Chapter Text
The day had already been so fucking long and awful, by the time they closed the kitchen.
The Ever funeral had been something of a turning point for Carmy –although Sydney still wasn’t sure why. She had refused to slow down long enough to hear why he was suddenly looking calmer and more present. The kitchen was stabilizing, and he seemed to have reached a tentative truce with Richie. He was reaching out more, consulting about the menu, offering ideas to bounce off one another, checking in with her over every single decision it seemed, and it was pissing Sydney off. Why? She had no idea, no clue at all, and she didn’t want to talk to him –or anyone– about it, frankly.
Carmy had come by that night just after everyone else had left her apartment, tipsy and giggly. She had still been trembling, still coming off her panic attack, and hearing his voice was the last fucking thing she could handle. She had come so close to opening the door, thinking someone had forgotten something – but then he spoke. And Sydney had frozen, because she couldn’t predict anything about him anymore, and she was barely holding herself together as it was. It was not the time to face him, because Carmy would know that something was wrong because he always did, and Sydney would tell him the truth.
So, instead, she had held herself as still as possible until he finally gave up and went away. Which had taken forever, he was literally the most stubborn man –no, person– that she had ever met. The next day she had lied when he asked and told Carmy that she hadn’t heard him banging on the door and calling her name.
He didn’t believe her, Sydney knew.
But he didn’t call her on it, still intent on discussing the review.
The review that was not enough of a condemnation of Carmy’s direction in Sydney’s mind; it was a review that showed her what she had known all along: he could do this without her. Sydney had thrown her phone against the wall when she read it, so viciously that a deep crack was now embedded in the screen.
Sydney did not want to hear anymore apologies or promises that this time would be better or different. She thought she might crumble if he got close to her in his quiet, intense way, and told her that he valued her contribution to The Bear. That he appreciated her work ethic, or whatever the fuck. She had been both right and wrong about him in all the ways that had kept her up at night, nervous and anxious.
And yet, despite all of that, Sydney had not left The Bear for Shapiro yet. Yet. She would, probably. She should, definitely.
She could barely look at Carmy, so awash in her creeping guilt and indecision over the secrecy and the choice she could not bring herself to make. It was frustrating how much she was struggling – it should be fucking easy to shove on some sunglasses, throw up a couple of peace signs, and saunter out of the fucking building with nothing more than a ‘see ya never, losers.’ It was stupid how attached she had become to all of them. Sydney hadn’t even known them a year.
And she had been honest with her dad; she didn’t have another one in her.
Her avoidance was driving Carmy insane, that was obvious to her and probably everyone else – that she was avoiding his eyes as much as possible. It was ridiculous and immature, but she didn’t know how to look at him and breathe at the same time anymore. Even the way they spoke to one another –directly or indirectly– was awkward, tense, petty bitchiness threaded through every word.
By the time Sydney found an excuse to avoid the post-service cleanup and hide in the office, she was ready to collapse.
She rubbed her chest and blinked her eyes so hard it hurt, over and over. She wanted to hide under the desk, like that would be the thing to protect her from this bomb. Sydney felt frozen, tipping off the edge of a cliff, and Carmy…
“What the fuck is this?” Carmy snarled from behind her, slamming into the office and tossing his phone on the desk.
Sydney’s heart sank as she registered the message in front of her.
"Hey Carman," the email read, somehow misspelling Carmy’s name, "It’s Adam. I’m sure Syd’s told you about the CDC position I’ve offered her at my new place. I just want you to know that it isn’t personal – she’s so fucking talented, you know? She’s going places, and I want to help her get there. I couldn’t let that kind of talent go without a fight. I hope you understand that it’s the best thing for her – hopefully no hard feelings?"
Her head, her heart, her whole body hurt with this – she felt so choked with emotions that she had no hope of parsing through what she actually wanted. She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore. Empty, perhaps, frozen solid in place, unable to process anything, unable to do anything but stare at the fork in the road in front of her. She couldn’t stay like this, but imagining a life without him seemed impossible. Unacceptable. Panic inducing.
She sighed, rubbing hard circles over her temples. “Carmy–”
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded again, his voice already slipping into something wild and uncontrolled. “Fucking look at me Sydney – you’re leaving? Just like that?”
“Maybe,” she said quietly, scrubbing at her eyes rather than face him. “I haven’t decided.”
“Were you ever going to fucking tell me?” She could not look up. There was a tremor in his voice, and she did not know what would happen to her if she saw the anger and hurt in his eyes. She had never been particularly good at resisting him anyway; not like this. It would have been so much easier if he were still the stiff, sleepless, and robotic lump that had haunted the restaurant since opening, instead of this careful, hesitant, hurt version of him.
“I haven’t decided anything, Carmy,” she insisted, starting to find her rhythm. “Can we talk about this later; there’s still a kitchen full of–”
“I don’t give a shit,” he seethed, “Look at me.”
She ignored him, she did not want him to see whatever was playing out across her face. “I’m not doing this right now, Carmy–”
“Yes, you are–”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m fucking not,” Sydney snapped, almost grateful for the warmth her anger provided, bringing feeling back into her fingers. “Not everything is about you–”
“This is about us–”
“No, this is about you. Everything is always fucking about you. All of this,” her voice cracked slightly and finally, she looked up. “This is such a fucking shitshow–”
“This is what you wanted–”
“No, it isn’t!” she said, feeling almost hysterical. “How is this what I wanted? How the fuck can you think that I – look, never mind, this is about you and your break-up and probably other shit you won’t talk about with anyone–”
“What are you talking about, Syd,” Carmy said, bewildered, and she needed to ban him from using her nickname. She hated what it did to her. “Claire has nothing to do with this–”
Sydney threw her head back and laughed, long and bitter. “Claire has everything to do with this,” she said dully, feeling tired and sapped of energy, again. “All of this is about her. I can’t even remember why I let you do this for so long–” A lie, she knew quite well, “–twisting the fact that I want a star, so I’ll let you treat everyone like shit. Treating me like I’m… like I’m–”
“Syd–”
“Stop calling me that!” She tried pushing past him, cognizant of the number of people close to the other side of the door. He held firm against her, his hands so warm it felt like they would brand her skin. “You’ve fucking lost ‘Syd’ privileges.”
Carmy blocked her way. “What are you doi– Syd?”
“Chef,” she reminded him. “I am your employee–”
“What?”
“–and you are my employer.” She thought she might be losing her mind, possibly since the day she met this stupid, stupid man. “That is our relationship. That –clearly– has always and only ever been this fucking relationship. And that’s on me for not seeing that. You control all of this–”
“Me?” Carmy barked, disbelieving, and Sydney had to look away again. It made her so angry, how devastated he looked, how surprised. She was unbelievably arrogant; to ever think they were on the same page as one another. Why did it take her this long to understand her diminished role in his life? She had flirted with the idea of being important to him, but it was laughably clear to her how foolish she had been. This was humiliating – and she was so, so sick of feeling humiliated. Sheridan Road had brought her so low, and now Sydney thought that she would rather face that feeling again and again for the rest of her life then spend another minute in this room with him.
“Yeah, you,” she sneered, getting close in his face. “Move. I’m not you, I don’t love throwing tantrums in front of other people. Our – sorry, your employees are basically five feet away from us, we are not doing this–”
“Let’s go somewhere else, then,” Carmy said, shifting his body closer so she couldn’t leave, his hands tight on her wrists. “We have to talk about this, Syd–”
“Chef.”
“Fine!” Carmy shouted, throwing his hands about and finally releasing her. “Sydney, fuck, fine. Y–you couldn’t j–just leave, okay? We have to–you have to let me fix this. W–why didn’t you tell me you felt this way? That I was fucking up this bad? Why didn’t you tell me about Sh–Shapiro?”
“It’s not even your business yet,” she defended weakly, crossing her arms tightly against herself like it would protect her from this. “I haven’t decided–”
“So, then we talk about how I can convince you to stay,” Carmy continued doggedly, ignoring her renewed attempts to try to edge closer to the door. “We can’t avoid this; you can’t avoid this any longer–”
“Stop telling me what to do!” she yelled, flinching at how quiet the kitchen had suddenly gone. Cleaning an industrial kitchen was a noisy chore, and right now she couldn’t hear any of it. “You decided to lose your mind for the last few fucking months, you don’t get to choose that suddenly now that you’re paying attention you can fucking dismiss me again–”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Sydney sniffed, pushing him aside so she could grab the doorknob. “I have to clean your kitchen so I can leave your restaurant that I built alone only for you to fucking undo everything overnight because clearly, I’m most fucking useful when shit can be dumped on me. You barely kept anything else. Otherwise,” she had to take in a deep, shuddering breath so she didn’t cry. None of this was ever supposed to come out. “Why would you trust me? Not like I have any good experience. My only business fucking failed.”
“Sydney,” he said pleadingly.
“I’m tired,” she said dismissively. “I’m cleaning, then I’m going home.”
“Please stay.”
“Chef–”
“Please let me fix this.”
“Chef,” Sydney said sternly, wrenching open the door by an inch. “I will let you know what I decide. Do not tell anyone else about this.”
“Sydney, please.”
“Good night, Chef,” she said bitterly, pushing past him.
Carmy didn’t come out of the office while Sydney was still there, something she was grateful for. The last thing she needed was to deal with Richie and Tina asking her a thousand questions, and Carmy’s poker face was nonexistent. As angry as she was at Carmy, as much as she (secretly) wanted to stay at The Bear, as much as she (secretly) wanted Mr. Blue Eyes to fix everything – she didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know if she wanted to help him fix it, maybe she wanted him to do it alone.
It mattered very little – Sydney didn’t know how they move forward. It was the main reason she had kept Shapiro’s offer to herself; she knew Carmy would ask her what he needed to do in order for her to stay. That it might be impossible to fix –that they couldn’t be fixed– was terrifying, and Sydney wasn’t ready to face that reality. When she was hiding Shapiro’s offer, Sydney could pretend that she could pull back. That there were still good reasons for her to stay at The Bear. With him.
But, as she left the building, she wasn’t so sure.
At some point, she had to protect herself, and she had done a shit job so far.
Her phone rang as Sydney slowly, slowly walked through the parking lot; of fucking course it was Shapiro.
“Hey, Syd!” he greeted brightly, as if he hadn’t just blown up her whole, entire life. Sydney wasn’t stupid, she knew Adam had some weird issue with Carmy that she couldn’t figure out. She knew that he had emailed Carmy on purpose. She knew there was a high likelihood that none of this was even about her – it was some weird boy thing of winning and losing, and she had let herself get trapped in the middle.
Though she was still too proud to admit it.
“Adam,” she said, her tone clipped with frustration. “What’s up?”
If he sensed the edge (fury, hurt, devastation, fear, loneliness, longing…) in her voice, he didn’t say anything.
“You done with The Bear?” he asked smugly, a terrible attempt at playing innocent.
“For the day, anyway,” she said firmly. “I’m just leaving now.”
Adam breathed out sharply. “Cool,” he said, “Busy day?”
“Yep.”
“How was it?”
“Fine, good, the kitchen’s finding its rhythm.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Carmy?” Adam asked nonchalantly.
“Great,” she said, shrugging even though he wasn’t there to see it.
“Great.”
“Uh-huh.”
There was an awkward pause. “Are you free then?” he asked. “I’m meeting our biggest financial backer for drinks, and it’s about time I introduced you guys. Good for your future,” he said, meaningfully, like he was her fucking guidance counselor.
Sydney wanted to say no.
She wanted to go home and sit in the shower until the whole city had run out of hot water.
She wanted to reread the review on her fridge.
Sydney wanted to stare at a picture of her mom and try to find her way forward in the lines of a face she didn’t get enough time to memorize.
“Sure,” she said instead, feeling a pulse of anger rocket through her. “Where?”
“The Franklin Room. It’s on–”
“I know where it is,” Sydney said wearily, “It’s pretty close to The Bear.”
“Great, see you soon?”
“Fine, I’ll head over.”
“This is good, Sydney. This is important.”
“Yup,” she said, aching. “I know.”
Sydney hung up and immediately veered off to the dumpsters so she could throw up. She was shaking and feeling weak by the time she was on her feet again. It would have been the perfect time for Carmy to come find her and convince her to come back. Sydney might have listened. But he didn’t, so she had no excuse, and she should at least stop at home and change before she met Adam. Probably shower. Brush her teeth at least.
Instead, she took a quick swig from her water bottle to rinse her mouth out and dug into her bag for a piece of gum. Sydney was tired and sweaty and disheveled, and all these fucking men could fucking deal.
Shapiro was smoking outside when she reached the restaurant.
“Syd!” he said warmly, reaching out to clasp her in a hug for some reason. “Good timing, he just arrived. Shall we?”
Shapiro offered Sydney his arm like it was an episode of fucking Bridgerton, without waiting for her to say a thing. She promptly ignored his arm.
They made their way past the hostess and the fake, fading smile plastered on her face. The table was way off into the corner, and Sydney was starting to feel irritated at the mystery of it all. Shapiro had never even mentioned this guy’s name, had waved off any questions that she had asked. His restaurant didn’t even have a name yet, for fuck’s sake. This was practical, this was money – it shouldn’t be a secret. Sydney was pretty sure she was making a good point, but she might just be clinging to any criticism she could find. Stupid. She was too tired for this.
They turned the corner and–
“Sydney Adamu!” Shapiro said brightly, gesturing to their table and the tall man sitting at it. “This is David Fields, the–”
“Adam, please,” said The Devil Himself, as Sydney numbly slid into the chair she was directed towards. “No need for that,” he told her with a friendly practised smile, reaching out a hand. “We’re all friends here.”
“Are we?” Sydney said without meaning to, ignoring his proffered hand. She was not fucking shaking that hand. “We just met,” she rushed to add when the two men gave her an odd look, shrugging one shoulder.
“We will be, soon, then,” said Satan’s Little Bitch, taking Sydney’s hand and kissing the back of it instead of acknowledging her refusal.
“Right,” she said dumbly, pulling her hand back and wiping it on her leg before she could stop herself, because ew. “I saw you at the Ever funeral–”
“So sorry we didn’t get a chance to speak,” the Antichrist said ruefully. “I meant to introduce myself; Adam keeps telling me how brilliant you are, but your, ah… current boss was causing too much of a scene. I’m sure you saw the way he scurried after me.” He was laughing as he said it, tipping his head back to sip at his wine like an asshole.
He’s not my boss, was what Sydney almost said, regardless of what she had snapped at Carmy earlier. And I think you deserve to die.
Remember all those feelings of emptiness? Sydney couldn’t – the thick crust of the indifference she had paved over her heart the last couple of weeks had been burned to cinders in just seconds. She didn’t know if it was the way the Prince of Darkness had touched her, or if it was the way he had bitten his lip when he had mentioned Carmy – like he was trying to stay in character. Like he was amused at the thought of Carmy being in distress.
“Yeah, the way he quietly left dinner so he could talk to you in private was incredibly fucking disruptive,” Sydney said acidly.
Beelzebub’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, Shapiro choked on his drink.
“Um, Syd–”
“That’s okay, Adam,” The Father of Lies interrupted, his façade cracking. “I’m sure Syd–”
“Sydney.”
His eyes flared, cold and vicious, and Sydney wanted to find Carmy immediately and hug him. This was nothing, she was being a little rude, but she could already tell what kind of man he would be behind closed doors.
“Very well, Sydney,” Satan said shittily with his shitty hair plugs. “I understand that Carmy has probably given you a very different image of me, he’s a very troubled young man–”
Sydney had stayed in some bad situations in her life, but this wouldn’t be one of them.
She was starting to run out of names for the devil, anyway.
“Carmy’s said basically fucking nothing about you,” she snapped. “He didn’t fucking have to.”
“Syd,” Shapiro said nervously.
“Shapiro,” she acknowledged, pushing herself to her feet. “I don’t know why –for a single fucking second– you thought that I would work with this shitty, mediocre dude with his very shitty hair plugs and cartoonish hipster glasses because he can’t accept that he’s fucking sixty–”
“Sydney–”
“Goodbye, boys,” she called over her shoulder. “Good luck with the restaurant.”
She made it out onto the street before Shapiro caught up to her, spluttering, his eyes bulging.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he shouted. “Are you out of your mind–”
“Oh, fuck you, Shapiro,” Sydney sneered. “That’s why it took you this long to tell me that Lucifer was backing your new place, right?”
“Lucif–what?”
“Fields.”
Shapiro stared at her, his fingers digging into his hair. “Look–”
“Right?”
Shapiro rolled his eyes. “You’re a nice person, Syd,” he said placatingly. “And I know that David and Carmy didn’t get along–”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“So,” he said loudly, over her, “I thought a slow introduction would be better–”
“Well, then you wasted both of our fucking times,” Sydney told him, turning back to the sidewalk.
Shapiro, still following her, started laughing. “Are you serious? You’re walking away because David hurt little Carmy’s little feelings?”
“We both know it’s more than that,” she said icily, checking to see if there was an uber car nearby. “I’m not working with a man like that–”
“He wouldn’t even be in the kitchen–”
“Yeah, but he could be. If he wanted to. And I’d be working for him, like, either way. I’m not lying–Carmy mentioned Fields for the first time at the Ever funeral, and I will not lock myself in a contract with that psychopath.”
“Sydney–”
Sydney stopped suddenly and whipped around, sending Shapiro crashing into her. She ignored it, him.
“That’s why he was at the Ever funeral,” she guessed shrewdly. “I couldn’t fucking understand why someone like Andrea would want to be around him–”
“Fine, yes,” Shapiro panted, “But Sydney, this is a fantastic opportunity. I mean that. I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of, that you have everything you want.”
Sydney stared at him incredulously and ordered an uber, typing in an address different from her own. “No, you won’t. I don’t want you to, anyway. ‘Take care of me,’ I mean. That’s on me. What I want is – whatever, Adam, you can genuinely fuck off.”
The car was less than a minute away, perfect.
“Sydney, The Bear is–”
“It could be better,” Sydney interrupted. “And it will be. But I will literally never, ever work with people who purposely tried to hurt him.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Fuck you.”
Shapiro started laughing again. “You know, I mostly wanted you so I could fuck with Carmy, fuck with his restaurant,” he said, confirming a fear that Sydney had held close all along. “He thinks he’s so much better than me–”
“I mean, he is.”
“And I tried to hurt Carmy, and you were considering working for me–”
Sydney laughed loudly enough that she upset some pigeons. “You have never been― good enough or important enough to hurt Carmy,” she sneered. “And–”
“Sure, Syd. Whatever you say. I do think you’re good,” he said patronisingly, “But–”
“I do not fucking care, Shapiro,” Sydney snapped as her uber driver pulled up beside them. “Goodbye.”
“You’ll regret this–”
“Goodbye!”
Sydney stood across the street from Carmy’s apartment, chewing on her lip. It was a stupid fucking decision to come here. She didn’t know what she had been thinking – what, like she would march up hundreds of stairs and bang on Carmy’s door close to midnight and tell him that she had told Shapiro no? That she had yelled at Fields, and Carmy was right, holy shit, that guy was fucking evil? That she had told the both of them to go fuck themselves? That it had never mattered anyway, because both men were only interested in her because by working with them, Sydney would have irrevocably hurt Carmy?
No. She had realized how fucking embarrassing that would be the second she had gotten out of the car.
She had chosen her path; she had chosen Carmy.
The Bear.
He did not deserve anything else from her, frankly.
She needs to go home, Sydney told herself, flexing cold fingers and holding her aching stomach, still staring up to where she thought his apartment was.
Somehow, this hurt more. She felt like she didn’t exist, like she was fading in the fucking pavement she was standing on. It was wholly fucking embarrassing, and she didn’t want anyone to see her as poor little, incredibly green, incredibly impatient Sydney who momentarily believed Shapiro’s offer to be genuine, and not a tool to hurt Carmy with. Fuck, was that what he wanted to talk to her about? To warn her? She was so fucking stupid.
No, Carmy couldn’t know any of it. Ever.
Sydney reopened the uber app.
The next few days were awkward. She and Carmy danced around one another, jumpy and nervous. She knew without looking what Carmy’s face looked like, all tentative and repentant, with an edge of panic creeping in. He kept fleeing out to the back and Sydney knew that meant a panic attack. She wanted to help. She couldn’t bring herself to. They were overly polite to one another instead, no fighting or bickering or even passive aggression, service went well, but she could tell they were freaking everyone else out.
“Yo, what’s with you two?” Marcus asked, wide-eyed.
“What did he do?” Natalie asked with a sigh.
“Sounded bad last night, mama,” Tina told her quietly. “What happened?”
“Can you two figure this shit out?” Richie groused, even though he had been trying to rip Carmy’s head off for the last two months. “This isn’t good for the ecosystem. How many fuckin’ times do I have to fuckin’ remind you two how fuckin’ delicate this ecosystem is?”
“Did you see Claire?” Neil asked Carmy excitedly at family, the surrounding Faks waiting eagerly for an answer. Sydney broke the pencil she was holding.
“Do not make me fight in another civil war,” Ebra advised her. “It is not worth the bloodshed.”
Every night, after everyone filed out of the restaurant, Carmy’s pretence would fall away.
“Well?” he would ask her tightly. “Decided yet?”
“No,” Sydney would lie, just as tense.
Carmy would sigh and pull at his lower lip. “Can we fucking talk yet?”
“I’m good,” Sydney would say, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“I’m not.”
“Cool. I fucking am.”
Carmy would flinch away, every night, slamming a spoon against his open palm and go to lock himself in the office until Sydney left.
She thought she was sleeping even less than Carmy and wondered how the fuck he stayed on his feet day after day. This was nuts, she was going to fucking disintegrate. Everything about her very being was wearing thin, and it was getting more and more dangerous to be around him.
She missed him. She still wanted to hug him and offer to kill Satan’s Asshole for him. Sydney wanted Carmy to hug her and tell her things would be different and equal this time between them, and she wanted to be able to trust the promise to be true.
On the fourth day, Richie –as usual– was the one the blow everything up.
Carmy, Natalie, and Sydney were in the office, discussing numbers. Natalie was beginning to look like she wanted to kill the both of them, or at least the rigidly polite versions of them. Carmy was red and stammering, while Sydney was terse and defensive. Natalie was threatening them with timeouts when Richie stomped in, and boy, was Sydney fucking wrong to feel relieved and eager for a distraction.
“So, Syd,” Richie said, exaggerating the consonants aggressively. “I heard something very fucking interesting last night. From a little birdy.”
“Jess?” Sydney guessed.
Richie turned a little red. “What? No? Why would you even – no.”
Natalie took the bait. “Who then?” she asked with a smirk.
“Guys,” Carmy sighed. “Can we get–”
“Sydney!” Richie interrupted, loud and forceful. “Was offered a CDC position at Shapiro’s new place.”
“What?” Natalie yelped. “When?”
“More than a fuckin’ month ago,” Richie said angrily.
“Sydney!” Natalie said admonishingly, and Sydney suddenly felt nostalgic for the days where she could look to Carmy for help.
“It was an offer, Richie,” she gritted out. “So what?”
“I dunno, Syd,” Richie snapped. “Did you give him a fuckin’ answer?”
“Richie, would you fuc–”
“Did you give him a fucking answer?”
“Yes!” she shouted, staring at her notebook, her face flushing hot.
“And?”
“Sweetie, what did you say?”
“Well, I’m standing in this restaurant,” Sydney said slowly, through gritted teeth. “So.”
“You told him no?” Carmy asked, the motherfucker, his surprise preventing her from getting out of trouble. “When?”
“At some point,” Sydney said, trying to sound breezy. “Can we move the fuck on?”
“Uh, no.”
“You fuckin’ wish.”
“Syd.”
“Chefs!” Sydney threw her notebook on the desk and clapped her hands, loud. “We have so much to do, can we focus for, like, fucking once.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“What’s going on? How long ago did this happen? When did you decline the offer? Was it us? Syd, sweetie, please–”
“Listen, kid–”
“Everyone shut the fuck up, maybe!” Sydney told them harshly, her lungs cramped and aching. “This isn’t any of your fucking business, actually. I work here, not there, that’s all that’s, like, happened.”
She stormed away, hearing Natalie and Richie’s protests follow her into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Carmy’s whole ass body followed her, not just his voice.
“Are we good, then?” Carmy asked, unsure. “I–If you’re staying. Are we good?”
Sure.
Yes, Chef.
Of course, Carmy, of course we’re good, nothing else to talk about.
I’m good, you’re good, we’re good.
Whatever, Carmy.
“No, Chef,” is what she said instead. “We are not.”