Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
After checking the rota at work, I send Patricia a text letting her know that she’s welcome to join us in the morning after breakfast. She immediately responds to let me know that she’ll be there and my skin crawls with the thought of her stepping foot into my house. I just feel like I need to give her this chance for the kids and for Nathan. I don’t want to look as though I’ve been unfair at all.
“You’re with me,” Kerim tells me the second I stepped out of the staff area and into the kitchen.
“I am?”
“Yep.” He throws a ladle at me which I somehow catch between my hands and chest. “Gel.”
Gel in Turkish means for me to come there. I’ve picked up quite a few new words since starting here. More swearwords than anything else, as is usual when people want to learn a new language.
“What are we doing?”
“We are going to make more of that soup,” he says as we move to the smaller gas stove top. A large pot rests on the top. “We are going to give a free sample out to all customers today in return for an honest review.”
“Good plan,” I smile and help him chop and dice the vegetables. We follow his recipe that is on a sheet of paper behind the metal work top, only tweaking it with salt because Kerim never weighs salt. He says it’s a waste of time.
“If they love it, I’d like it if you could stay late and help me to make it in bulk.”
I nod. “That’s fine.” I don’t tell him I’m relieved for the excuse to not go home. If I have to see Nathan again before nightfall I’m not sure I can handle it.
“Excellent. We’ll start at around ten and finish for midnight-ish.”
“Do you need us too, Chef?” Harold asks, not too far away, overseeing the fish as it’s filleted into perfect portion sizes.
“No, we can manage. You already know what to do; Gwen has yet to learn.”
Harold nods, winks at me and moves around my co-workers. I turn to Kerim. “Do you ever go home?”
“I can’t remember,” he chuckles and tosses a batch of shredded cabbage into the pot. The water bubbles gently so he turns down the heat and I stir the cabbage around it.
“You love your job. I think if I didn’t have the kids, I’d always be here too. Especially to experiment with all of your fabulous utensils and extremely high quality goods.”
“You can, you know? Any time you like. This is your kitchen too.”
“Thank you. I might do just that. I miss working in a bakery; my oven at home just doesn’t make cake the way theirs did and don’t get me started on the bread!”
Kerim flexes his fingers and pushes the carrot that he was dicing to the side. “Then it’s settled. When you get a free day, you will impress us with your baking skills.”
“I would be honoured.”
“I shall look forward to it.” He brushes past me, placing his hand on my arm to hold me steady. “You continue; I’ll re-join you soon.”
“Sure.” I’m used to following his recipes so this doesn’t worry me. It’s just that the batch is quite large and requires a lot of cutting. I might not get it done in time for it to cook ready for the customers to try. Soup is no easy thing to prepare.
Patience, as expected, sours towards me for the rest of the day but I just can’t be dealing with her crap. She needs to calm the hell down before she pushes me over the edge I’m already teetering on.
Patricia arrives at ten in the morning as promised. She doesn’t make herself at home at first, not until she sees how tired I am and keeps the children busy in the living room while I prepare for dinner later. I always prepare the food early because if I don’t, Nathan will and it’s not that he’s a bad cook, it’s just that the kids are used to eating my food. They won’t even eat fast food so we can’t just stick a kid’s meal in front of them. Little food snobs. They make me so proud.
“You look dead on your feet,” she says to me. She’s right. I have huge bags under my eyes and I didn’t get nearly enough sleep after Nathan left last night. He didn’t even say anything, just kissed my cheek and left. It’s wrong that I want him to chase me, to fight for what we have. How is it that after all we’ve been through, we aren’t made for each other?
“Would you like a tea or a coffee?” I call from the kitchen, hoping she hears me so I don’t have to go and speak to her. The kids are running riot in the living room and they sound as though they’re having a great time. I loathe her for that too.