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Summary
In the middle of his nightly hurl, a fractured laugh escapes him, one that had been stuck bubbling beneath the confines of his skin for hours.
And he’s absolutely, one hundred percent, extraordinarily fucking pissed.
At his boss, for making the last two nights a living hell for him when he was already at his lowest. At his mother, for being deemed unfit to even try to petition for custody of her own grandchild.
At his brother, for deciding to fuck off and die, and using his last days to pass down that stupid fucking restaurant and his daughter to Carmy at what should be the height of his culinary career.
On a calendar full of months that are already terrible on their own, February lends itself to be the worst of the worst.
or: carmy and the woes of grief, parenting, and running a restaurant, all in one package.