friends now? Not really. Maybe? Talking to him was oddly soothing. It was finding him to be a complete prick and annoyingly attractive that threw me off. His mood changed by the hour.

Ollie's mouth opened to speak and quickly shut. He sighed. "You should cook."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

His hands nervously spun one of the empty water glasses. Nervous Ollie was new. How many sides of him could I see in less than a month?

"When I need my mind off of something... I cook. Make your comfort food. Nothing fancy. It takes your mind off of the awful shit. Then, eat yourself into a food coma, and sleep the rest of the night away."

I broke into a smile, laughing a little behind it. I had planned on a bowl of cereal and maybe a movie. The Black Friday ads were on the table, and I had set a little money aside for a new Pizza Pizzazz—so those needed to be scanned for a good deal. Still, I could only hold that smile for so long. The idea of Steve never left me for long. The man I spent nearly every day with for half my life was gone. Everything—every room, every memory, every seat, every day—felt empty. I was empty. All I wanted was to be back in the bed with Steve, curled up and laughing. Only this time, I wanted a do over. I wanted time where he wasn't sick, and we were in love.

I wanted to remember what it felt like to feel.

>>

To stay away from an eerily quiet duplex, I spent most of the evening at the grocery store. It was odd having a little money in my bank account, and I felt that a small splurge was necessary—especially tonight. Bags of random ingredients were now covering the kitchen table. Putting them away was always the worst part, but I needed to keep my mind off of everything.

The TV was turned on as background noise. We had no cable, but Hallie had a Roku for a few channels. A Lifetime movie was on that I really had no interest in. It likely was about some cheesy holiday love story that occurred on the very day I wanted to avoid.

It wasn't as if Hallie hadn't asked me to go with to her parents' house for Thanksgiving. She invited me every year and to every other holiday. It was a stupid and harsh truth of why I had no desire to be there. There was a little jealousy that those people adopted Hallie while I got left behind. It wasn't Hallie's fault or something she even realized, but my fostering took a toll. It did on Steve too. We had very different childhoods from the ones Hallie and TJ experienced. I was happy that at least some of us got a family, but spending time with those families when they didn't choose me could be disheartening. Thinking that if they would have chosen Steve made me feel even worse. He'd be here.

"Captain Crunch or Cocoa Puffs?" I muttered to myself, holding one of each box in my hands.

I stuffed Captain Crunch into the cabinet and allowed its door to slam as I turned away. Tonight called for chocolate.

While allowing my cereal to turn the white milk into chocolate, I made myself more comfortable. Loose gray sweatpants, a baggy Chicago Cubs tee, no more bra, and hair pulled back and out of my face—well, as much as my bangs would allow—started a shit night off right. The look was completed with fluffy slippers that I had found on clearance at TJ's. They looked practically new but weren't exactly what I'd describe as "cute". They were an olive-green color with black faux fur across the top. The ensemble really made me look a special kind of trashy.

Using a slippered foot, I kicked Hallie's collection of throw pillows off of the couch before sinking into the corner. I was in for the night. There was not a doubt in my mind that I would cry for all of it. The TV was muted while I was mindlessly flipping through the ads, searching for the cheapest replacement for Pete. I was just about through the entire Target ad when my phone buzzed from the floor. Unwilling to disconnect its charger, I leaned forward to view the lit screen.

That's when I reached, clutched, and yanked the phone free.

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell):

Tell me why you want to be a chef.

I blinked at the screen, confused by why it was asking me that. He—Ollie was not an it.

Crazy concept, but I enjoy cooking. | Message Sent

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell):

Well, no shit, Captain Obvious.

Don't be a smart-ass. | Message Sent

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell):

You started it.

I smiled.

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell): My dad taught me how to cook while at Mulligan's every Sunday. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I wanted whatever I made to taste better than his. It was my goal, a game we played.

I brought the phone closer to read the message again. He was opening up... and not about the girl who left, but about something personal to him. Did he know I felt stupid yesterday for confessing my depression? Just this minor detail of his childhood made me feel better about it. I imagined a young Ollie with his dad, competing in the kitchen I now worked in. It wasn't hard to visualize Ollie being competitive. He still was today. Was he always bitter like he was now? Or did his ex-girlfriend make him that way? I definitely wasn't the same person I was as a kid.

My fingers tapped the keyboard of the screen, eager to reply.

Foster parents sucked at providing food, and I had to get creative with what was in the cabinets. I turned into some kind of mad scientist of ingredients, and bam...I could cook. Never really looked back. | Message Sent.

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell): What's your comfort food? Favorite thing you make and always have the ingredients on hand? The one that's full of absolute garbage?

I eyed my mushy cereal. Definitely not Cocoa Puffs.

There was only one meal that came to mind when I needed time in the kitchen to myself, other than fruit pizza. It seemed stupid compared to the concoctions that Ollie made. Still, it was my comfort food when I needed it.

Chicken and dumplings. | Message Sent

There was a long silence from the phone as I bit at my thumbnail. Too long. Was he judging me? He totally was. I should have said the damn mac he devoured the night I was hired. Oliver Mulligan was a Michelin chef, and I just confessed to loving a meal that you could buy at just about every family diner in the Midwest.

Stupid, right? | Message Sent

I was shaking my head at my own stupidity, wishing I could retract the answer. There was no way to make chicken and dumplings fancy.

It was a dumb answer. Not very creative. I'm sure you're super impressed and excited to have me in your kitchen. | Message Sent

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell): What? No.

New Message (Ollie Mulligan Cell): Wait.

Wait for wha...?

The phone rang out from my hand. I sat straight, reaching to the floor to grasp one of the discarded pillows I hated to hug it. I was staring at a phone that would not answer itself. We texted about shifts before, but he never called me.

I slid a thumb across the screen at the same time my stomach felt like it was launching itself into my chest.

"Umm..." I bit at my lip. "Hi?"

"How the hell do you make a dumpling? Flour, obviously. Are they puffy ones or flat?"

My smile broke into a giggle when I heard him rummaging around in what I could only assume were his cabinets.

"Flat-ish? I roll them out."

"I know I don't own a goddamn rolling pin and will have to steal one from downstairs. I told you... baking blows."

"I don't have one either." I leaned back into the couch and curled up again. "I use a wine bottle."

"They're all full."

"Yeah, duh!" I giggled. "That's half the fun! Finish the bottle before you finish the dumplings."

"That's..." He chuckled too. "Okay. Yeah. That makes sense."

"I know. That's why my chicken and dumplings would be better than yours. You can't be all sober and have uniform ones. You're too OCD about your food to make uneven dumplings."

"Am not!"

"Are too! You re-cut the potato if your fries aren't the same thickness!"

"It changes the cook time!"

"It's a fry, Ollie!"

"What's in the damn dumplings, Sloan?"

He was really going to make dumplings on a whim? Chefs just do that? It was not like he knew the ingredients ahead of time and had them ready at a moment's notice.

Then, it hit me. I dropped my face into my hand... Duh, Sloan. He has an entire restaurant beneath him to pull ingredients from.

"You're really going to make me guess? Don't make me ask my Google Home. It and I don't see eye to eye most days."

"Baking powder, butter, and milk." I stood from the couch, placing the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could pick up the soggy cereal I wasn't going to eat. "Then you'll need chicken stock, chicken, pepper and thyme."

I now had a hankering to make dumplings for myself. I could throw some chicken breasts into the oven and finish them in no time.

Ollie's fridge was shut in the call's background. "Easy enough. Every kitchen has that much."

"Oh!" I squealed. "And salt!"

"Imagine that," he muttered.

I could hear that dimpled smile.

>>

"I cannot believe he forgot the string!" I slapped a hand over my eyes to shield the horror that was occurring on the television screen. My favorite Chopped! judge was pulling butcher's twine from her mouth in the dinner round's recap.

"You never come back from that. Have they learned nothing from this show? Did they not prepare for it by binge-watching, like us? He's a goner for sure. My guy is going to win."

I cackled, knowing Ollie was so wrong. The screen was telling me Ollie wasn't paying as much attention to 'his guy' as he should have been.

"What?" He chuckled with me, unaware of what had even started my laughter.

"Your guy is running towards the ice cream machine."

"What? No! Fucking moron!" Ollie yelled out to his own television. "You never use the ice cream machine!"

This had to be the ninth or tenth episode we had watched together. Food Network was one of the few channels I had a love for on the Roku. I was now wrapped up in a blanket with my phone on speaker. The kitchen of the duplex was an absolute disaster, covered in flour from rolling out dumplings. There had been a few hours of cooking and drinking, a few more hours of Food Network, and many hours of laughs and silly arguments—like Ollie reminding me for the millionth time that I needed new knives for class after asking me what I was using to cut the chicken. I used my hands to shred the chicken, which practically gave him a stroke over the phone. I seriously thought that he might show up at my doorstep to stop me.

The night's leftovers were packed away, and there was an empty bowl beside me. I may have only needed one rolling pin, but there were two empty bottles of Winking Owl on the coffee table. Just like my best friend, I became a little chatty when I drank. That's what led to the confession of being slightly obsessed with the show, Chopped!. I wasn't expecting him to confess the same. That's when Ollie's competitive side showed up, and I decided he needed to be taken down a notch.

Now we were here, watching it together in the same way that we had cooked and ate together. As soon as the contestant pulled the ice cream from the machine, Ollie groaned, knowing that he had lost again. The ice cream looked about as thick as cement and was the same disgusting gray color.

"He left it in too long." I giggled with a sleepy grin. "The string from last round makes no difference now. You lost, sir."

"Yeah." Ollie sighed. "I know."

My eyelids hooded. They'd been doing it on and off for the last few episodes. It was when Ollie and I both yawned at the same time that I knew our call was about to end. I turned the TV off and tiredly reached for the lamp, blindly smacking the table a few times before finding the switch at its base. That's when I realized it wasn't even on. Sunrise was lighting the room again.

"Sloan?"

"Hm?" I flipped towards the back of the couch, still clutching the phone to listen.

"Told you comfort food would do the trick. Happy Thanksgiving."

Before I could answer him, I heard the soft click of the call ending. My eyes widened once more to look back at the clock on the VCR.

It was five in the morning and the only dried up tears on my face were from laughing.