Way to Go (13 page)

“Okay, take it easy,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said! I have to leave town tomorrow morning—something about going to see my grandparents. My mom says it's an emergency, but she won't tell me what it's about, and Lisa's been acting really weird, and I'm worried that this is going to be the last nail in the coffin!”

“I thought you guys were, like, casual.”

“Well yeah, we are. I guess. But I'm totally into her, I mean I
really
like her, Danny! You know that!
She
must know that!”

“Well, maybe you've been acting a little bit too serious for her.”

“Why? Did she say something?”

“No,” I lied. “I don't talk to her about you guys. I could care less, and it's none of my business anyway.”

“I don't know what to think. She's the one who called me and asked me out! New Golden Rule: Girls are crazy!”

“Maybe she's just preoccupied now that her mom is here,” I said. I knew there was more to it than that, but the guy was frantic. I didn't want to push him off the deep end.

“That's another thing! She didn't tell me
any
of that stuff about her mom! We've been going out for weeks, and not a word! Then she just unloads it on everyone at the lake, as if it's no big deal.”

“Well, we
were
playing truth or dare.”

“Whatever. Anyway, we're leaving tomorrow morning, and I don't know what to do!” He smacked his hand onto the steering wheel.

“Kierce, you do realize that Lisa's going to be leaving town for good in a few weeks, don't you?”

“Yeah, but I figured if I could make her like me as much as I like her, that we could commute or something.”

“Okay, come on, Kierce, get a grip. That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I figured that we'd at least enjoy the summer together! I'm telling you, man, I really like her. I know it sounds crazy, but I really do.”

He looked miserable. I wasn't used to Kierce asking for advice. He was usually way too busy dishing it out.

“I don't know what to tell you, man,” I said. “Just try to have a good trip.”

“Easy for you to say. You've never met my grandparents. They're, like, mean old trolls, and their house smells like cats and cheese. Listen, Danny, you have to promise me you'll tell me if anything happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, if she says anything about me, or whatever. Just call me at my grandparents' house.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you.”

WHEN I MENTIONED
Kierce's trip to Lisa at work later that day, all she said was, “So what? It doesn't really matter. I told you, it's not like we're a couple. We were just having some fun for the summer.”

“But you still like him, right?”

“Sure, I like him fine,” she said, helping me scrape plates into the garbage, “but it's not like he's my type. That was kind of the attraction, I guess. He's cute, but he's sort of a dork, and he's funny, and he's a bit of a redneck—totally different from the guys I date back home. But I'd never in a million years be with somebody like him in my real life.”

“Well, I don't think he feels the same way, Lisa. I think he really likes you.”

“Yeah, no kidding. The other day he actually mentioned coming to visit me in New York in the fall. Can you believe that?” She sighed. “This whole thing was a bad idea. I never would have guessed that he'd get all crazy lovey-dovey on me. It's probably a good thing he's leaving town. This just takes care of the problem.”

Maybe for you
, I thought.

“Well I think you should at least tell him how you feel,” I said.

“Oh god, why does this have to be such a big deal?”

“Come on, Lisa, it's only fair,” I said.

“Fine, I'll talk to him when he comes back from Ontario.” But I wondered if she would. She sure didn't sound very concerned.

I KIND OF EXPECTED
that with Kierce out of the picture, I'd get to spend more time with Lisa, but it didn't really work out that way. The night after he left, she told me that she couldn't drive me home. She said that there was something going on with her mom, but she didn't elaborate. Denise offered to give me a lift instead.

“So how are you liking your new gig?” she asked once we were in her truck.

“I love it,” I said. “JP's teaching me so much.”

She laughed. “Trust me, he's just happy to have someone who's willing to listen to him. I try not to, if I can help it. Anyway, the restaurant is busier than I ever expected, so it's great for him to have the extra help.”

“So you're happy with the way things are going?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. If you'd told me ten years ago that I'd be living in Deep Cove again, running my own place, I'd have laughed at you. Now I have a hard time believing I ever left.”

“Why
did
you leave?”

She turned and looked at me and then thought for a few seconds before answering.

“Well, you know I'm gay, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, that wasn't the easiest thing in a town like Deep Cove, believe me,” she said. “It was extra hard because I couldn't even really hide it. I was pretty butch from the get-go.” She chuckled. “I was the kind of girl who wanted to play hockey with the boys, and back in the late seventies that kind of thing just didn't happen.”

“You didn't—you know—have any doubts about it?”

“About being gay? Well sure, a little bit. I tried to go on dates with guys in high school. Total disasters, every last one, but by the time I graduated, I pretty much knew. I figured I could pretend all I wanted, but eventually I was just gonna have to be me. Sounds cheesy, but that's how it happened.

“Long story short, I felt that my only option was to get out of town. I didn't think that I could tell anyone in Deep Cove who I was, and I wanted to go out and meet the perfect woman, so I hit the road as soon as I got my diploma. Lived in Vancouver, spent some time in New York, and then I ended up in Montreal, and that's where I met Danielle.”

“Danielle?”

“Danielle was my partner for almost ten years. We split up last year.”

She looked out the window and didn't say anything for a few moments.

“Anyway,” she continued, “as you know, when my mom died, I came home to take care of things. It was a good excuse to leave Montreal for a few weeks. Then while I was here, taking care of all that bullshit, I remembered what I love about the place. The people are great, the landscape is beautiful. The air smells clean and fresh. I heard about the Burger Shack going on the market so I decided, spur of the moment, that I wanted to move home.”

“Are you happy you did it?”

“Yep. The only thing I really regret is that my parents were both dead by the time I moved home. I never got to spend much time with them as an adult. I was just a kid when I left, and I never gave them much credit. With the gay stuff, I mean.

“I came home every couple of years for Christmas, or for a few days in the summer once in a while, but I never had the balls to tell them the truth, let alone bring Danielle home with me. Maybe they knew all along. I guess I'll never know.”

“It must still be pretty hard though,” I said. “Being gay, I mean.”

“Well, you'd be surprised. There are a lot of ignorant people in the world, but if you can learn to ignore them, then all kinds of other fantastic people start popping up in your life. And some people just end up surprising you. I wish I'd given my folks the chance to know the real me. Instead, I was so scared that I shut everyone out and ran away. That's no way to go through life.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, not exactly,” I hastened to explain, “but I've been thinking I might want to become a chef, and I don't know how to tell my parents.”

“No shit, eh? A chef?”

“Well, I'm not sure, but I really like helping JP out in the kitchen, and—I don't know, I've never really been able to imagine what I was going to do with my life. But now I keep thinking about maybe going to culinary school.”

She pulled into my driveway.

“If you don't mind,” I said as I got out of the truck, “could you not say anything to anyone about the chef thing? I haven't figured out the best way to tell my folks about it.”

“Maybe you don't need to tell them,” she said. “Maybe you should show them instead.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cook for them. Let the food do the talking.”

EIGHTEEN

The next afternoon when I showed up for work, JP gave me a funny smile and then hurried out of the kitchen without saying anything. I was putting on my apron when I noticed the envelope sitting in the middle of my workspace. It was thick and official-looking, with an embossed gold seal on the upper corner.
Atwater Culinary Institute
, it said in letters that curved around a stylized knife and chef 's hat.

I shoved it in my backpack and waited until I got home to look at it. I flipped through glossy photos of an old brick building on a busy city street; bowls full of fresh produce; groups of students who didn't look much older than me wearing kitchen whites and standing around counters full of food and utensils, listening intently to instructors. It looked incredible.

Now that I had the application, it was finally time to talk to my parents about culinary school. I knew Denise was right. I had to prove to them that this was the right decision for me. When I told Mom the next morning that I wanted to prepare a special meal for the family, she got all excited and offered to pay for the groceries. JP helped me plan a menu and a couple of nights later, on my night off, I got Mom and Alma to give me a hand in the kitchen.

“Have you enjoyed working for Denise?” Mom asked as I showed her how to peel garlic.

“Yeah, she's cool. She can get kind of grumpy when she's stressed, but she's still a great boss, and JP is awesome—he's taught me a lot.”

“Well, it must be innate, because you sure didn't get that from your old mom.”

“No kidding,” said Alma. Mom flicked a garlic peel at her.

“I like cooking,” I said. “I feel like I'm good at it.”

“So tell me,” Mom said, “are Denise and JP an item?”

I laughed. I'd wondered the same thing, but now that I knew Denise was gay, it was funny for me to even think about her as straight.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing. It's just—I don't think Denise thinks about JP that way.”

“You mean she's gay?”

I was surprised to hear her say it in such an offhand way.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Gay?” said Alma. “You mean as in homosexual? Like Elton John? In Deep Cove?”

“What's wrong with that?” I said.

“Nothing,” said Alma. “It's just, I didn't think gay people lived in places like Deep Cove.”

“Alma, honey,” said Mom, “gay people live everywhere. They're just regular people like you and me.”

Alma didn't say anything. She just stood there staring down at the carrots she was supposed to be peeling, thinking something through.

“Well, I can't say I'm surprised about Denise,” my mom said. “A few of us suspected that was why she left town so quickly, back in the day. Good for her. It couldn't have been easy for her around here.”

I didn't say anything, and I tried to act calm, but my heart was pounding against my rib cage. Did she know something? Did she suspect?

Thankfully, she saved me from having to respond. “How does this look?” she asked, showing me a pile of garlic that she'd minced.

“Looks good. Can you chop up a couple more cloves?” I glanced up and saw that Alma was now staring at me intently, chewing furiously on her lower lip. I quickly turned away and started rubbing the steaks with garlic and olive oil. It had never occurred to me that Alma might be the one to put it all together. I realized that I wasn't worried either way. Alma wasn't a bigmouth, and besides, there was no way she could know anything for sure.

Finally dinner was ready. My family sat patiently at the table while I served up mashed potatoes with goat cheese, roasted asparagus, and the steaks, pan-fried with a brandy peppercorn sauce. When I put the plates in front of them, they oohed and aahed. I waited as Dad poured the wine, including a splash for me, and we all toasted. When Dad cut into his steak, he said, “Man oh man, this looks like a great meal.” He ate a few bites and then leaned back and looked at me. “That's probably one of the best steaks I've ever eaten.”

I'd wanted to impress them, and from the way all three of them polished off their meals, I thought I had succeeded. When the main course was done, I brought out the
pièce de résistance
—a strawberry tart that JP had helped me make in the restaurant the day before.

After dinner, Mom made coffee and we sat around the table, relaxed and full.

“I've got to say,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair again, “you've turned into quite the chef, Dan. Way to go.”

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath. “What would you guys think if I wanted to do this for a living? I mean, be a chef. I really love it, and I think I'm good at it, and there's a really good school that I might be able to get into if I apply in the fall. JP says that there are lots of jobs, and you'll never be out of work if you're a chef and maybe someday I could be my own boss and have my own restaurant.”

There was a long pause as my parents regarded each other across the table. I had no idea what they were thinking.

“What school?” my mom finally asked. I'd been waiting for this, and pulled the brochure from my backpack. I watched nervously as Mom looked over it and then passed it to Dad.