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They still sling sandwiches on the side.
Change is hard for everyone, but for some people it feels like the world is ending. Richie, unsurprisingly, is the hardest one to convince. He bitches and moans, throws a tantrum or two.
“We’re doing it,” Carmy says firmly, hunched over the stove. He meets Sydney's eyes for a second after a spatula gets hurled at his head. She shrugs her shoulders, tries for a sympathetic smile that's more of a grimace, and barks out the next two orders.
After days of cursing, mood swings, and general bad attitude, Tina finally snaps and drags Richie out into the alley. She comes back alone. A few days later, Richie shows up in his office and mumbles about knowing a guy who can help with the demolition.
Marcus’ roommate, Chester, gives them a friend discount. For a showy guy, his sensibilities are surprisingly restrained—whites and grays with a few flashes of color, clean lines, and simple shapes.
“What is this, Ikea?” Richie gripes.
“We could turn leftovers into meatballs,” Sydney teases. “Serve it with a housemade lingonberry wine reduction.”
“Oh, I could fill donuts with Danish groats instead of raspberries,” Marcus chimes in.
“And a sweet custard glaze.”
“Fire.”
Carmy doesn’t pile on, but he doesn’t hide the smile on his face either. Richie calls them all hipster Euro-trash wannabes and storms out.
“He’s trying,” Tina says to no one in particular, a gentle scolding.
Sydney rolls her eyes and resumes her walk-through. Marcus gives Carmy a big bear grin. Change doesn’t seem to phase Marcus. He has a spring in his step, a fire and a focus that Carmy remembers feeling when he landed his first job at a Michelin star restaurant. He feels it, too, but it’s muted now, the volume knob turned low. Carmy is too tired, stretched too thin. It’s his name on the paperwork, on the checks. The risk is entirely his to shoulder. That’s the way this goes. It’s what he signed up for.
There are moments, however, when the volume gets turned up and he can feel the excitement and energy vibrating in his body.
Like in the early mornings when the kitchen is clean and quiet. A blank slate. Marcus is there of course, working methodically in his own little world. For all intents and purposes, Carmy’s alone. He preps and dreams and makes plans. The Bear is new, but its bones are still beef and potatoes. Steak, obviously. Slow braised short ribs and risotto. It’s almost there. He knows exactly how to make it perfect, but it’s important for Sydney to figure the proportions out on her own.
Or when he’s on a smoke break in the alley, staring up at the crisp blue sky, the cold wind sharp on his bare arms. Chicken piccata like his mothers, but with yuzu instead of lemon.
Once, he interrupts Sydney and Marcus goofing off in the alley. The former is mid dab, the latter laughing into a fist. Sydney straightens immediately when she sees him, her smile growing tight, clearly embarrassed. Marcus only laughs harder. The patissier is kind and open and friends with everyone. It’s easy to be at ease with him. Sydney is like Carmy in many ways, serious and driven, so it’s strange to see her with her guard down. Mikey was good at making people comfortable, too, only louder and brasher. Carmy, on the other hand…
This would be a good opportunity to make a joke, to practice at being someone people get close to.
“Pork, maybe?” he says instead. “We’ve got, like, 100 pounds of it still. Slow cooked overnight with oranges. Served over Spanish rice.”
Sydney looks up at the sky, thinking it over. “Maybe,” she says, unconvinced. “We’ve got the short ribs already. Chops would be better.”
“Or a roast.”
“Yeah,” she quickly agrees, her tone almost apologetic, as if she hated contradicting him in the first place. Guilt pings in his chest. He doesn’t want to be someone people are afraid to disagree with, but he’s made mistakes. He’s working on it.
By and large, Carmy is the most inspired in the evenings, when the orders are down and it’s just him and Sydney, bouncing ideas off one another and testing recipes. Syd likes seafood. Chicago isn’t particularly renowned for its fish, so it’s all the more impressive how tasty she makes the bass, perched on top of tomato confit with a drizzle of carrot purée. It’s tremendous, but it doesn’t fit with the rest of the menu.
When he takes the first bite, Carmy knows immediately he’s got her on borrowed time. One day, she’s going to leave and open up her own place, maybe even take Marcus with her. This dish will be on the menu. He’ll drop by unannounced, order the bass, and lose himself in memories as he eats alone in the corner.
“I over seasoned the carrots a little bit,” Sydney demurs, thrown by his extended silence. “And I think a coarser salt would work better with the tomatoes.”
“No,” he assures her. “It’s phenomenal the way it is. Don't change a thing.”
She beams, looking down at her creation with abashed pride. Then she says, “Doesn’t really fit the menu, does it?”
“No,” he says.
“Yeah, I figured, like, two thirds of the way through.”
Carmy laughs, relieved more than anything. Honesty is how he shows respect, but he doesn’t enjoy contradicting her either. Most of his adult life has been conflict and tension. Mikey, mom, Richie, Cicero, Sugar. Sugar’s husband is nice enough, Carmy guesses, but he’s such a corny motherfucker it’s hard to believe anything he says.
Being genuinely and authentically on the same page with another human being is rare. Make no mistake, Syd’s got her own ideas and opinions. They don’t always agree, but when their waves do sync, it’s creatively fulfilling, it’s inspiring, it’s fucking music. It’s earned.
He won’t tell her any of this. Even if he wanted to, there’s no way he can envision saying it without sounding like a psychopath. But if he plays his cards right, doesn’t fuck it up too bad again, he may manage to keep her here for a few years, maybe five.
Change is hard. And it is inevitable. Having the right people near you to weather the chaos and complexity becomes important. Otherwise, you drown.
“Tell me about appetizers,” he says.
It’s the best way Carmy knows to tell her: I value you. Please stay.