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@drsnowrose
we do not support JKR.

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Women with big curly red hair always have like 12 gay guy friends why is that
INCREDIBLE response
oh garrett graham, the man you are.
The Women of Amphissa
The OG "Hangover" story!
(Painting by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1887)
GAME OF THRONES 1.03 "Lord Snow"

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Cupid's Bow
âïž Warnings: None âïž Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan âïž Rating/Genre: Mature (đ). Smut. âïž Words: 1000 âïž Summary: Logan retells the story of your meet cute (a lil follow up to Falling for You (Literally) and the guys think Logan has lost his mind.
đ: gave myself a good little giggle writing this so i hope everyone thinks i am as funny as i think i am. hope you enjoy, comments and feedback are always appreciated xoxo
Original request here and incorporated this comment 㣠Off Campus Masterlist here.㣠Logan Masterlist here.
It takes Logan 20 minutes longer to get home than it should. His tailbone is still sore from hitting the ice, and heâs doesnât want to make the injury worse. He has to be able to play on Friday, you said youâd consider coming. Â
Despite the ache radiating from his lower back, he limps home with a wide grin on his face, replaying the images of you that he had committed to his memory. Every now and then, he hears the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. He doesnât even notice the extra time that it takes to get back to the house.
Logan swings the front door open and goes straight for the sofa, collapsing on top of Tuckerâs bare legs. Tucker, who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, immediately yelps. âEw! Logan, what the fuck man. Why are you wet?â
Tucker pulls his legs out from under the wet fabric of Loganâs jeans. Garrett, who is sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop open, and Dean, whoâs raiding the fridge with a girl on his arm, both look over to see what the commotion is.
Logan turns to look over at them, a dazed, loopy, smile plastered across his face. âI met her,â he grins, completely ignoring Tuckerâs protest. âThe love of my life.â
Over by the fridge, Dean turns to exchange a look with Garrett who just shrugs and mouths, âNo idea.â
Garrett shuts his laptop halfway and turns to Logan. âOkay, sure...â he says slowly.
âSeriously, why are you wet!â Tucker demands again, wiping his legs with his hands.
âOh. I was chasing after her and I slipped on some black ice,â Logan says, his smile never fading.
Everyone in the room pauses to look at Logan. Dean is the first one to speak. âYou were chasing after a girl... at midnight... in the dark?â
Logan sits up, wincing and rubbing his aching tailbone. âIt wasnât like that. It was romantic.â Dean snorts and Logan ignores him. âI hit the ground so hard I thought I died. But when I opened my eyes, she was leaning over me. She literally had a golden halo around her head. The snow was falling in slow motion. I thought she was an angel and asked her if I was in heaven.â
Dean full on belly laughs now. âYou did not use that line on her, did you?â
âI mean it worked, so whatever. You canât ruin this for me, bro.â
That makes Dean laugh harder.
Tucker looks at Logan, squinting at him with deep concern. âLogan,â he says slowly, âDid you hit your head on the ice?â
âNo! Well, maybe a little, but thatâs not the point.â
Tucker turns his head to look at Garrett, who turns to look at Dean.
âWell, I wish you and your imaginary girlfriend many years of happiness. Iâve got business with a real girl to attend to,â Dean chuckles as he pulls his girl back up the stairs.
Logan looks over and watches Dean disappear around the corner of the staircase, scowling. âShe is not imaginary. Sheâs real. And sheâs witty. And sheâs beautiful. And real.â
Garrett bursts out laughing, shutting his laptop completely. âThe more you say sheâs real, the less real she sounds.â
âNo,â Logan whines. He canât understand why the existence of your perfectly realistic meet-cute is being denied.
âSheâs real, she took my hand.â He raises the hand that you held to help him stand in the snow, as if that proves your existence. âAnd she said sheâll consider coming to the game on Friday.â
Garrett and Tucker look at Loganâs outstretched hand.
âLook, if she actually comes to the game on Friday, Iâll pay for your first date,â Garrett laughs. âIn the meantime, go get some ice for your head... and ass.â
Logan drops his hand, glaring at them both.
âYouâll see,â he mutters, wincing as he stands and limps down the hallway to his room. The dazed, loopy, smile returns the second his door is closed. He doesnât care what they say. He knows youâre real.
âêłâžâ *â§âžâ§*âââžâââêłâžâ *â§âžâ§*âââžâââêłâžâ *â§âžâ§*âââžââ
As usual, the arena is completely packed and the energy is electric as they take to the ice. Logan plays like a man possessed, every time he has a free moment, his eyes scan the rows of the crowd, searching for you.
By the third period, he still hasnât found you and the boys are giving him shit for it.
âSee your imaginary girlfriend yet, Logan?â Dean teases, squirting water into his mouth.
Logan ignores him, hopping over the boards as the whistle blows. He still has time to spot you, he knows youâre in the room. That âIâll consider it.â was basically a promise.
With two minutes left on the clock, Logan scores a blinder and the crowd erupts. He lets out a triumphant shout, skating towards the corner to celebrate. But, as he nears the boards, his eyes lock onto a face in the second row.
Itâs you.
Youâre in the crowd, clapping and cheering as the fans around you go wild. Your eyes meet his through the glass and you give him a little wave.
He slows his skate towards you, lifting up his right knee and balancing on one leg, he mimics shooting off an invisible arrow aimed right at your heart. Â
Just as he puts his leg back down, Dean and Tucker crash into him, wrapping him into a tight hug. They slap his pads and helmet, celebrating the game winning shot, but Logan completely ignores them, his gaze still locked on to you.
He breaks away from their grip just enough to shoot you a wave. Dean looks confused and follows the direction of Loganâs wave.
In the second row of the stands, youâre blushing as you laugh and wave back again.
âNo fucking way,â Dean mutters, his jaw dropping as he looks between you and Logan. âIs that...?â
Tucker looks over too, eyes wide. âHoly shit. Halo girl is actually real.â
Just finished hamlet & had to share THIS
btw this is literally what goes down. itâs great.Â
People: The classics are so boring and cannot relate to anyone anymore! Not unless we make them unrecognizable to the point of it being a new story!
Meanwhile the classics:
All Ancient Greek myths take place in the Bronze Age
The relative chronology of Greek Heroic mythology goes something like:
Cadmus, Perseus, Bellerophon
Dionysus
Theseus, Hercules, Jason & the Argonauts
Oedipus, Atreus
The Seven Against Thebes
Trojan War and the Odyssey
Assuming the Trojan War would take place right after 1200 BCE, this sets Cadmus about a century before at around 1300 BCE, and so this means that any setting of these myths in a historical timeframe should adhere to a Bronze Age aesthetic, like the armour:
and all writing should be in Linear B:
It's worth noting that even Homer doesn't get this right. Neither epic has a historically-accurate setting in terms of either its material culture or social customs, and there's only one mention of what might possibly be writing in either.
None of which is to say that the setting shouldn't be Bronze Age/Linear B, just that it never was.
Well I wouldn't say that "he doesn't get it right" exactly. We can detect some things we assume are anachronism for example the mention of iron weapons however it needs to be said that the more we look into archeological data the more we get to see samples of metalworking at bronze age (for example iron dagger at Tutankhamun's possessions that not only was iron but also iron out of a meteorite). Homer doesn't always imply that the use of iron is extended which in a way reflects to historical reality. Not perfectly of course but still does. We can expect that iron might as well have slowly started to exist just not in quantities and only on some elite or rich leaders for instance
The existence of writing is left obscure in most parts but again ironically Homer was pretty accurate to depict that technically writing or the passing of epistles within a military camp would practically be useless. So the preference of sending messengers to transfer a quick message was pretty realistic đ€
However in plays and the like they reflect the time they are made (not unlike the way some people adapt let's say Antigone with genes and t shirts) but at the same time I think we should be finally giving them the historical aesthetic. Now someone wishing to make it (finally) bronze age or archaic or classical times at this point I don't care. Just make it proper!
Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 4 Part 6
Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)
James (Pokémon)
Jon art by @drawsmaddy
Jonathan Sims I believe in you
Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 4 Part 11
Mr. Ant Tenna (Deltarune)
Caine (The Amazing Digital Circus)
Tenna art by @9Aaaalt29 on twt
OH MY GOD ITS REAL

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Never have I been this invested into tumblr sexyman contest before. Its just...so dang funny. XD
Part 1
So of course, I NEEDED TO DRAW SOMETHING! To celebrate for my favs! I love how close it was for both of them. Shows how beloved these two characters are for everyone.
P.S: contest is still ongoing, so go vote for Caine or maybe your other favorite characters over at @sexy-people-contests-2026 who made it to the next round.
Tumblr contest by @sexy-people-contests-2026
I feel the need to point out that at some point during this contest we will likely have Gomez Addams vs Simon the convict and I think thatâll hurt tumblr
It would be really funny to get a driver's license and not tell anyone
Itâs been a while since I got a wild text from a wrong number
Uhhh so warning for nsfw conversations below the break but I had to ask
They sent a picture as proof ig??? and I would like to bleach my eyes
PROOF??? pls tell me it was just a pick of the stuff together and not the activity đ
The second one
Update: woke up to this
Yall I am devastated that I havenât heard back (a part of me wonders if thereâs any way heâs seen this post)
Update: the saga continues
Another update because Iâll be honest I forgot about this until a few minutes ago
My parents met while working at Busch Gardens
You should tell your parents this guy is plotting something sinister there
Sorry smg4 community, I had to
New challenge just dropped, draw this as your otp
Draw this as 2 characters from different Fandoms
You didnât specify which fandoms
Just realized that weâve got new members to the council since this was last reblogged
Heâs back
Itâs this guy who got called toothpaste guy btw, never got another update after that though
Hear me out...
Juice (spacecraft) - 17776
Kelp - nature
What is a Hear Me Out?
They can be considered attractive in some way to you (but often not conventionally
They are someone/thing that you would not expect to be found attractive
Round 3, Poll 1/32
YES PEOPLE KEEP VOTING JUICE WE CAN DO THIS
KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP
KELP KELP KELP KELP
JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE
KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP KELP
JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICEJUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE JUICE
Juicy Kelp
Kelpy juice
Sorry @ghostofafruitmain Iâm on @trixthemagemain side this time

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Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 3 Part 10
Jesus Christ (The Bible)
Gomez Addams (The Addams Family)
Jesus art by @wolfythewitch
Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment
logline; it's time to retrace your steps. both of you.
[!!!] series history, this is the thirteenth; nothing distresses me more than when i see people read this out of order PLEASE BABY PLEASE
Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettinâ added to. constant headache was actually in season 3? my brain. my power.
Or, maybe you'd like a playlist made especially for this chapter? Consider this my Fishes special.
portion; 17k new record again, please god tell me it gets shorter from here on i'm so. tired..
possible allergies; you will know exactly what trigger warnings you need upon reading seeing the first line. Also! I watched Season 3, and injected some lines from it into this, including the finale. I don't consider it full spoilers, because it's an entirely new context, but you might wanna catch up before you read this one!
pairing; Carmen âCarmyâ Berzatto & Fem Reader so excessively gendered, in this chapter. my bad.
it's my birthday so if you typically lurk legally you have to tell me your thoughts on this one! Also it's once again the new longest, so like. cmon.
âWhat are you, Amish?â
You blink, craning your head back to look up at this annoying giant. Youâre too tired for this shit. This is your one day off this week and youâre spending it fixing faulty lights with your dad, at some shit diner. Why did you agree to start coming on jobs? Whyâs this guy gotta bother you on your lunch break? Whatâs wrong with you not wanting to smoke? Pardon you for not wanting to kill yourself with tobaccoâ
âAh, no, Iâm just uhmââ You gesture your hand to your head. âI get migraines, kinda easy, so I canât, uhâ Canât indulge.â
He nods, he opts to stand next to you, while youâre sitting on the curb. At least the smoke will blow over your head, this way. You try to eat your lunch in peace. He does not let you have this moment of peace.
âJack, right?â He nudges your foot with his. âThatâs what your popâs calls you, at least?â
âYeah. Everyone calls me Jack.â You nod. Guess this is a conversation now, whether you want it or not. âYouâre Mikey? The owner?â
âThe Original Chicago Beef, in the flesh.â He nods, and he says it like heâs proud but he doesnât look it. He leers at your partially consumed tin foil wrapped sandwich. âYou bring your own lunch?â
You shrug. âUh, yeah, grilled cheese with porkââÂ
âWhy would youââ The door to the kitchen swings open, as Mikey grimaces. You both turn your heads to see another guy come outâ Oh itâs that one, the one that cannot stop talking about his divorceâ Mikey consults him. âYo, Rich, do I look like some jamoke, to you? Just wonderinâ.â
Rich, tilts his head, and his legs follow after him, âNo, cousin, whatssup?â He takes the cigarette from Mikey, when itâs offered up.
âWell, our little fixer friend hereââ Mikey nudges you, again. ââseems to think me a fuckinâ ass.â
Now when did you say anything like that? âWhaââ
âStop making lunches, Iâve been watching you come in here with your little lunch pail the past few jobs, you eat free âere, aright? Youâre workinâ.â Doesnât matter what you said. Mikey sees you. Mikeyâs always seen you.Â
âworkinââ is a bit generous. The most you do is hand your dad tools, hold a flashlight, and ask too many questions. You definitely could do more, but he knows you're too tired. He really just wants to spend time with you. You pretend to not know his ulterior motives.
âWeâre gentlemen here, sweetheart.â Rich bends down, so you can see him past Mikeyâs frame, at your level. He reaches a hand out for you to shake. âRichie. Jerimovich.â
Youâre not gonna remember that. You take his hand and shake it. âJack. Itâsâ Iâm just Jack.â
Youâve only got one hand on your sandwich, to shake Richieâs hand. So, like a school bully, Michael takes your loosened grip as his opportunity to grab it from you. âYoinkâ!â
You whine, âCâmonââ âLet me make you a real fuckinâ sandwich, sweetheartââ âIâd just like my sandwich, alright?â âOh, itâll be your sandwich, alright? You think I donât make good sandwiches? Richie, she doesnât think I make good sandwiches.â
âFuckinâ insane, cousin.â
You attempt to defend yourself from the peanut gallery of one guy. âNot what I said!â
âWhy do you keep bringing lunch, then?â
Because itâs easy? Because itâs orderly? Because youâve been in a full state of autopilot for the last threeish years and every day youâve eaten the same breakfast and made the same lunch and then you go on your shift and then someone nearly dies and sobs in your arms and then you sit on the edge of the ambulance and you eat your grilled cheese and pork? Because if you break the routine itâs all gonna hit?
âI just like making my own lunch.â
âWell, stop. Youâre breaking my heart.â Michael takes a bite of your sandwich. You click your teeth. Germs. Youâre going to chastise him, but he doesnât let you. âYou like pork more than beef?â
âI think beef is fine.â
âNot what I asked.â
You take too long to respond, meaning the lie wonât be believable, so you have to tell the truth. You have to tell The Original Chicago Beef thatâ âI⊠I like pork more.â
âHow dare youââ Barks Richie, the guard dog, apparently. Mikey stops him, putting a hand up.
âNo, no, I asked the lady a question. Sheâs wrong but I asked. Fairâs fair. We express our fury like gentlemen, Cousin.â He nods, to himself. Thinking. About what is beyond you. God, so much for a lunch break. You point to your sandwich in his hand.
âCan I have that backââ âNo. Iâm makinâ you a goddamn real sandwich.â
You all but growl, really. You start to stand up. God, this guy is pushy. âI just said, I preferââ
Mikeyâs already making his way back into the kitchen, with the last half of your lunch as hostage. âOh, Iâll make you a fuckinâ pork sandwich, aright?â
Mikeyâs guard dog stamps out the butt of the shared cigarette, walking backwards into the kitchen, following Mikey but watching you. âHeâs gonna make you fuckinâ pork, aright?â
âAright!â Is all you can yell back, at your wits with the two dumbest most stubborn middle-aged geezers youâve ever met.
Richie holds the door open for you, so you donât get locked out. Alright, maybe he is a gentleman. You hear Mikeyâs voice ring, from inside the kitchen. âAnd if youâre not doinâ nothinâ for your dad, try to fix the fuckinâ coffee machine, would you?â
This fucking guy.Â
You have waved at him a couple times, here and there, while helping out your dad. But now, youâve officially had Michael Bear Berzatto in your life for a solid ten minutes. Doesnât feel like it.
Carmen Anthony Bear Berzatto has officially not had you in his life for ten minutes. Doesnât feel like it. Feels like youâve been gone for years. But youâre probably still just outside, talking to Richie and Syd. How is it still Friday? What time is it? Almost six? Theyâve still got four fucking hours of service to go? No, thatâs a good thing. This is a good thing. Doesnât give him time to think. Everyone needs to stop staring at him.Â
What a fucking monster. What did he even say? He canât remember anymore. He remembered ten minutes ago, and now itâs gone. Completely walled off in his memory. What did he say? Why did you make that face? What did he say to Richie, again? Why did you step in front of him? What did you say, again? What did Richie say? What happened? He canât remember. He knows he did something fucked up but Carmen cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago. Thatâs bad, right?
âI need hands!â Carmen does not recognize the fact that heâs working until he hears his own voice.
Right. Heâs on expo. Heâs doing expo. Thatâs what was happening twenty minutes ago, he thinks. Thatâs what was happening, right? Doesnât matter. This is what heâs doing now. Fak comes back in and takes the tray to run. He looks around for a moment, confused.Â
âWhereâs Tony?â
âSheâs gone.â
Fak pauses. You donât leave, that doesnât match up in his brain. It doesnât really match up in Carmenâs either, but this is whatâs happening now. âWhatâdâyou mean sheâs gone?â
âI mean sheâs fucking gone, Fak.â Carmen barks back, practically. Such a fucking monster. Could Fak tell him what he said? Doesnât matter. Carmen nods to the plate. âTable twenty-five, go.â
â...Whereâd she goââ âFucking go, Fak!â
There is a loud, thrumming buzz. The type that goes off after a game. Or maybe after a wrong answer. Expo clock. Since when did it have a sound setting? The kitchen flinches, including Carmen, including a meek-made Neil, and look to the clock behind them.Â
Time has stopped. 0ERR is all it displays now. The sign âEVERY SECOND COUNTSâ is real ironic, now. What the fuck happened? You would know. Youâre still outside, Carmen could get you. Carmen could get you and say heâs sorry for whatever happened. The back of his head feels like itâs hemorrhaging. He needs to go to a doctor. Maybe a paramedic. Carmen could get you, ask you what he said, and also ask if he is actively dying, right now.
âFak.âÂ
âCarm?â
âTable twenty-five.â Carmen points at the plate again, with his sharpie. Then points behind him, to the broken clock. âThen fix that.âÂ
âWhy not call Toââ âDo you want a fucking job here or not?â âIâI doââ âThen do your fucking job, Fak.â
Carmen doesnât need you. The Bear doesnât need you. They can function just fine. Everythingâs fine, without you. Everythingâs normal. Everything is the way that it should be. He is shaking so muchâ When did he eat? Has he eaten? What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened twenty minutes ago? Or was it twenty-five? No. Thatâs table twenty-five, heâs mixing up his numbers. What time is it? He doesnât know. The whole kitchen doesnât know what time it is, anymore. You are gone and so are the minutes.Â
Fak leaves, with the plate. Shrunken. Following orders. Carmen just turns everyone into himself, doesnât he? What a fucking monster. He knows how bad it is to be him, and yet he still does it. Look at the orders, Carmen. Run fucking expo. So fucking slow, Carmen. Look at the orders.Â
The crumpled piece of paper you handed him twenty minutesâ Thirty? Fuck. The fucking note you handed him some amount of time ago. It sits on his table, next to all the actual orders. He rereads it, instead of the five cavatellis heâs supposed to be yelling about, right now.
Walk-In Hotfix, $80
Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250
Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70
Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120
Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20
Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. -$2,500
You forgot the booths. And taxes. And you should probably get paid a half day, for serving for the past half hour. You also forgot all the times he called you, texted you, came over, the bookshelf you brought him, the basil, the rosemary water, cleaning up his trash, every time you tried food for him, every time you told him everything was going to be okay, every time you made everyone breath in here like it was going to be okayâ You forgot everything you do. Priceless. Easily, you are owed millions, from Carmen.Â
He flips over the note. He reads Sweepsâ quick scribings from David, the fucking asshole out front, the fucking asshole in his head.Â
Cherry + Lamb, good flavour. A lot of elements. Fresh, Unique. Overall good? Ig? Weird tone.
Said heâd like to speak to âWine Girlâ (ick), mentioned Michelin connect? Number = Connect? (Ick)
You didnât eat the cherry and lamb dish. That just connected, in his head. You didnât get to eat it. Not only did you not get to eat it, the motherfucker outside did. Fuck. You were trying to be nice, but youâve fucked him. Unique is practically a slur to his Exec. Carmen has fun when he makes things for youâ He playsâ Thatâs not what his Exec wants. He wants two elements, max. The fact that David actually liked the flavour is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Carmen could throw up. Heâs definitely getting an ulcer, again. Whereâs your Tums? Fuck, you took it with you, didnât you?Â
Itâs embarrassing how many rules he forgets to implement, when he cooks for you. Boundless, unrestrictedâ When he cooks for you. Doesn't cut a single concept. Itâs mortifying that someone other than you ate it, let alone David fucking Fields.
Carmenâs eyes feather, almost closing, but not completely. He scratches his fingers through his hair, destroying the cast of gel itâs been stuck in. His curls are desperately trying and failing to reform. It doesnât matter how much he runs his hands through it, he cannot get it to smell like you again. He cannot find you in himself, he cannot find you in his kitchen. Thatâs what annoyed him, earlier, wasnât it? That you were everywhere? That you were carved in, everywhere? He thought he didnât want that?
His knees bounce where he stands, he bumps into his jacket under the table. Right. You left it. Are you cold? Turtleneck was thin. You looked so good. You always look good. Better, in his clothes, but you always look good. Did he remember to tell you that? Probably not.
âWhereââ Fuck, he really is going to throw up. âWhere we at on Booth Twelveâs dessert tray, Chef?â
You said it was okay for Carmen to give your number out. You gave your dish out. You shelled yourself out, for Carmen. It feels like a cave is being hollowed out, in his throat. He is so angry and he doesnât know who itâs for. He doesnât know where to put it. Is that what happened twenty-threeâ twenty-four minutes ago? Did he give it to you? No, he gave it to Richie, right? Thatâs how it started. Marcus hands off the dessert paddle to expo, silently. No one wants to talk to Carmen. Thatâs probably fair. What did he say? Probably bad. Itâs already huge they havenât walked out on him, yet. Has anyone walked out, yet?
Marcus is here, Syd is still out backâ Well, actually, she mightâve left with you, she should if she can. Are you still out there? Tina wipes her eyes, working at the oven you fixed thirtyâ No, fortyâ Fuckâ Earlier. Itâs probably the onions from the broth making her tear up. No, it definitely is. Fak is out front, Sweeps is out front, Richie is still out back.
What did he say to Richie? Something about kids? There are no servers to hand off dessert to stupid fucking booth twelve. Carmen cannot keep looking at the family heâs ruined, in whatever way he managed to ruin it. He grabs the dessert tray. Heâll deliver it himself. He can do it all himself. Heâs good by himself.
Youâve been out of Carmenâs life for 0ERR minutes. Yeah. Thatâs exactly how long it feels like.
âTry it try it try it.â You mumble, hurriedly, excitedly, to Marcus. The bread guy. Heâs the nicest of the bunch, so far. You hand him the mug. He takes a sip of the coffee youâve been perfecting for the last six jobs here, give or take. Youâve been in The Beefâs life for two months or so.
âHoly shit.â He nods, digesting itâ Actually digesting it, which meansâ âItâs edible.â
âI know!â You all but shout, too excited to hide it. Youâve finally figured out how to make this thing produce what itâs supposed toâ Instead of what is essentially arsenic with coffee flavouring.
Your excitement makes a line cook behind you grimace. The one youâve still got yet to win over. âMy ears, kid.â
âSorry.â You reply lightly. Your back is turned to her, so she canât see you cringe to Marcus, crying for help, practically. Heâs sympathetic. He kept saying you just need to prove yourself, but itâs been taking forever, what else can you prove?
He decides to fast track you. âYo, T.â She nods. She respects Marcus. But youâre just some girl thatâs been in her walkway for the past seven weeks. âTry it.â He hands her your edible coffee.
She rolls her eyes, already nonplussed, but she takes the coffee. She is genuinely impressed, for a split second, before it turns into a coy sarcasm. âWowâ Youâve made not poison, great job, baby.â
âIâm gonna get better.â You respond instantly. Thatâs something you noticed Tina likes. Quickness. âIâm gonna make you a good coffee.â Determination, too.
âBold.â
âThank youââ
âNo.â She pushes the coffee to your chest; you grab it before it spills. âI like it bold.â
God, sheâs so scary. âHeard.â Sheâs so cool.Â
She watches you, for a second; wants to see if you crack. You donât, thankfully. She folds. She finally kinda likes youâ Or rather, is willing to admit it, in some small way. âYou can come tonight.â
You can come to family, tonight. It takes everything in you not to cheer. You should mix them drinks. Or is that too try hard? No, itâs the perfect amount of tryâ Right? It was your old party trick in college, you should use it. Prove yourself.
âCool.â Is all you can say, without seeming like a desperate nerd.Â
You've been slowly cutting away at every relationship in your life, par for your familyâ And even that hangs by a threadâ And you thought you were fine with that. You thought you were good like that, but once you got used to The Weirdos of The Beef, you cannot help but desperately want friends, again.
Every moment you get outside of your twelve to twenty-four hour EMS shifts, you spend it here. Youâre tired, but it might actually be worth it; to talk to people instead of rotting in your apartment for half a week every week.
What month is it? March? When's Squid's birthday again? Did you miss it? It's the one time a year you get to talk without the underlying pressure that you have to hang out now.
Happy Birthday, what have you been up to? Oh, same thing as last year? You're irrevocably a different person now but you're also still the same? Nothing much? Same here. We should see each other soon. We won't. I won't say I love you because I don't want to be weird. Even though we used to say it every day. I will never know you like I used to, and so I won't even try. Same time next year?
Working in The Beef reminds you of her. Reminds you of the other stubborn cook in your life. Was in your life? Donât think about that. Sometimes you hear her dad's voice out front, buying himself a half-hot half-sweet braised beef sandwich. Sometimes you think about going out there and saying hi. Sometimes you think about asking about Syd. Sometimes you think about asking how the catering gig is going. Sometimes you think about asking if she needs you anymore.
You never do.
âAye.â Mikey claps your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. You didn't even realize he was behind you. He digs his hands in, a sudden and always painful massage. His preferred way of saying stop fucking tweaking. He leans over your shoulder, looking at the coffee cup that doesn't look as pitiful as it usually does. âGood job, kid.â
âThank youââ âNow figure out how to make it worth drinking.â
You scoff, rolling your shoulders to push him off you. âI'm fuckinâ trying!âÂ
His hands stay in place, but his massage does become gentle, and actually decent. Per usual. Youâre not sure how he always manages to get the knots. âT say you can come to family?âÂ
You had to get all yeses that you are now in fact family to join for family. You look over your shoulder to face him. âMhm.âÂ
âGood.â He looks around. âYour dad here?âÂ
You nod. âIn the basement, something about your furnace? It's fucking beyond my skill set, so I'm up here until he needs me.â As much as your dad started doing this to hang out with you, heads got too hot with you fucking up which tools to hand him one too many times; repeatedly yelling same team in a more and more distressed tone did not seem to be helping either. Whatever. Gave you more time with the coffee machine. Youâre going to make this thing your bitch, one day. One day this thing is going to sing for you.
âOh, good.â And with that, he's already pulling you to his station. âYou can help me with family brisket, then.âÂ
âNoooooââ âIf you want family you gotta be family, Jack.âÂ
You whine, but you don't mind this at all. Mikey sees you. Mikey knows you; probably better than he should. He knows you always need something to do.
âPork?â âPork.â âFine.â It's your recipe, so you must oblige.
He's good. Mikey is good. Mikey pays attention. Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt.
Carmen needs to apologize to Richie, for never taking his stress over running front of house seriously.
Carmen hates being out front already and heâs only just stepped out. Why is everyone looking at him out here, too? He should also apologize for whatever he said forty minutes ago. Thirty-five? Doesnât matter. Whatâs important is handing this dessert tray to the fucking jagoff. The man who Carmen dreamed of becoming, the man who heâs now scared heâs become. David Fields. Former Executive Chef. Too many accolades to list.Â
âDessert is served, hope you enjoy, Chef.â Carmen manages to bite his tongue for this guy, so why canât he do it for the people he actually gives a fuck about? Heâs a fucking coward. He swallows, setting the dessert paddle down in front of the stupid five fucking guests. Far too big a party, for a fucking walk in. And all they got for dessert was the fucking tasting paddle? Why are they skimping now? Assholes. All of them. Carmen knows all of these people. Well. Knows their faces. Remembers working with them, but never really talked to any of them. Why would he? He was focused. He was good.
âThank you, Chef.â Says David. It feels like lightning, to hear those words. But not in a good way. It should feel like an accomplishment, to hear this guy say anything remotely positive, to Carmen, but it doesnât. It feels the opposite, honestly. Feels like somethingâs wrong. Getting this guyâs approval is wrong.
This is the part where Carmen is supposed to leave. This is the part where the server goes back to the kitchen and continues their job. But he canât. Heâs stuck in place. Heâs back in front of the fire, and heâs not putting it out. Carmen swallows hard and his spit feels like glass all the way down his throat. His Exec stares at him, nearly coyâ Like he knows. Like he can see the invisible snake coiling around Carmen. Like he knows that Carmen desperately has something to say.Â
âLetâs have it, Chef.â David goads.
Fuck it. Fuck everything, fuck it. Not like the night can get worse. âCan we step out, for a second, Chef?â
âLookit this.â Mikey pivots his phone to you, for you to see a photo he's just been sent.
It's of⊠âWhat the fuck is that?â You've got no clue. Some weird spiralling array of colours.Â
âI've no fucking clue. Food? Apparently?â
It's April, and Mikey has let you in. You will not realize how big a deal this is until it's too late. But right now, you're just happy to be hanging out with him before open. Without your dad, too.
Their most frequent regularâs favourite chair broke, one of the legs just fully gave out underneath him. It's an easy fix. Mikey could probably do it himself. Fak or whatever the fuck his name is could absolutely do it himself. Mikey called you, instead. Called you. Not your dad. You think this'll be your first and last solo job. Naive.
âCarmy?â You assume, he's the only person that's on that rich people shit. Michelin Star Chef, baby boy with big dreams.
âYessir. Heâs still killinâ it.â Is all Mikey says, tucking his phone away. You frown at him, screwing the chair leg in, sitting on the floor. He groans. âDon't gimme those eyes, Jack.â
âYou should reply!â
âHe doesn't need a fuckin' reply.âÂ
You tilt your head, the look you give him translates to âAre you forreal?â
He just sighs, exasperated. âYou don't get brothers, Jack.â
âI literally have brothers, Michael.â
âYeah but it'sââ He gestures to the general air, attempting to explain nothing. âIt's different. We communicate different.â
âSure.â You can admit that. âI'm sure the dynamic is very different brother to brother, brother to sister. But likeââ You jiggle the chair leg, alright maybe it's not that easy of a fix. âIt sucks beinâ the baby, I know that much.â
âYou're the baby?â
âYeah, why?â You lift your head from the chair back to him. âI got middle child energy? Iâll fuckinâ kill you.âÂ
âNo, noâ Oldest.â He takes a sip of his coffee. âThought you were one of me, Jack. My own blood.â
You scoff. But itâs not something you havenât heard before. Youâve got the blood of people whoâve had to take care of people. âWell, being the only sister kinda made me the oldest sister.â
You pad your hand around the floor, searching, before looking up to Michael, again. âYou see the fuckinâ?â
He tosses you the chair leg cap, before you can finish asking for it. âYouâd like Nat. Similar ideologies.â
âI would love to know how your younger sister fuckinâ survived you, thatâs for sure.â
He laughs, at that. âSheâs a trooper. Surrounded by some of the worst men Chicago has to offer.â He looks at the coffee that you painstakingly crafted for him, this morning. âThis is actually kinda fuckinâ good, Jack.â
âDo you have to add actually and kinda?â
He rolls his head back, neck straining. âFor what you had, itâs fuckinâ perfection, alright? Happy?â
âFuckinâ delighted.â You throw the chair up onto its legs, and it stands. âYou?â
He gets up from his seat to try out the chair. He takes the coffee with him. Thereâs a split second where youâre scared that actually this was too hard a job for you and Mikey is going to fall and the hot coffee is going to careen everywhere and fucking scald him and you told him he needed to get a first-aid kit in here but he hasnât gotten around to it yetâ
Mikey sits, and the chair works. He takes another sip of your chai coffee blend, like a vote of his confidence. He never had any doubt you could get the coffee machine to work, never had any doubt you could make a good coffee, never had any doubt you could get the chair to stand strong. Mikey has always always believed in your capabilities, even when you havenât, and has always been happy to prove yourself to yourself. Mikey is really good at being an older brother, you think. And forget that he never texted back the real baby of his real family.
âFuckinâ delighted, Jackie.â
âNever fuckinâ call me Jackie.â
âHeard.â
Two executive chefs stand in front of a restaurant, thereâs probably a joke in here somewhere. Carmen doesnât care to find it. He watches your car drive out onto the road, out of the corner of his eye. Thatâs it, then. Youâre gone. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out from the chest pocket of his chefâs uniform.Â
âYou should quit.â Says David, so high and fucking mighty. As if he doesnât house a bottle of wine daily.
âIâm aware.â Carmen lights it anyways. You donât smoke. Did his mouth taste bad, every time heâd kiss you? Probably. You probably just bore it for his sake. Maybe thatâs why you so rarely went for his lips. He takes a puff, it doesnât calm him down.Â
âYour hair is fucked.âÂ
âAnd the food?â
âBusy. You can lose the basil and eggplant. Youâll re-learn.â David tilts his head, thinking, smarmy. âSomeone got in your head.â
âSomeone other than you, yeah.â
âAwe.â David smiles, something he so rarely did in the kitchen, but perfected in public. His tone is so perfectly pouty, like itâs disappointing heâs not the only one living rent free in Carmenâs brain anymore.
Carmen steadies his eyes forward, to the street. He cannot look his own personal nightmare in the eyes, but he can say what heâs always wanted to say. âWhy are you such a fucking asshole?â
âHow am I an asshole?â âCan you stay âtil after close?â âYouâre welcome.â
Carmen turns his head to face him now, eyes wide like plates. âIâ Iâm welcome? ForâFor-for what?â
âYou were an okay chef, when you started with me.â David doesnât fear eye contact. Davidâs probably never had a bad day in his fucking life. âAnd you left an excellent chef, so youâre welcome.â
Carmenâs never even heard the fucking word excellent come out of this manâs mouth. Let alone to describe him. It doesnât feel good, for some reason. It still doesnât feel good to receive praise from him, despite the fact that heâs everything.Â
âYouâŠâ Carmen needs a second, to catch his breath. He probably should quit smoking. âYou gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, andâ and nightmaresâ Youâ You know that? You understand that?â
âYeah.â Davidâs entirely unfazed. All heâs heard is a list of benefits, in his head. âI gave you confidence and leadership and abilityâ It fucking worked.â
Is this what it working is supposed to feel like? Is this what it feels like to function? Is this what it means, to make it? If it is, then what the fuck does not making it feel like?
âIâmâ Iâm, Iâmâ Iâm actually fuckinâ stunned, right now, Iââ Carmen rubs his hands over his eyes. âMy life stopped.â
âThatâs the point.â
âThatâs the point?â
âYou wanted to be excellent. You got rid of all the bullshit, you concentrated, you focusedâ And you got excellent. And it worked. Youâre here.â
Youâre not bullshit. Youâre not bullshit and he shouldnât have done whatever he did to make you leave. Carmen is anything but excellent, without the people behind him, and heâs realizing that now. Heâs an idiot, because you told him this, the second day of knowing him you told him this. He has a wonderful teamâ A familyâ A family he now considers you a part of. And he tanked all of it, everyoneâ Why? Because he had a bad fucking day? Because a dish got sent back? Because he fucked up tremendously? Boo-fucking-hoo, Carmen. It takes an idiot like David, who thinks heâs a genius, for Carmen to realize they look exactly the fucking sameâ And that is the actual thing thatâs mortifying, tonight.
The real mortifying thing, isnât that you were so fucking sweet and considerate of his stupid fucking brain and his stupid insane aspirationsâ It isnât your dish. The mortifying thing is he prioritized the man in front of him, in any regard. Itâs mortifying that Carmen made you feel like you had to prioritize the man in front of him.
âI justâ I just made theâThe only fuckinâ good thing in my life leave becauseâ Because you got in my fucking head.â
David just raises his brows, like Carmenâs fucking stupid. Like thereâs not a problem here. Because to him, there isnât. And once again, the stupid fucking Exec repeats. âYouâre welcome?â
âIâmââ The door opens, and for a moment, despite the fact that he watched your car disappear minutes ago, Carmen still thinks thereâs a chance itâs gonna be you; begs a higher power that itâs going to be you. Itâs not. Itâs Richie.Â
âHey assholeââ Richie stops, when he sees David. âAh. Youâre needed, Chef Carmen.â
âCousinâ Youâre needed, pronto.âÂ
âNot your Cousin.â
âHeard and resented.â
Richieâs had a habit of calling you cousin, lately. You pull your head out of the back of the Ball-Breaker arcade machine. Its controls are allegedly on the fritz, but youâre pretty sure Chi-Chi just sucks at this game. âWhaddya need? Do I have to run front a-fucking-gain?â
That was a fun out of nowhere three hour shift with zero restaurant experienceâ Par for bar. It will not be the last.
âNonoâ Just a cuppa coffee? More like six.âÂ
You kiss your teeth, tutting him. âYou know how the fuckinâ machine worksââ
âWant your coffee?â He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. You stand up, stretching your legs. Â
âFine. Just get me a list of everyoneâsââ He slaps a folded note against your forehead. âOrders.âÂ
âFucker.â You take it off your head to read. âWhatta âbout Mikeyâs?â Heâs missing from the list.
Richie shrugs. âSurprise him, heâs out backâ In one of his moods.â
You donât know how uncommon it is for Mikey to be so out of it. Youâre meeting Mikey during his slow but certain downward spiral, but you donât know that. No. How could you? No, so you think itâs normal for Mikey to occasionally leave rooms and turn inward.Â
âAye aye, Rich.â
He kisses your temple as you pass him, making an all too aggressive âmuahâ noise, because thatâs what fake Italians do, as a form of thanks, and lets you go work your magic on the coffee machine.Â
Youâre pretty integrated into The Beef, at this point. How long has it been? You donât really need this list of orders, but itâs good to visually ingrain in your brain. Youâre thankful to Mikey for investing in a bunch of Toraniâs syrups for your coffee dreams. Youâre here enough for it to be worth it, anyways.Â
Youâre probably gonna start being here a lot more, soon. Well, maybe.
You havenât told anyone yet, about what your dad told you this morning. That heâs gotta retire, soon. Like soon, soon. Now, youâre faced with a decisionâ Keep going with this EMS thing until your body fails and you need to be wheeled out by your own coworkers, or take on ownership of a small family business directly after the fucking pandemic. Really good options, here.
Youâre leaning towards the latter, at the moment. Youâre leaning towards being called here, for half your jobs. Itâd be hard to make ends meet on just whatever crack change Mikey is able to pay youâ But you used to bartend in collegeâ You could work dailies whenever youâre short. Probably. It probably wonât be that hard. Could it be harder than what youâre doing now? Could it be harder than watching someone flat line? Probably not.
Ebra, watered down black coffee. T, two sugars, one milk, cinnamon and chocolate syrup. Marcus, spiced coffee. Sweeps, water in a deli cupâ A delicacy. Richie, two sugars, cinnamon syrup, ideally boiling hot.Â
But to be fair, people need someone like you. People need paramedics. Is it selfish for you to decide you canât handle it anymore? Should you let your body break before you let yourself go on one? Fuck. Fuck. Whereâs Mikey? Youâre feeling the knots build up again.Â
Out back. Richie said heâs out back. You pick up your coffee, and Mikeyâsâ cinnamon and caramel, this timeâ And head out back.Â
And you see a sight that youâve actually seen plenty of times.
Youâve just never seen it in the back alley of The Beef. Youâve just never seen it happen to a friend. Youâve just never seen it happen to Mikey. You donât drop your coffee cups in some sort of dramatic shock, or anything like that. Because that would take time. Itâd take too much time to be shocked. You just turn around, immediately, partially crashing into the door as you run back in, breaking the mugs and spilling scalding hot coffee over your hands and chestâ You donât feel it, you donât give a fuck.Â
âCousin!âÂ
Youâre a mom friend. Thatâs what Syd used to say. You carry Tums, painkillers, cough drops, peptoâ All in your purse or pockets. You keep a lighter on hand. You keep safety pinsâ All ranging in size, just in case of a clothing mishap. You keep kidâs band-aids in your wallet. Youâre a mom friend. Everyone used to find you also carrying a naloxone kit a bit dramatic, like you were overdoing it. You always hoped they were right; that it would never be used. Regardless, you'd always replace it when it expired.
âCousin get my fucking bag, now!â
âRight.â Carmenâs honestly kind of surprised, to be needed. But itâs probably just cover, to talk. People donât typically need people like him, especially not Richie. He nods to David. âChef.â
âChef.â David nods back. He looks at Richie. âWhereâd your translator go?â
The fuck? Richie does not look phased, at all. He also looks like heâs been cryingâ So it might just be that nothing phases him, right nowâ But at the very least, Carmen would expect some surprise. So this disrespect must not be new. Why didnât he tell him?
Maybe he did, actually. Maybe thatâs what happened forty minutes ago? Howâd that lead to you leaving?Â
âMy what?â Richie knows exactly what Davidâs getting at, but he asks anyways, to embarrass the fucker.
But David doesnât feel embarrassment, itâs just not in him. âYour somme.â
âShe had to leave early.â
âAh,â He nods, âYouâve got her number, by chance?â
A deep and sharp exhale, through Richieâs nose, as he desperately tries to be a good host. Tries to be star material. But he runs his tongue across his top teeth and he just canât bring himself to bite it. Richie hates both of the men in front of him right now. âI do, I do, actuallyâ Iâve had her number for three years, memorized, yâknow why?â
David shrugs, delighted to upset someone. âShe your wife or something?â
A sharp, terrifying chuckle, honestlyâ One that hides any sign of a smile. Rich steps forward. âOh, I should be so lucky. I would be so fucking lucky, if a woman like thatââ And he pivots his head, to speak very deliberately, to Carmen. âDecided for some Godforsaken fuckinâ reason, that I was worth an ounce of her precious timeâ Let alone her hand.â
âIf only, truly, David.â Still looking at Carmen, squarely in his face. âIf fuckinâ only. If I had someone like thatâ Iâd be on hand and fucking knee, for her.â
âChef.â Carmenâs talking to David but looking at Richie, but that might also be because he canât look anywhere else.Â
âChef.â David shrugs, whatever fight here is beyond him. He doesnât fucking care. Carmen knows the Michelin thing was bullshitâCertainly David can put in a good word, but inspectors are anonymous, thatâs the whole point. But his stupid fucking Exec wanted to see if Carmen would stoop so low as to take the bait. It also wouldnât hurt to get your number, youâre perfect. Carmen doesnât think heâd have taken the bait, but the fact that heâs not sure speaks volumes.
David steps back into The Bear, and an Executive Chef and his dead brotherâs best friend stand outside their restaurant. Thereâs a joke in here somewhere, and itâs probably Carmen.
âIâd fucking kill him.â You shake your head, when Mikey tries to brush off the end of his story like itâs no big deal. âI canât believe no one fuckinâ said anything.â
âThey mightâve.â He sniffs, arms crossedâ Guarding himself. He sits opposite of you, both sitting on the floor of his office, backs against either wall. âBut I couldnât fuckinâ hear anything but himâ And then the fucking car, obviously.â
You can tell heâs trying to move on. He wants you to ask if his mom was okay. You donât honestly care, and you donât care if that makes you a bad person, either.Â
âYouâre not nothing, Mikey.â
Itâs close to midnight, a humid but cool August midnight. A week or so, since Mikeyâs overdose. Youâre finally christening your jumpsuit with a patch from The Beef, on the left shoulder. You do keep stabbing yourself with the sewing needleâ If you were sleeping beauty youâd be fucking dead.Â
âI know.â
âMikey, youâre not.â
âDonât fucking Good Will Hunting me.â
âYeah, thatâs fair.â You both laugh, but youâre still stuck with him, at that dining table, in your head. Youâre still hearing Uncle Lee screaming, despite never actually hearing it. âThey shouldâve said something.â
âItâs different when youâre there.â He shrugs, again. âHard to speak in those rooms.âÂ
Your lips stay tight, for a moment. Thereâs a long silence of just staring at each other, because you want him to know that youâre completely serious when you sayâ âI wouldâve said something.â
âSug tried to say somethinââ âShe told you to stop, thatâs bullshit.â âShe was mediatingââ
âAnd why the fuck were you the one that needed to calm down, exactly?â You frown, deeply. You donât have anything against Sug, but this story just rubs you the wrong way. The way no one was on his side verbally. âJust cause youâre the guy, means you canât stick up for yourself? I hate that shit.â
He thinks on that, for a moment; because no one has ever said the thing out loud, never acknowledged it. He nods, tucking one knee up to rest an arm on it. âIt sucks, being the guy.â
âIt fucking sucks to be the guy!â You shout back, emphatic, practically jumping to agreeâ You jab yourself again. âFuck, owâ Yes, it sucks.â
âAndââ Youâve really opened a faucet for him. âAnd no one wants you to acknowledge that youâre the guyâ Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say âI know, Iâm doing it on purpose.ââ
You poke at the tip of your nose with one hand and then to Mikey with the other, bang on. âNo one wants the guy to know theyâre the guy!â
âWe always know!â âWe always fucking know!â âWeâre the guy on purpose!â
Itâs rare for people like you two to talk and actually get along. The typical stereotype is that two sweethearts will always end up butting heads, too intimidatedâ But instead, youâre both just able to honestly commiserate over being who you are. The Guy. The Dependable One. The Head.
âYou shouldnât have to always be good andâand like, understanding of every single fucking personâ Especially when theyâre a dick!â You yell, exasperated. âYou are allowed to fucking stick up for yourself!â
He tightens his lips in a line, because he agrees, but he has been so trained to lay down and take it. To take the teeth; itâs one of the many many jobs of being the guy. You know it just as well. He sighs, âI know.â
âYouâre worth standing up for, Mikey.â You emphasize. They shouldâve said something. It shouldnât have been on you. You shouldnât have had to defend yourself. They shouldâve protected you, like you did for them. Like you always do for them.Â
His eyes flicker, a bit. He clears his throat and punches his chest, shaking his head out of it, because if he doesnât, he might actually fucking cry, and thatâs not what the guy does. âOkay.â
You nod. âOkay.â
He kicks your foot with his. âNow tell me some fucked up thing that happened to you, Jack.â
You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. âI uh⊠Oh! I fuckinâ hate the nickname âJackâ, thatâs something.â
âOh?â He leans forward, teasingly intriguedâ Youâve thrown him a bone, because youâre the guy, too. Heâs able to focus on this in lieu of himself.
You nod and continue. âMy dad gave it to me, when I was really really little, like five or sixâ And it was âcause I likeâ For a kid, I was really into uhm, likeâ Like everything?â
âLike a nerd?â âLike a nerd.â
You chuckle. âI liked helping him go on jobs, and barely being able to hold flashlights. And I liked learning what all the wires and the pipes doâ I liked doing chores and likeâ Making shit for people, or doing shit for people, if it made âem happy.â Youâre a little too zoned in, on your sewing. The motion helps keep you grounded. âAnd so he would go like Awe, my helpful little Jack of all Trades, you can do it all.â
You pull the string up and out of the fabric, taught, dramatically high. âWhich like, of course he was trying to be like, a good dad and hype me upâ But my kid brain just garbled it and translated âyou can do it allâ to âyou have to do it all.ââ
âDamn.â He cringes but laughs, sympathizing. âYou got âguyâdâ at fuckinâ five?â
âWell, when did you get âguyâd?!â You snap back, he takes a moment to think about it, sighing.
He shrugs. âProbably five.â âExactly!â
You both laugh, a bit too aggressively, honestly; compensating for the sting. Mikey sniffs, adding. âSo thatâs why you hate it? âCause of the weight?â
ââCause of the weight.â You nod. âLike a constant reminder, that I need to be likeâ constantly at service.â
âYeah.â He nods, eyes looking down. Thinking about far too much, and though you have become his closest confidant, there are still parts of him that he wonât show. âDrinking helped?â
âDrinking helped.â You close the last stitch on the patch. âWhich is funny, because that whole thing started from wanting to be helpful.â
âOh yeah? Howâs that?â
âThere was uhmââ You canât help but laugh a little, at the ridiculousness of it. âThere was this girl, and she was my best friend, and she fucking lovedâ Or I guess still lovesâ Cooking. And even as a dinky little highschooler, sheâd have me try shit, and itâd be likeâ So luxe.â
âRight.â Mikey smiles, thinking of all the dishes that have been foisted on him by the precocious cook in his life.
âAnd I wanted to be like⊠equally impressive. So I started doing research on wine pairings and shit, so I could have something to talk to her about, have somethinâ to say other than wow great jobâ Because I could tell she always wanted more.â
âAnd so you became an alcoholic?â âI havenât gotten there yet!â âWell stop burying the lead!â âOh donât you point a finger when it comes to burying a fucking lead.â âOh, fuck you.â
âAnyways!â You clap a hand on your knee, casting aside the completed sew job. âIâd give her pairings based on researchâ still teens, so we couldnât drink yet, but she appreciated the thought. And then I went to college and she went to CIA and we were talking and then we graduated and suddenly we werenâtâŠâ You knock your fist against your hand a couple times. âWe werenât talking, anymore.âÂ
âAnd so you became an alcoholic?â âKinda.â âOh. I was being sarcastic.â âYeah, dontchu feel guilty as fuck now?â âWhat happened?â
âIt was easy.â You shrug. âI started working at pubs in college, I was getting free drinks all the time, I was trying more wines for herâ I didnât really see it as a problem, because like, I didnât do it to function, I never reached for anything like âoh I fucking need this.ââ
âThatâs how it starts.â
âThatâs how it fuckinâ starts.â You nod. âThen suddenly we werenât talking and I became an E-M-T, and then suddenly I was watching people yâknow, live through the worst moment of their lives or die, and Iâ Suddenly I did need that drink.â You shouldâve just called her. She wouldâve done a lot more for you than a bottle could. But you were stupid and tired, and still are.
âWho coulda thunk it?â âI know! Ridiculous.â
âHow long you been stable, again?âÂ
âSix months, four days⊠But whoâs counting?â You laugh, and so does he.
Youâre both very literally counting. And the buzzer of a timer going off on your phone reminds you of that. You both stare at it, in a daze, as it officially hits Twelve in the morning. Once you silence it, you look to Mikey.Â
âMichael The Bear Berzatto, you have officially been sober for twenty-four hours.â
He smiles, no teeth, but he smiles. âGimme.â
âBe patient!â âI am being the most patient a person can be.â âYeah thatâs fair.â
You opt to go for the cupcake first, a big One candle sticking out of it. âThis is stupid.â Says Mikey. âHave some fucking whimsy in the face of adversity.â Says you, pulling out your disposable camera.Â
âDo we need photos?â âWhat the fuck else are we gonna put in my folder?â âI dunno, write me sonnets.âÂ
âDo you want sonnets?â You ask, and the worst part is Michael can tell youâre being sincere. You would write him sonnets, if he only asked. You would do anything, if he only asked. You quit being an EMT, immediately after seeing the state he was in, last week. You are here for Michael, and he only has to ask.
He shakes his head and blows out the candle when you lift the cupcake to his face, and he makes a wish to whatever higher power exists, that he wonât drag you down with him.Â
You thread a 24 Hours in Recovery chip onto the embroidery thread you were using and tie it off. When you present it to him, he bends his head down. âChip me.â
âThatâs not what chip me means.â âIt means something?â âIâm pretty sure chipping someone means shooting someoneââ âWell Google it, Chip.â âWell, fuck, okâ Chip?â
He shrugs, âBetter than Jack, no?â
You throw the necklace over his neck, like youâre knighting him. You grow a great degree softer. Even when heâs deliberately not supposed to be The Guy, when heâs supposed to be working on himself, heâs still your guy. Still looking out for you just as much as you look out for him. He will never realize that you consider the exchange equal.
âYeah, better than Jack.â
âThis sobriety thing is going to be easy.â â âOkay, soâ The thing is, everyone kinda says that after twenty-four hours and then a week or two in, it actually hitsââ âItâs gonna be so easy.â âI love that you think that and I want you to keep that hope up, I also think maybe letâs just be easy on ourselves if it gets hardââ âItâs not gonna get hard.â âThatâs what she saidââ âFucking gross!â
He throws his arm over your shoulder, a loving noogie, but a noogie nonetheless. You try to hit him from below, itâs a failed flailing. You both start laughing and he stops, opting to just hold you there. You hold his forearm with your hands, and sigh.
â...Even when itâs not easy, weâre on the same team, okay? Donât forget that. That weâre on the same team and I love you.â
He squeezes you a little, bicep curling. In fifteen seconds you will complain that heâs choking you, but right now, he says, âIâm not gonna forget you love me, Chip.â and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.
âIâm sorry.â Carmen sniffs, is he actually going to cry? Holy shit, he might cry. âI donât know what I saidââ
âYou donât know what you said?â Richie scoffs, he canât help but laugh. âYou donât know what you fuckinâ said? Ahâ Itâsâ Itâs all good, man. You donât know what you said, so itâs all goodââ
âIâm apologizingââ âNononoâ Noâ Itâs all good, I donât need a fuckinâ apology. I know how you feel now, so itâs all fuckinâ good.â
âI love youââ âYou love me? You love me? Oh, that wouldâve been nice to hear half a fucking hour ago.â
Has it really only been thirty minutes?
âNoâ No, you know what?â Richie takes a choked breath, pressing his index finger over his nose and mouth, then points it to Carmen. âIf thatâs what your fuckinâ love isâ I donât fuckinâ want it. And I donât want that shit for Chip, eitherâ So leave her the fuck out of your fuckinâ love or whatever the fuck you think that is, too.â
That one hurts, because itâs true. Carmen canât say anything to that; the silence just eggs Richie on more. âOh, was that a low blow, to you? Cause Iâd say saying it was her fault was a pretty low fucking blowâ Kinda below the belt shit, if you ask meââ
âWhat?â
A silence louder than anything either of them have ever heard hangs in the air.
âFuck you mean what?â
âI said what?â Carmenâs spit still feels like glass, he is destroying his throat. âWhatâWhat did I say?â
Stunned, Richie is stunned. And he canât tell if Carmâs lack of cognizance in the situation makes him more or less angry. Heâs pretty sure itâs more. âYouâre fucking kidding me.â
âCousin, what the fuck did I say to her?â
âYou said she failed him.â
Yeah, Carmenâs gonna cry. Carmen is absolutely going to cry. Not weeping, but a tear. Just the one. Just the one, and the dry heaving. The dry heaving and just short of falling over, managing at the last minute to fall onto his rear. He slides his back against the full length window of The Bear. All the guests will get to witness his full blown meltdown. Who fucking cares. He cards through his semi-matted hair, againâ Itâs not fucking working. Itâs not working and he might as well tear his hair out because thereâs no reason for it anymore if you're not in it.
âI am a monster.â Not said like a question, not said with emphasis, not choked. Completely monotone. Zero pulse. Said as a fact as simple as the sky is blue. And it is. Because now that he remembers that one thread, he can follow it back. âI am bullshit.â
Itâs hard to kick someone, when theyâre down. Itâs hard to say all the things you want to say to a person, when theyâre just saying it about themselves. Richie just stares, debating his options. He could so easily choose to destroy whatâs left of Carmen. Frankly, Carmâs sitting at the perfect angle to kick his fucking teeth in. Richie came out here with full intent of throwing Carmen through the window. Came out here with the full intent of proving heâs a fucking problem.
â...I donât know how to fix it.â But Carmen looks up at him, with a never before seen level of humility. âHow do I fix it?â
His best friend loved this guy, and unfortunately you also seem to be on the verge of loving this guy. And even more regrettably, Richie loves this guy. He shrugs, and to any onlookers, his response would seem to be lacking any level of empathy.Â
âStop being you.â
âYou donât love me!â
âOf course we fuckinâ love you!â
âYou donât fucking love me!â
Like tidal waves, Richie and Mikey crash against either side of the walk-in freezer door. Mikey desperately trying to escape the freezer; you and Richie desperately trying to keep him in.Â
Your phone rings, in the middle of this. âAh, shit, sheâs calling back, hold onââ You slide your back off the door slowly, giving Richie time to place extra weight where your body was to keep it closed as Mikey relentlessly slams. Heâs pivoted to screaming likeâ Well, a bear, now.Â
You move just a few feet awayâ Enough to fog up the yelling, but not enough that you couldnât run back to Richie if his arms start to numb.Â
âYo, T.â You answer, thankful that somebody has finally returned your fucking calls. To be fair, itâs painfully earlyâ But how is no one awake an hour before they have to clock in? Câmon.
âWeâre doing this because we love you, fuckinâ numb nuts!âÂ
âDonât be fuckinâ mean when heâs in a vulnerable state!â You kiss your teeth, yelling to Richie behind you, just as Tina tries to say hi.Â
âI am not a fucking patient, Chip!â Another slam, another violent jiggling of the door handle. Youâre pretty sure that shit is going to break off one day, if he keeps doing that. You donât know how right you are now, but you will in a year or so. âOpen the fucking door!â
You only remember youâre on the phone with Tina when she pipes up, vaguely hearing the yelling on her end. â...Two week milestone going well?â
âJust fucking peachy, T.â You grimace, rubbing the space between your brows. âYou think itâs healthy to lock him in the freezer? I feel like we are fucking this up.â
âWhyâs he in the freezer?â
âGuess who wasââ You turn your head to Richie, when you speak into the phone. âSo fucking stupidâ And left his fucking xanax just out in the open with his unfinished breakfast?â
âI apologizedââ âYou didnât do nothinâ wrong, Cousin! Now open the fucking door!â
âYeah, I think freezer is the right call.â Says Tina; youâre both not sure if thatâs true, but at the very least when heâs in there he canât hurt himself or either of you. But fuck, he must be cold. Maybe thatâs good for his nervous system? Every yell just mounts with guiltâ But youâre his sponsor now. You are not his friend right now, youâre his mentor and youâre meant to do this. This is definitelyâ slamâ the right thingâscreamâto do.
âYeah, probably.â You nod, to no one. âWell, basically, if you can let everyone know to justâ Not fucking come in, today, or at the very least not come in for likeâ At least three hours. Maybe six. Itâs not like you can work anyways, the freezerâs off limits until further notice.â
âYou sure you donât need us to come in?â
âAh, T, thatâs a nice thought butââ You wince, as you hear a crash from inside the walk-in. âI donât know if itâs better or worse, for more people to witness this.â
Richie can tell what the crash is, because he himself has dropped shit an innumerable number of times in that walk-in before. ââDid you just knock over the fuckinâ stockââ âFuck yourself! Fuck yourself! This is my fucking restaurant! Let me the fuck out, Richard!â
âLetâs just say call me back in three hours.â Is what you settle on. You donât want to see this, and you donât want anyone else to have to see this. And when Mikey eventually comes out of his rage state, he will be glad that the only two people that actually saw him like this, are his two closest friends. âCan you let everyone else know?â
âYeah baby, Iâll let âem know.â First time Tinaâs called you baby with sincerity instead of sarcasm, you wish you could savour it, but youâre so distracted with everything else that you really donât even notice it. âKeep yourself safe too, alright?â
âOkay, Mama.â You reply with what is really only half sarcasm, and let her go. You sidle up to Richie, back on holding the door closed duty. Backs against the walk-in door, holding Mikey in, despite punch after punch after punch. Heâll wear himself out, eventually, but youâre terrified about how long thatâs going to take. So is Richie.
He nods to your phone. âHow long?â
You donât need to check to know. âIn six hours, heâll be at two weeks.â You wince as one of Mikeyâs hits against the door very directly targets your back, putting it in knots. âBut itâs not like heâs suddenly going to go, oh well itâs been two weeks so Iâm normal now, though.â
Richie just nods, pensive. âMâsorry.âÂ
You shake your head. âI was just beinâ a bitch, weâre all getting used to it, I gettit, just try to be safer.â
He nods again, looking down at you as the beating seems to slow down. Richie tries to imagine a world where you two arenât here right now; for some reason, he finds that universe more miserable. âWeâre so fucked.â Because here itâs you two. Youâre so fucked but itâs you two. It will take more than a year for you to figure out thatâs how Richie feels.
âI know.â You punch back against the door, alerting Mikeyâ Not that he wasnât already alert, and speak to both of them. âSame team, though!â
One last resounding body slam into the door, with everything Mikey hasâ It moves, just a bit, but not at all enough to open it. And then, a long silence. To the point where you and Richie look at each other, worried if Michael has somehow just died in there. But then a quiet voice speaks, like a white flag being raised.Â
âSame team.â
You look to Richie for permission, heâs just as clueless as you are here, as to what the right call is. With the most trepidation one could have, you put your hand on the handle and just start to pull on it, not even close to opening it. But Mikey notices the way the hinge moves by a hair, on the other side.Â
âDonât open it.â You know heâs up to the door, just opposite of you. Not capable of looking at you; not capable of looking at him. âSix hours. Itâs just six hours.â
But you can hear each other. And maybe thatâs all you really ever needed. To be able to hear each other, even when heâs not here.Â
âSix hours. Same team.â
âI donât know how.â Carmenâs nose twitches. âI donât know how to stop being fuckingâGarbageâ Iâve triedââ âHave you?â
Itâs a bit knife twisting, from Richie, but necessary. âHave you done the work? Cause itâsâ I donât think you have, Carm.â
â...What the fuck kinda work can I do, to fix meâ?â Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen, interrupting him. âThatâ That is the exact fuckinâ problem with you, Cousin.â
Carmen almost rolls his eyes, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. âWhat, that Iâm self-aware?â
âThat you just fuckinâ give up.â âI donât just give upââ âYou do! You give up and you go wah, Iâm a Chef with issues and Iâm gonna make it everyone elseâs fucking problemââ âI am asking for helpââ âAre you? Because the last person that helped you just ran out crying.â
Richie exhales, eyes closed. Thereâs a long forced silence, as a few tables full of patrons exit The Bear, awkwardly shuffling past what is clearly a crisis between the people that have been serving them tonight.
âThat was below the belt, Iâll admit.â Says Rich, once theyâre out of earshot.Â
Carmen just shakes his head, though he cannot look at Richie, though he canât refute anything.Â
Richie steps next to where Carmen sits, and like an olive branch, Carmen lifts up his arm to offer his cigarette. Richie accepts, thank Godâ Thank you, for softening him up, because if you hadnât, again, Carmen would be going headfirst through the fucking window right now.
âDonât yell ât meââ That honestly hurts more than getting thrown through a window. âBut I donât think you got Andrea, at all.â
Andrea? Oh. âChef Terry?â The Everâs owner, Richie means.Â
âAndrea.â Richie nods, taking a puff. âEvery second countsâ I donât think you got it.â
Carmen just shrugs, shaking his head, sure, he worked there for years and Richie worked there for days, but sure, heâs the one that didnât get it. âYeah? Whatâd I miss?â
âItâs not meant to make you fuckinââ He gestures to the general form of Carmen. âTweak. Itâs not about speed orâ orâ like firinâ off on all fuckinâ cylinders.âÂ
âThen what is it?â
âIt counts because it counts.â Richie hands the cig back to Carmen. âItâsâ The fuckingââ He kisses his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to explain. âWhen you took like, a million goddamn years to make that fuckinâ montâ Montâ What was it?â
âMontmorency.â Your cherry sauce. Carmen spent too fucking long reducing it, yesterday. He redid it like five times. Heâd redone it so many times the autopilot in his brain fucked up that fucking plate yesterday, and it threw his entire life into a spiral. No. That's not what happened. He threw his life into a spiral.
âThat was worth it, cause itâ Cause it took time. Does thatâ Am I making any fuckinâ sense? Terry did this shit better, fuck.â Richie rubs a hand over his face, youâd probably be able to explain this better too. âItâs not the thing youâre doing that makes it count, it counts because youâre doing it.â
The value is in the time, not what is delivered. It does not need to be the most special, hyper condensed, hyper focused, upper echelon second to count. It will count because it counts. Time spent is worth it, no matter what was bought. Every second you spend, will always count. All the work and the not work and the love and the not loveâ It all counts. It counts because it counts. You care therefore you care. Any effort made is good effort.Â
Why does Carmen keep taking eons to learn what you are always trying to tell him?
The door opens, again. Instead of more patrons, Syd steps outâ Wondering where the fuck her Exec and Host have gone. âAre we good?âÂ
âNo.â Says her Exec and Host. She nods, thatâs good, cause sheâs not good either.Â
âWhoâs runninâ house?â
âNo one.â Lies Syd, Tinaâs running the back, Sweeps is running the front, but she wants to freak Carmen out a little. She grabs the cigarette from Richie. âBurn the money, I say.â
âSo, what youâre asking me to doâ If Iâm understanding, correctly, whichâ I might not beâ You want me to take all my money, okay, and place it in a fucking furnace? Is that right?â
âSo Iâm sensingââ You curl your hand in the air. âA touch of hostility, which is fair.â
Bargaining with Uncle Jimmy isnât the easiest thing in the worldâ Especially when this is your first time meeting himâ And youâre begging him for money. Well, helping Mikey beg him for money.Â
âListen, Uncle, please.â Mikey swallows, leaning in, elbows on the table. Itâs nearly the end of January. New year, fresh start. No better time to pitch a half-baked pipe dream in the middle of The Beefâs dining room. âItâs not like Iâm brand new to the restaurant gigâ We turn profit, here, we can fuckinâ pay people.â
âCan you pay me?â âWe willââ âOr you could just let me cut my lossesââ âI wanna do something real, Uncle.â
âWhyâs she here, again?â You shrink, when Cicero points at you. You swallow.Â
âIâm here as⊠Proof⊠That he wants to do something real.â You have to stop yourself from doing jazz hands, doubling down on the awkwardness will not make it go away, that is sadly not how that works.
Jimmy stares, for a moment, the cogs in his brain almost audibly whirring, as he stares at the space between you and Mikey, where you sit, at the other side of the booth. âAre you having a fuckinâ baby or somethin?â
The visceral reaction from your side of the booth is immediate. The worst part is heâs not even the first one to ask something like thisâ No, the manager at Wells Fargo was.
âWhat the fuck!â âCome on, UncleâŠâ âDo Iâ Do I look like a Milf, what the fuck is going onââ âShe could be my daughter!â âAlrightâ So that is a little far, but the sentimentââ
âAlright, shut the fuck up, what is so fucking real that Iâm suddenly going to hack upââ
Mikey tosses his necklace onto the table. It shouldnât be physically possible, because itâs on a string, but it still manages to roll for a comically long time, like a coin, over to Jimmy. To thine own self be true. One Month.
âYou will not be giving your money to some fucking junkie, Uncleââ
You wave a hand, interrupting Mikey. âVerbiage.âÂ
He swallows and nods, taking the note. A hard lesson to learn. âYou will not be giving your money toâ Toâ Youâ Youâre gonna give your money to someone who is trying, alright?â
Uncle Jimmy hasnât looked up from the chip since it landed; Mikey continues. âAndâ And Iâm gonna bring Carmy on, and weâre gonna do likeâLike high level shit. Like a real fuckinâ Michelin levelââ
âHow many times have you gotten to a month?â
âFirst time.â
Jimmy frowns, crossing his arms. âHow many times have you tried getting to a month?â
âFive.â Michael says, âSix.â you correct. Christmas was hard. Christmas was extremely fucking hard. You werenât with the Berzattos, upon Mikeyâs requestâ And neither was Carmen, upon Mikeyâs ignoring him completely. And that made things a little fucking hard.Â
Jimmy just nods, arms still crossed. Heâs forming some sort of plan, in his head, youâre just not sure what it is yet. He looks to you. âSo youâre his sponsor, then?â
âYessir.â âDo you feel qualified to do that?â âNo-sir.â
Mikey kicks you under the table, your proclivity for honesty is not doing a great job selling this whole restaurant idea. You kick him back. âI donât think itâs possible for me to feel qualified.â
âYou sober?â âNot really.â âWell thatâs kind of a key factor, Iâve heard.â
You sigh and lean forward, putting your hands in your lap. This is Mikeyâs Uncleâ Well, is he, actually? Unsure. But he gives as much of a fuck as you do, so you spill your guts, because you know heâs poking because heâs worried that some kid is taking care of Mikey and itâs the blind leading the fucking blind.Â
âIâm stable. I drink, sometimesâ But never more than one glass, and never multiple days in a row. Iâm coming up on a year, I still attend A-Aâ Though not as often as Iâm told I shouldâ And Iâve told Mikey that turbulent month long benders and a full blown decade long opioid addiction are not the same thing and I really shouldnât be his sponsor.â
Mikey leans forward as well, then, meeting your level. âAnd I told Chipâ And our coordâ That I wonât do the program without her.â
After a long moment of silence, taking his time to digest every bit of information, Jimmy nods to the folder on the table. âNâ this?â
âItâs like a⊠Proposal?â You look to Mikey for help, he shrugs. This motherfuckerâ Youâre not even a stakeholder in this, why are you talking? You turn back to Jimmy. âItâs like a promise.â
You open the folder, thereâs loose sketches youâve put together of The Bearâs signage, plus Carmenâs original pieceâ It was fun and weird, to work off of an artist youâve never met before. Thereâs also cut outs from the New York Timeâs and Food and Wine magazine showing off his award winning talents.Â
âWe make money now.â Mikey finally chimes in, crossing his arms. âImagine what we could do with him.â
âIt would be cool!â You wingman. A little too excited for someone whoâs never even breathed in a Michelin restaurant. âItâd be cool to have, like, a fine-dining establishment on North Orleans.â
âOr youâd completely cut out the audience that already likes The Beef.â
Mikey defends, âThe people donât know what they like, yet.â while you spread out some more papers across the table, showing off screenshots of food Carmenâs texted, that Mikey has never replied to. âThey will like this shitâ Itâsâ Itâs art, Uncle. When they see this, they wonât give a shit about sandwiches.â
âTheyâll give a shit about the price.â
âUncle, Iâm the guy.â Mikey uncrosses his arms, straightening up his posture, because now itâs serious. âI canâ We can do this.â
As you continue to spread out papers, Uncle Jimmy stops you, seeing a peculiar page in the pile. He points to it, so you fish it out and hand it to him. He squints. âJoint bank account?â
You nod. âItâs so I can keep an eye on his spending and withdrawals.â Mikey tries not to wince at the fact a kid is in charge of managing his finances. You try not to wince at the fact that despite managing his finances, he's still reset six times.
âYâknow banks are a fuckinâ scam, right?â
You do not entertain Jimmy for a second, finally losing your whimsy. Your leg is shaking underneath the tableâ Thank God these tables are bolted. âI know that this is the first time in twenty years that my best friend is keeping savings.âÂ
Not just living paycheck to paycheck, anymore. Not spending every penny on painkillers, anymore. Mikey is saving up because now there is a future to spend it on. Cicero swallows, nodding, eyes looking down, thinking deeply.Â
When he speaks again, itâs to say the most insane thing youâve ever heard. âTen grand a week.â
Your reply is in sync with Mikey, both jumping forward in your seats. âWhat?â
âEvery week.â Jimmy pushes the chip back to your side of the table. âEvery week that you keep going, thatâs ten grand.â
You flail your hand under the table, grabbing for Mikeyâsâ He does the same, and itâs like a contest for whoâs going to break whoâs hand first, with how hard youâre holding each other.Â
Mikeyâs first to ask the question, âIs that⊠Starting now or starting since Iââ
âIâm so glad you asked, fuck no, thatâs starting now.â He points to you, now. You flinch. âYouâre gonna piss test him every fuckinâ week. Iâm not fucking around about this.â
âRight. Heard.â You can only nod, because if you express anything else, it might just be screaming forever and ever. He pivots back to Mikey.
âAnd itâs gonna be cashâ Itâs not going in that fuckinâ joint, aright?â âHeard.â
â...Alright. Deal.â Cicero comes forward in his seat, and shakes Mikeyâs hand. And despite not being a stakeholder, he reaches for yours, too; you shake it, and after a moment, he ruins this excitement stirring in the room, moving out of the booth. âI gotta piss, now.â
When he leaves for the bathroom, Mikey leans his head to you, putting his chin on your shoulder, whispering, âArt of the deal.â
You push his face away immediately, laughing. âShut the fuck up! Why did you make me lead that shit!?â
Tomorrow Mikey will relapse again, and youâll reset his necklace for the seventh time, but you donât know that yet. Carmenâs gonna be so excited, when he finally comes back to Chicago and gets a sober brother and his dream restaurant. Youâre excited to meet the guy, one day. Fingers crossed he likes you.Â
âThat was fucking nuts.â Sydney decides thatâs the best way to surmise it. âLike more than usual.â
âIâm aware.â Carmen can only nod, and despite the fact that heâs just going to lie down and take this, it does not remove the bitter feeling in her heart at all. Sydâs fucking mad, and she wants him to know.Â
âIâveâ Iâve literally only ever seen her cry like, like during Pixar movies or when we graduated. Like she justâ Thatâs not a thing she does. I, Iâm soâ I literally donât know what the fuck to do, right now.â For a second, she thinks her vision is flickering. âOh my god, am I finally having a stroke?â
The three restaurateurs look up to see their neon white logo of a bearâs head, flickering and occasionally buzzing out. Richieâs the first to speak, as they all blankly stare at it. âWho are we gonna call, fâthis?â
If this was yesterday, or maybe even if this was an hour ago, it wouldnât be a question as to who theyâd call. Carmen scratches the back of his head, the flaking hair gel is getting itchy. âTed?â
âWhoâs Ted?â Asks Syd; thatâs not Tony, Terry or Tommy.
âTed Fak.â Richie and Carmen answer at once, she almost gasps.Â
âTheyâre multiplying?â
Richie rolls back into his memory. âThereâs eightâ No, fuck, nine of themâ I always forget Avery.â
Sydney just nods and hugs her shoulders for warmth. They all keep staring at the flickering bear, like moths.
âI donâtâI donât have anyone, except her, yâknow?â Syd sniffs. âLike after my dad, itâsâ itâs literally just her. Sheâs my best and only friend.â
Carmen presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, âHeard.âÂ
âI donât want to choose between her and my career.â Carmen thinks sheâs pausing, so he waits, but sheâs not talking. That was the end of the sentence.
âHeard.â
âIf thatâs what getting a star takes, I donât want it.â Thatâs huge. Thatâs a big statement, from Syd of all people. That gets the men to turn their heads from the light to her.
Syd continues to stare at the flickering bear, which lights up the two single straight streams of tears perfectly. Itâs silent. Sheâs not snivelling or anything, she just shakes her head in tight swivels, biting her inner cheek. âItâs justâ itâs just not worth that.â
âHow can I fix it?â Maybe Syd will have a better answer than Richie did, something a little more actionable. She finally flits her gaze from the light down to Carmen, where he sits.Â
âCan you stay after close?â
ââNobody in this motherfucking city knows transit etiquetteâ Why does everyone get on and go âwow I love standing in the walkwayââ Iâm soâ There was so much seating just ahead of the blockage, Mikey, Iâm so pressed, Iâm literallyââ You massage your brows, finishing up your rant from this morningâs commute. âI canât. I canât.â
âIf you werenât a little passenger princess, this wouldnât be a problem, Chippy.â âI have my fucking license! I just donât have a car!â âThen buy one!â âWith whoâs money!?â âMine?â
A terrible running joke, from Mikey, is telling you to spend his moneyâ The money he gets from staying sober. The money heâs saving for The Bear. The reason why he thinks this is funny, is because you have no fucking idea where heâs been putting it. But you know he hasnât spent it, so thatâs all that really matters.
You just huff, leaning back against the wall of his office as you watch him work, arms crossed and cringing as he futzes with the wiring. âYouâre going to light us up like a Roman fucking candle.â
âItâs Jewish lightningââ âTop twenty-thousand reasons we do not say thatâ Number Oneââ âItâs gonna work! Just trust me!â
Mikeyâs office looks a lot more lively, lately. He never cleans up the mugs of coffee you give him, every morning. He says itâs his way of tracking which flavour is his favourite, since youâre always switching up. It will never change from the chai spiced blend, and you both know that. Itâd be more accurate of him to say he likes the sticky notes you tack on to each mug, saying you love him and saying he needs to keep going.
âI could fix it, yâknow.â At that, Mikey turns away from his distressing handiwork to look at you.Â
âI know. But I wanna prove I can, too.âÂ
That hits you right in the chest. You want to tell Mikey that he never has to prove anything, with you; never has to lift a goddamn finger. But he would hate to hear that. âOkay.â
You hear from outside the office, the back door opening. âChild incoming, no expletives please!â
âWhat the fuck is an expletive?â Mikey asks you, whispering.
You whisper back, leaning forward off the wall to close in on him. âItâs what you just did.â
Eva runs in, the way that kids doâ The way they kinda waddle. Immediately up to you and Mikey. Uncle Mike and Aunty Chip, she calls you both. Sometimes Uncle Jackâ Because she hasnât completely grasped the concept of gender yetâ Good, no one should.
âWatch!â You have yet to even say hi, before she immediately attempts to do a cartwheel in the middle of this very small office.Â
âGood job, Evie!â You clap, after she just barely lands safely on her shins.
She nods, âCan you do that?â
âHonestly? I donât think I can.â You look up from her to Mikey. âCan you?â
âCan I cartwheel?â He stumbles back, slapping his hand over his chest. Gutted. âCan I cartwheel? Eveâ She doesnât think I can cartwheel.â
âInsane, Uncle.â
âNot what I said!â You canât hold back your laughter, what a shining this kid has taken to her dad. âIâd love to see it, I really would!â
Mikey just shakes his head, kissing his teeth. How dare you offend his honour, in this way? This forty-two year old man can absolutely cartwheel with the best of them. In five minutes he definitely isnât gonna eat shit in the dining room of his restaurant. He pats Eva on the shoulder. âYou go with your dad and clear out some tables out front, Iâm gonna need space.âÂ
âYouâre gonna break your neck, Mike.â Richie chimes in, standing in the doorway now, waiting for Eva to return to him. âI donât wanna plan your funeral.â
âPlease, you would plan a terrible funeral.â âThatâs bullââ
âExpletive!â You cover Evaâs ears. She just laughs, looking up at you with that cute and bizarre blank kid stare. What a little patoot.Â
Richie looks to you, forgetting the bit for a moment, âY'need a grocery run, tonight?â
You nod, removing your hands from Eva, but then she holds them there. Goddamnit, kids are an awful idea but she's fucking cute. âPay you gas money in the form of Wendy's?â
âMarone!â Richie exclaims, poorly, grabbing your face by the chin and top of your head to kiss your cheek just short of a million times. âThe perfect womanââ
âNot Italian!â is the synchronous reply from you and Mikey.
Richie rolls his eyes, âNot Italianâ Fuââ
Eva interrupts him, taking as much as a shining to you as she does her father. âExpâExpultive!â She looks at you for approval and you nod in delight.
âJust go set up front, would âya?â Mikey brushes Rich off, the man just rolls his eyes, picking up his daughter from you to fly her off like an airplane.Â
âLet's set the stage for your Uncleâs neck injury, sweets. Bwwwwrrrââ Richie makes good airplane noises. Richieâs a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this. You watch Mikeyâs back flex, as he cracks back into the hole of wires in the wall. He's been working hard on a lot of little things lately.Â
You will not realize he is trying to make things clean and square, until it is too late. Right now, youâre just happy, because, âYouâre already at three weeks again, and you havenât even noticed.â
âOh, I fucking noticed.â He doesnât face you, when he says it, but itâs with a hearty chuckle. Heâs noticed it violently, heâs just getting very good at the first month, nowâ Well acquainted with the burn out. âBut now thereâs money on the line, I canât lose.âÂ
Itâs not that moneyâs on the line. Itâs that his brother is on the line now. And Mikey couldnât do this for himselfâ but the guy could do it for his brother. So heâll just be the guy, thatâs what the guyâs do. Six hours, same team. Nine weeks, Mikey, come on.
âWell youâre doing good, Iâm proud of you.âÂ
âYou believe in me?â He says it like he doubts your conviction. You nearly punch him in the back of the head.
âOf course I believe in you.â
Mikey bites his inner cheek, though you canât see his face. â...Why are we keeping the candles?â
Ah. Youâve still got the one and two candles in his drawer with a lighter, ready for the next cupcake. Theyâre slowly but surely melting with each reset, eventually theyâll be incomprehensible. Do you believe in me? If you do, why are you saving them? Do you think weâll need them? Thatâs what Mikeyâs asking. You scoff.Â
âYouâre so stupid.â âWhat theâ I confide in you and I get thisââ
You interrupt him, arms crossed. âOne day, one week, one month, one year, fuckinâ When we get to double digits? Ten months? One decade?â
Heâs mum, at that. You add. âWeâre getting our fucking mileage out of these candles, Mikey. I believe in you.â You think Mikey has a future, still. Mikey knows he doesnât. He changes the subject because if he doesnât, heâll tell you everything and you will stop it.
âI want you to start talking to Carmen, when he comes back.â You shouldâve asked Mikey why he was so certain Carmen would be coming back. But you werenât smart enough.Â
âWhat the fuck?â You snort. âOkay, out of literally nowhereââ âYouâd like him.â
âHe sounds very nice.â âHeâs not. Heâs aââ âBall buster, yes, youâve told me.â âHeâd like you.â âWhy?â âCause youâre you.â
âWow, pretty inarguable there.â You can only smile, unable to see the wheels turn in Michaelâs head. âGuess weâll be besties.â
âI meant talk like talkââ âAre you trying to hook me up right now?â âHeâs a virgin, so itâs definitely not a good deal for youââ âAndâ And why are we talking about your brother's sex lifeâ Did we already explode and this is hell?â âI just want you to be prepared for what youâre getting into, he gets performance anxiety soââ âMikey!â
âYouâll talk to him?â Mikey turns away from the wall, wanting you to look him in the eyes and promise him.
You shake your head and roll your eyes, but stick a hand out for the Berzatto to shake. âYes, Bear, Iâll talk to your virgin Michelin star ranked brother.â
âThank you! I ask for so little.â
After close, after everyone but Carmen, Sydney, and Richie leave, the three make plans to meet in Michaelâs office. Carmen will go in ahead to hide your folder because he doesnât want to see it himself and he absolutely doesnât want anyone else to see it. Even if one of them could very well explain it, because heâs fucking in them. Itâs fine. He looks at your wrapped up painting in the corner of his office. Carmen considers for what feels like a decade, whether or not he should open it. But he hasnât earned a gift from you, so he doesnâtâ Not for now, at least. He hasnât earned your art right now.Â
Underneath your ICE folder is his notepadâ The one he was scribbling recipes for his Exec into, the one he scribbled your recipe into, and underneath all that torn up paperâ His list, from this morning. The non-negotiable rules he wantedâ Wants? To add to The Bear. Thereâs twenty-seven. Half of them are spelt wrong as he wrote them while absolutely losing his shit, this morning. This list did not go over well, when it was proposed during family, at two in the afternoon. Some of these could still work though, right? At least the technique and the boxes and theâ
Richie comes in, not knocking, and immediately spots the list. âOh good.â He grabs the notepad and rips off the twenty seven points. Leaving only the title, NON-NEGOTIABLES.Â
âCome the fuck onââ Says Carmen. Richie rolls his eyes, tossing the list onto the desk. Richie can tear him and his stupid fucking list a new one another timeâ Richie and Carmen can sort out their own part of the fight in a week, when they take a twelve hour road trip. Right now though, they are both completely focused on you.Â
Sydney comes in with two labelled deli containers of coke. Time codes and everything, she can't turn it off. She hands one to Rich, the other one is for herself. Thatâs fine, soda on Carmenâs shredded throat really wouldnât be great right now anyways. She takes a sip, looking over Carm's shoulder. âOh, weâre doing a real list, now?â
Carmen just sighs, letting the dig go, because he deserves it. He clicks his pen, sitting down, ready to write, without hesitation. âGo.â
Richie leads, âYou need to fucking relax.â
âLay off her,â Sydney waves her hand over her neck. âLeave her the fuck alone, for like a week, minimum.âÂ
âNoâ What? Noâ You should call her like nowââ âAbsolutely not the right moveââ âSolve it hard and fastââ âWhy hardâ?â
âIâm just gonna wait.â Carmen decides, typically Syd is the right one, anyways. Plus if he hears your voice right now he might throw up and he doesnât have your tums, anymore. âNext?â
âAn exorcism.â Richie doesnât laugh, when he says it. âAlso read fuckinâ Runninâ on Emptyâ By Doctor Webb.â
The two cooks just look at him, like Richieâs grown five thousand heads. He groans before they even say anything. âIâm fuckinâ well read, shut the fuck upâ Itâsââ He snaps his fingers, pointing to Carmenâs list, âItâs an audiobook, too, on fuckinâ Spotifyâ Listen to that shit on your commute you have no excuse.â
âYes, Chef.â Carmen writes it down, he also writes down under things to look into, catastrophizing, while heâs at it. Richie watches over his shoulder, and adds, âLook into sublimation and behavourial dysfunction.âÂ
Sydâs still reeling over the sudden character growth. âYou need to relax with the self-help books.â
âYeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynnâs âIt Didnât Start With You.ââ Richieâs got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.
Sheâs got no come back for that other than a surprised pout and nod, taking her own phone out to write it down. âYes, Chef.â
Carmen pipes in, not looking up from his list of to dos âShould I also read that oneââ âYes.â âHeard, Chef. Next?â
âIt cannot be on Tony to be your fucking punching bag. If youâre tweakingâ Keep that shit between you and your therapistââ Syd switches from her notes app to search, âWeâre finding you a fuckinâ therapist.â
âIs that covered in our contract?â Didnât he write it? Carmen doesnât know.
âDoesnât matter. Also I donât know, but doesnât matter.â Syd hasnât read it yet. She also doesnât know.
You are worth a couple out of pocket fees. Well, more importantly, Carmen is worth a couple out of pocket feesâ Well, alright, heâll discuss his weaknesses of self-prioritization with the therapist.Â
Before Carmen can even say next, Richie adds. âAlso you smell like shit.â The hair gel is pungent in a bad way.
And before he can defend himself, Sydney adds, not looking up from her phone, âWeâre going to fuckinâ Kohlâs after this and weâre getting you a skincareâ And haircareâ routine. Youâre seconds away from breaking out, I bet you use fuckinâ Palmolive dish soap.â
âWellâ Iâve been using Tonyâs, actuallyââ âWe know.â Itâs a completely synchronized interruption.Â
âItâs been her signature scent, since highschool.â âWho do you think took her grocery shopping when she didnât have a car?â âI thought I was having a flashback everytime you walked by in the kitchen, this past week.â âYou should go back to it.â
âI know. I will.â Heâs got every intention of re-upping on your shampoo and conditioner, when heâs taken on a shopping spree to get his shit together. Hopefully you wonât mind him copying you. âNo more Five in One.â
âYouâve been using fucking five in one!?â
Carmen thought, yesterday, naively, that he would do right by you on Friday. He didnât, he did the very oppositeâ But even if he did, thatâs weak shit. Carmenâs not gonna do right by you for just one single fucking day. Carmenâs gonna do right by you, for the rest of his life. The three get to well over twenty seven points, and he has every intention of showing up to it. Heâs gonna be your man, and heâs going to fucking earn that title. Heâs going to prove it.
âOkay. So can you tell me what happened on February 22nd?â Sheâs a shit therapist. Youâre imagining both you and her dead in your head. Youâve been imagining a lot of people dead in your head, for the last two weeks. Every time your dad comes to check on you, you imagine that heâs a ghost.Â
You imagine having a passing conversation with someone, maybe catching up with Syd, one day. And sheâll ask you âMeet any interesting people?â and youâll say âYeah. But he killed himself.â Thatâs gonna suck. You didnât prepare for that one. So you need to prepare now. Look at all of your friends and family, and imagine they are deadâ And introduce them as such. âThatâs my friend Richie, he died.â Make it hurt now, so it doesnât hurt then.Â
You didnât prepare enough. Didnât do enough. Countless little mistakes and moments you missed. The therapist is looking at you, oh right, itâs your turn to talk again. Youâve told her all these cute little stories but now she wants to hear how the sad shit went. Or maybe it was all sad shit. Maybe itâs all coated in a film of grief, now.Â
Youâll tell her that Mikey was very thorough, with his plan that you didnât know about. He waited until he thought you were out of the cityâ When he knew youâd be out of the city. When your sister in law delivered your nephew and you went to Oak Park to visit.Â
Just days before, you celebrated three months of sobriety with him and Richieâ Youâll tell the therapist, excitedly, that this was his longest streak so far, it took him a year to reach three monthsâ It was a big fucking deal. You were beaming all day. You didnât realize, however, that days after Uncle Jimmy had made his deal with you two, that Mikey did the math. Figured out exactly how many weeks heâd have to be sober, to get three-hundred grand.Â
Thirty weeks. Roughly seven months and two weeks. He did it. Not in sequence, but he did it. Youâre still not sure where that money is. Uncle isnât either. Maybe Carmen will figure it out. Itâs meant for him anyways. Youâll say that Carmen will figure it out in such a way that she asksâ âAnd do you hold animosity? Towards his younger brother?â
You look at her like sheâs a psycho, because she is. Replying incredulously, âI donât fucking know him.â
âMy best friend Michael is dead.â âMy best friend, Mikey, is dead.â Doesnât sound right. Doesnât quite roll off the tongue.Â
âDo you wish you did?â
âI really couldnât say I give a shit, maâam. Can I tell you about the guy I did know, though?â
She nods, you roll the fuck on. You tell her that the morning after you got to your brotherâs placeâ February 22nd, you all decided instead of staying for the week, as youâd planned, as Mikey planned, youâd instead go home early. Because as much as you wanted to be helpful, having more people in the house was stressing the new mom the fuck out. Understandable. So you took a train back to Chicago early.Â
You got home, and you found that youâd gotten some mail, waiting for you on the floor, shoved through the mail slot of your door. Bill, bill, invoice, spam, coupons, handwritten envelopeâ Ah. Mikeyâs handwriting. A deep unsettling feeling burrowed its way into you. It just says For Chip. Thereâs no letter inside. No. Thereâs a debit card, his, of your joint bank account, thereâs a key, yours, a copy of your key to this apartment, and a necklace, hisâ With his three month sobriety chip hanging off of it.Â
You call him, immediately. He doesnât answer the first time. You call him again. He answers on the last possible ring.Â
The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your lifeâ        Is honestly quite boring, because itâs just a phone call with an old friend.
âYo, Ice-y!â A classic nickname, reserved purely for phone calls with Mikey. Because in his phone, youâre 0ICEChip, so youâll show up at the top of his contact list, if heâs ever found unresponsive. Typically a pro-tip reserved for those in hospice care.
You donât entertain him. âWhere are you?â
âIâm just out for a walk, sweetheart.â âShut the fuck up out for a walkâ Where the fuck are you?â
He hums at your snarky tone. âNephew didnât take a liking to you?â âI came home early.â
The silence is long, and you can hear the heavy wind coming through his phone. Heâs outside. Heâs somewhere outside. Itâs a cold night. Itâs usually not this cold at the end of February, but it really fucking came down, this morning.Â
âOh.â
âWhy did you leave this shit at my door? Where are you?â You thought of 0ICE but you didnât think to have him turn his location on? Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. You didnât do enough. âMy friend, Bear, is dead.â You didnât prepare enough. âBear, câmon, whatâs going on? I told you, if we need to reset, itâs two steps forward, one step back, itâs okayââ
âItâs not.â âIt is! We will get there!â âIâm not. Youâre gonna get there, Iâm not.â âThatâs not true!â âI love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.â
âMikeyââ
âChip, Iâm not going anywhere. Youâreâ Youâre fucking going somewhere. I canâtâ I canât letâ We both know where Iâm going and itâs nowhere you should begin to be.â
âYou donât get to make that choice for me. You donât get to make that call. I decide what I bet onâ Mikey, where are you?â Youâre walking out of your place, you hadnât even closed the door before leaving again.
Fucking idiot, you shouldâve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. âMy best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.ââ Why didnât you get a fucking car? You didnât do enough. You canât remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? âAre you using?â
âNo. No. Iâmâ This is me, Chip.â âNo itâs fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?â
âI love you, I didnât want this to beâ I-IâIâm not killing myself, Chip.â
âYouâre not?â
You shouldnât have believed him. You shouldâve just kept walking. You wouldâve figured out where he was, eventually. You shouldâve called the coast guard, or some shit. Shouldâve just figured it out.
âIâm not. Iâmâ Iâm okay, Iâm really just going for a walkâ I-I justâ I had a⊠Iâ I donât want you to be my sponsor anymore. Thatâs it.â It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.
âWhy?â
âCause youâre a kid, and I canât make you responsible for what I do.â
âIâm not a kid.â âTo me, you are.â âThen weâll find you someone else.â âYeah, okay.â
You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. âYouâre cold, Mikey.â
âIâm okay.â
âYouâre just cold.â Thatâs all thatâs wrong. Heâs just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. âGo inside, soon. Come home.â
âI will.â
Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasnât. âOkay.â
âI want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, thereâs no point in wiring all the time.â
Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldnât figure out the wiring by himselfâ He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you.Â
âYeah, that makes sense.â You nod to no one. âI think your toilets fucked, speaking of.â You laugh, everythingâs okay. Thereâs a long silence, and you think heâs hung up.Â
âGood. Okayâ You shouldâ You should come fix it, sometime soon⊠Love you, Chip.â
âLove you, Bear.â
You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brotherâs sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because youâre not his sponsor, doesnât mean he shouldnât keep his chips.Â
You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, âYou should come over.â Richie doesnât ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You donât know why thatâs the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that yourâ Yourâ Your bestâ Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck.Â
You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dadâs place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he canât keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this.Â
You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.
Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You donât want to, but itâll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time youâll think of everything, next time you wonât fail.
You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just donât think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.
On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and itâs only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.
You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just donât want to leave. You have a tendency to do that.Â
You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud.Â
âMy best friend, Mikey, died.â
When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and againâ and he will finally say it aloud.Â
âMy brother, Mikey, shot himself.â
No matter how you say it, it wonât roll off the tongue.
And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.
You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything youâve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue.Â
But Carmen manages to make âIâm sorry. Iâm so fucking sorryâ I will never be able to surmise, how sorryââ roll off well enough. Alas, heâs interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here.Â
âGuys Iâ Guys I donât know how to run bar, and I donât think I shouldâve been trusted, with this.â
Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.
âIâm gonna fix it.â Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, âI will too.â
Because itâs not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.
Itâs not negotiable.
I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because Iâm. Iâm really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one.Â
Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originallyâ There mightâve ended up being more honestly, if I didnât add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats arenât cooking, Carmenâs side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is.Â
I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmenâ And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. Theyâd done too much work, and I donât think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh.Â
Speaking of Rich and Sydâ FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way Iâm sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckinâ The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but itâs SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit iâm SO SICK!!!!! IâM HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!
Anyways itâs my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought Iâd love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didnât forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughtsâ It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people donât read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.
@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine
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this manages to be better and better every time i read it. sobbing

