Chapter Text
Thirteen-year-old Carmy had mastered the art of preparing fresh pasta by watching his brother. He understood the correct ratio of egg yolks to flour depending on the atmosphere. The kneading technique to get that silky smooth dough surface. His proudest moment had been presenting his Ligurian fish ravioli to Nat and Mikey and watching their delight—hearing his mother say she had raised another great cook.
A lonely, unpeeled onion sat on the cutting board. All Carmy had to do was push his knife into it, slice it into the even slices he had sliced so many times before. An action that should have been instinct, had been instinct until recently.
Everything was a distraction. The lights were too bright. The kitchen too cold. Carmy had accidentally rubbed his eyes and they were beginning to water. The clock and its repetitive tic-tic-ticking was driving Carmy near insane. He had multiple times imagined screwing it off the wall, opening up the plastic covering on the back, and throwing out the batteries.
It was early in the morning and Carmy was relieved to be the only one awake, enjoying some quiet before the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Carmy was put in charge of the pasta.
He started by pre-chopping his onions, garlic, and herbs. He organized his seafood, separating bream from calamari, clams, mussels, and prawns. He prepared the dough, repeating the familiar process until the dough looked homogenous. He set a kitchen timer for 30 minutes to let the dough rest.
The culinary world was a warzone, with arrogant dictators and merciless critics—only the toughest survived. Carmy had entered the industry with an advantage. Throughout the years of his turbulent childhood, Carmy had grown to become resilient—the stress he had been put through had made him unbreakable. He had risen from the ashes of a nearly burnt-down kitchen. He had carried the weight of the stars and the weight of his brother’s rejection. He had shown up to work after a night of panic attacks, perfectly fine, ready to work.
It wasn’t until he gained ownership of ‘the Bear’ formerly ‘the Original Beef of Chicagoland,’ that his weaknesses started to reveal themselves. Reconnecting with his sister. Befriending his brother’s old coworkers. Starting a romantic relationship. Crossing paths with Sydney. These moments of joy, of amusement, had come at the sacrifice of his own resilience. In the end, it was a break-up that tipped him over the edge. Not even a proper break-up—Claire had broken up with Carmy over text.
Following the text, Carmy hadn’t spoken to Nat and Richie. He hadn’t spoken to anyone from the crew. He hadn’t shown up to work, not giving anyone as much as a head’s up. His relationship with Sydney had already been withering long before the breakup—if Sydney didn’t despise him then, she would now, after the burden he left her with.
Carmy cleaned the fish, poured the olive oil into the pan, and set another kitchen timer for 15 minutes. Mikey walked into the kitchen; Nat trailed closely behind him.
"Carm, you’re up early! Let me know if there’s anything I can help with,” Nat offered.
Mikey tousled her hair, “Woah Sugar. After last time, you can help by staying out of our fucking way.”
"Stop calling me that.”
Every relationship had its weak points: discussions better avoided, habits never confronted, people that shouldn't be mentioned. In Carmy's relationship, he was the weak point. The very first time he stood up Claire, it had been an accident. Claire had invited Carmy to her friend’s wedding as a plus-one. He had informed Sydney beforehand about leaving early that day and, not without complaint, Sydney had approved.
On the day of the wedding, Sydney collapsed mid-shift. Vasovagal Syncope—stress was the cause according to the doctors. His mind that day had been occupied with work and Sydney—questioning how he had overlooked her obvious signs of burnout for so long.
He explained the situation to Claire the next day and, with an understanding smile, she told him not to worry about it. She wished Sydney well and didn’t hold his absence against him.
As Carmy prepared the seafood sauce, Donna entered the kitchen. Donna looked from Carmy to his siblings, “We were supposed to all start together.”
"We just thought it would be easier for you if we started early. It was my idea,” Nat said, taking the blame.
Donna poured a glass of the white wine Carmy had set out for his seafood sauce. “You know I don’t need you all for this. I just think it’s a good way for us to bond.” She grabbed another kitchen timer from the drawer and set it for 10 minutes. “Carmy, baby, you need to use a timer for that sauce.” Carmy didn’t like using a timer for the seafood sauce, he preferred to judge it by texture and taste alone but he knew better than to complain.
The second time, it had been on purpose. Claire had invited Carmy to have dinner with her parents. Carmy didn't think much of it until Richie slapped him on the shoulder after hearing about it, “Cousin! This is it! This is the real deal. You’re locked in for life,” gleefully chanting it around the kitchen that morning.
Sydney and Carmy had grown to be on awkward terms over time, their relationship more professional than friendly. There were layers of tension between them, a combination of resentment and something more, things that were better left unspoken. Despite this Sydney had congratulated him, saying that she was ‘rooting for him.’
That night Carmy fell into a spiral of panic. Was this it? He wasn’t ready. He liked where their relationship was at—Claire was easy to talk to and there weren’t any real expectations—it was comfortable. The idea of Claire having plans for them, marriage, kids, while Carmy was still living in the past, horrified him. He wasn’t ready for that level of commitment. He wasn’t ready to move forward. He didn’t think he ever would be. Claire was supposed to be uncomplicated, detached from the rest of his life.
In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to go. He had no valid excuses so instead of owning up to his cowardice, he simply ignored her calls and left her waiting. That had been the start of the cracks in their relationship, a worthy follow-up to the day Carmy was trapped in the freezer.
The Kitchen timer for the fish rang first.
“Turn off the heat! The sauce will burn,” Donna said.
“I-It’s for the fish, ma.”
Then the timer for the dough rang.
"Turn it off,” Donna said.
“No. That’s for the dough. Th-the one for the sauce is here,” Carmy pointed to the spot above the stove.
“Carmy you're taking up too much space,” Mikey complained. “Nat can you help him.”
“No. Don’t let her touch anything!” Donna yelled. “I can’t do this. Carmy clean up your shit so the rest of us have space.” Donna grabbed the bottle of white wine and walked out of the kitchen.
There was a sort of passive aggressiveness between Carmy and Claire after he had stood her up. All his pathetic attempts at an apology had been met with empty forgiveness. Claire was desperate to pretend everything was okay, but Carmy could sense the bitterness in her voice when she spoke to him. Whenever he asked Claire what he should be doing differently, she only shook her head and insisted everything was fine. When he argued that everything was not fine, she told him he was making things more complicated than they needed to be, that he couldn’t deal with living in peace.
The timer for the seafood sauce rang while Donna was gone. She walked back inside to see the stove turned off.
“Oh no. Carmy-bear, why’d you turn it off?”
"The timer went off ma, the sauce is done.”
“Well, I didn’t hear it. Are you lying to me? You think you can do this better than me?”
“No, that’s not—“
“Put the sauce back on the stove,” Donna demanded. Carmy listened.
At some point, his anxiety took control of the relationship. Instead of looking forward to seeing his girlfriend, he dreaded it—it became a reminder that he would never be good enough for her. Carmy avoided social events, canceled dates, and overworked himself to hell so he wouldn’t have to confront Claire. It reached a level where everyone in his life noticed something was off. Tina, Richie, and Marcus had asked multiple times if everything was okay. Nat asked if he was still attending the Al-Anon meetings.
One night Sydney called to ask 'what was up.' She ranted on for ten minutes, telling Carmy he needed to learn to rely on the people around him. She mentioned that she had gone out of her way to talk to Claire, to see if she could help in any way.
Carmy told Sydney to stop being so obsessed with his personal life. She hung up immediately.
Donna watched the timer like a hawk. 10 minutes. 5 minutes. 3 minutes.
Then the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get that,” Nat offered.
Donna put up her hand, “No, I’ll get it.”
It only got worse when Claire tried to talk to him. Whenever she could, she would ask him what was wrong, constantly urging Carmy to open up about his feelings. In a sick way, it reminded Carmy of the way Nat would ask Donna if she was okay. Carmy felt undeserving of it all.
He told Claire that if she was so desperate to fix someone, she should take more shifts at the hospital. He told her that he wasn’t her patient.
Carmy watched the timer tick closer to zero, anxiously listening to the greetings and laughter of the guests outside. 1 minute. 30 seconds. 15 seconds.
After that conversation, a rift had grown between Carmy and Claire. They didn’t see much of each other, only in contact through text. Carmy knew the relationship was doomed. It had been doomed for some time yet, he wasn't ready to accept it. An official breakup would mean Carmy had failed. Carmy dreaded that final text, that confirmation that they were done. His stomach dropped every time he received a notification from Claire, which wasn’t often.
The rest of the crew eyed Carmy with a kind of pitiful worry. Sydney refused to speak to him unless it was business-related, rightfully so.
The timer rang.
He turned off the stove. He waited. He set the timer to 1 minute. It rang again.
Donna was still outside. He reset the timer. Once again, it rang.
He repeated this a third time. Donna walked in while he was resetting the timer.
After a month of no communication, the text eventually came. Claire had texted Carmy to confirm that they were no longer a thing, explaining that she might be interested in someone else. She wanted to make sure there were no lingering feelings between them.
Carmy sent a short text back, confirming that they were broken up, and wished her luck. He was on distant terms with everyone else he knew, and this was the sign he needed to believe he was destined to fuck up every positive relationship in his life.
“I swear it went off.”
“It’s true, I saw it go off,” said Mikey, trying to help. Nat nodded, agreeing.
“Oh, now you’re all ganging up on me? Carmy set that timer, I will watch you do it.”
“Ma, it’s already cooked, it’s-it's gonna burn.”
“Just do it,” Nat whispered.
It wasn’t the fate of the relationship that made him miserable. It was the acceptance of his solitude—the realization that he had returned to his empty life before the ‘The Bear,’ with none of that resilience he used to have.
Carmy turned on the stove and set the timer for 10 minutes. The Berzattos watched as the seafood sauce overcooked. A burning odor filled the kitchen.
And now he was losing the one thing he did have left: his cooking skills.
He needed another break, some time to clear his mind. As he walked towards the sofa, he heard a knock at the door. He initially assumed it was Nat; he couldn’t deal with her right now. The knocking persisted. Carmy ignored it. The knocking didn’t stop, it carried on for at least five minutes. Carmy eventually relented.
He opened the door, surprised to see Sydney—buried in her puffy teal jacket, tote bag slung over her shoulder, half her braids tied up and out of her eyes.
There was some part of him that wasn’t surprised. Nat knew when to give up. Sydney didn’t.