“OK, chef. The grease trap is fixed and emptied,” Ethan said. “And I just got an apron filled with oil stains.”
“Did you get it on your uniform?” the chef asked.
“Just a few stains, but I can wash it tonight. What else needs to be done?”
The chef looked around, inspecting both the kitchen and the front of the house. “I think we’re pretty much done. The guys are just organizing the shelves and finishing the deep clean on the ovens.”
Ethan sighed in relief. Thank God, he thought. “We can tell them to call it a night. Some of them need to be back for Sunday brunch.”
The chef glanced at the clock. It was 11 p.m. He nodded, then spoke loud enough for the kitchen crew to hear. “Alright, crew. That’s it for tonight. Thanks for everything. I’ll see some of you tomorrow for Sunday brunch.”
The cooks nodded. “Thanks, chef. Good night.”
The chef turned to Ethan. “I need to do some admin work in my office. Can you mop the kitchen?”
Ethan nodded. “Sure thing. After that, I’ll be heading off too. I’ll be off for a couple of days, so I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Yup. See you Tuesday, Ethan.” The chef paused. “And Ethan—please take care of yourself.”
Ethan just stood there, stiff as a scarecrow. He sighed. “No promises, Kevin,” he said jokingly.
By 11:30 p.m., the kitchen was mopped. Ethan grabbed his winter coat and hurried to his car, desperate to escape the Canadian winter. He started the engine. The piece-of-shit Toyota barely turned over—it was on its last legs. He scraped the snow and ice off the windshield, climbed back inside, and waited for the heat to kick in.
He put on some music, trying to relax. Nearly every song reminded him of Esther. Kodaline. Ed Sheeran. Taylor Swift. Pearl Jam. Elton John. He shut the music off and pressed his stone-cold hands against his face. He exhaled slowly, hoping it would release some of the mental pain. Then he took a deep breath and sat there in silence.
He thought about his life choices—whether working in the food industry was the right move, whether he did the right thing with Esther, whether everything he wanted was even worth it. He sighed again, put the car in drive, and headed home.
Ethan and Esther’s home was a small basement unit they had rented a few years back. Usually, the lights were on at this hour. Esther always stayed up, waiting for Ethan to come home before going to bed. Tonight, the lights were off. The basement was pitch black.
Ethan parked on the side of the road and walked to the house. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights. The living room and kitchen were clean, but Esther’s office had been picked bare. Their bedroom was half empty. She must have taken most of her things before visiting Ethan one last time.
He was surprised, but not shocked. He felt like this day was always coming.
Ethan hung up his jacket, unpacked his bag, and took a shower. Afterward, he went to the kitchen and made coffee and toast. He filled his small Italian coffee machine with water and turned on the stove. While the coffee brewed, he slid two slices of bread into the toaster.
He rested his hands on the countertop, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. Esther’s voice still echoed in his head, mixing with the roar of ovens from work. The pain was there, but he didn’t cry. He was used to it by now. He just stood there, breathing slowly, trying to numb the feeling.
A sudden loud beep snapped him out of it. Calmly, he looked up—it was just the toast and coffee. He spread Nutella on the toast and poured himself a cup. Needing fresh air, he grabbed his phone and jacket and stepped outside.
On the back porch sat a small glass table and a wooden chair. The chair wasn’t covered in snow, though it was slightly damp. Ethan didn’t care. He sat down anyway and ate his late-night snack. He devoured the toast. The coffee was still too hot, so he sipped slowly.
As he looked up at the cold winter sky, he overheard a conversation from upstairs—his tenant and his wife.
“Happy anniversary, Doris. I got something for you.”
A moment later, Doris gasped. “Oh my God, Brian. Is that—”
“The sapphire earrings you always wanted,” Brian said. “I was going to get something for myself to celebrate my promotion to senior accountant at Deloitte, but you deserve this more than I do.”
Ethan’s hands began to shake.
Doris shrieked with excitement. “Brian, you didn’t have to do this. I’m just so proud of how far you’ve come.”
“No,” Brian said softly. “I’m proud of us—of how far we’ve come. I love you, Doris. Here’s to another year.”
Something snapped inside Ethan. He swept the glass table with his arm, shattering the plate and mug against the porch floor. He buried his face in his hands and finally started to cry.
Minutes later, his phone rang. He flipped it over. It was Kevin.
Ethan answered but didn’t speak.
“Ethan,” Kevin said. “I need a favor, kid. I completely forgot my wife wants to celebrate Valentine’s Day at the spa this weekend. Can you take my shift tomorrow? I’ll trade you another one later.”
Ethan took a long breath, followed by silence.
“Ethan? You there?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, chef,” Ethan said quietly. “I can cover your shift.”
“You sure?” Kevin asked. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”
Ethan forced a lighter tone. “I’m good, Kevin. You enjoy yourself. Say hi to Tiffany and the kids for me.”
Kevin sounded relieved. “Thanks, chef. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Ethan hung up without saying goodbye. He stayed seated on the porch, staring up at the cold, dark sky, thinking about the good days—back when Esther was still there.
The Culinary Storyteller 