Part 8 (2/2)
WHEN IT WAS mixed together, the salsa was a celebration of red and white and green, cool and fresh and alive. On a tortilla, with a bit of crumbled white mixed together, the salsa was a celebration of red and white and green, cool and fresh and alive. On a tortilla, with a bit of crumbled white queso fresco, queso fresco, it was both satisfying and invigorating, full of textures and adventures, like childhood held in your hand. it was both satisfying and invigorating, full of textures and adventures, like childhood held in your hand.
Chloe held her tortilla over a small plate, watching the drips from the tomato juice and b.u.t.ter land on the white china. The cla.s.s was quiet, absorbed in the food in their hands. Abuelita and Lillian stood at the counter, leaning into each other, talking quietly, while Antonia removed the last of the tortillas from the griddle and placed them on the stack underneath a white kitchen towel to stay warm.
It was like a picture, Chloe thought. A recipe without words. She stood still, sensing the kitchen around her, feeling the energy the room held, would hold until the next afternoon when the cooks and bussers and patrons arrived and it would again become something more than the acc.u.mulation of its bustle and ingredients, and the food they cooked would become laughter and romance, warm and bright and golden. She smiled.
Lillian walked over and pulled one last tomato from the bag and handed it to Chloe. ”I think you earned this,” she said.
CLa.s.s WAS OVER. Abuelita had gone home, claiming with a laugh that she was too old for late hours. The others had left one or a few at a time, Claire begging some tortillas to take home to her children, Ian dragging Tom outside saying he wanted to ask him a question, Helen and Carl offering Isabelle a ride.
It was quiet in the kitchen, the only sounds the rattling of the bowls as Chloe put them away, the swish of the towel as Lillian cleaned the last of the counters. The door clicked shut behind Antonia as she carried the last of the wooden folding chairs to the storage shed just outside.
”Can I ask you something?” Chloe met Antonia at the door as she reentered.
”Certo.” Of course. Of course.
”You are so beautiful,” Chloe stumbled. ”I'm not...”
”Ahhh...” Antonia smiled and turned to Lillian. ”Can we borrow your restroom for a moment?” Lillian nodded, and Antonia grabbed a clean kitchen towel and took Chloe by the hand, leading her through the restaurant dining room and into the tiny green women's restroom. Standing in front of the mirror, Antonia took the clip that had been holding the waves of her black hair, and then deftly pulled Chloe's brown curls away from her face.
”Good,” said Antonia, as she secured the clip in Chloe's hair. ”Now, water.”
”What?”
”Your face, please.” She turned on the hot water.
Chloe filled her cupped hands with warm water and brought it up to her face. She could feel the heat meeting her skin, the smell, slightly metallic, green as the room around her. It was quiet in the s.p.a.ce created between her hands and face, clean, safe.
”Now soap.”
Chloe rubbed the soap bar between her hands, the scent of rosemary tickling her nose, then she scrubbed, rinsed, and wiped her face on the towel Antonia handed her, appalled when she saw the thick black streaks across the white.
”Ancora.” Again. Antonia smiled. Again. Antonia smiled.
”She's going to kill me for that towel.”
”Use more soap this time. And no, she won't.”
Finally, Antonia relented and Chloe looked up into the mirror. Her face gazed back at her, open, her eyes huge and blue, her hair barely restrained.
”Essential ingredients,” Antonia observed, ”only the best.”
”But you you are beautiful,” Chloe insisted. are beautiful,” Chloe insisted.
Antonia laughed softly. ”I used to say that to my mother all the time. She would be standing in the kitchen or digging in the garden, and I would think she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. I was not a pretty teenager. And do you know what she would say to me?”
Chloe shook her head.
”She would say, 'Life is beautiful. Some people just remind you of that more than others.' ” is beautiful. Some people just remind you of that more than others.' ”
WHEN A ANTONIA AND C CHLOE got back to the kitchen, they saw Lillian had pulled a tray of chocolate eclairs out of the walk-in refrigerator. got back to the kitchen, they saw Lillian had pulled a tray of chocolate eclairs out of the walk-in refrigerator.
”Stacy's specialty. There are a few left over from Sunday. Care to join me?”
”Really?” Antonia and Chloe eagerly settled in around the counter. Chloe picked up one of the eclairs and set it on a white plate that Antonia handed to her. She ran a finger along the top and felt the thick, heavy chocolate as it melted from her finger in her mouth.
”Uhmmmm. Tell Stacy these are wonderful.”
”I like the filling best,” Antonia remarked, delicately breaking the eclair in half and dipping the tip of one finger into the cream in the center. ”My mother always scolded me for eating the inside of my pastries first.”
Antonia's cell phone buzzed, and Antonia looked at the screen.
”How is it you say? Speak of the angel?” She saw their puzzled faces. ”My mother,” she explained. ”Excuse me for a moment.”
She opened her phone as she walked into the dining room. Chloe heard her voice as the door closed. ”p.r.o.nto?... Si, ciao. s...o...b..ne, e tu?” ”p.r.o.nto?... Si, ciao. s...o...b..ne, e tu?”
Chloe watched the swinging door for a moment after it had closed. She could still hear Antonia's voice, chattering delightedly.
”My mother and I would never talk like that,” Chloe said, her voice like coffee left too long in a pot. She looked over at Lillian. ”What about you?”
”We did for a while. She died when I was seventeen.”
Chloe's face flushed red. ”I'm sorry.” Then, because she was young and incapable of not asking, ”What did you do?”
”I cooked.” The motion of Lillian's hands encompa.s.sed the kitchen and the dining room beyond. ”And I was lucky-I had Abuelita in my life.” She put her hand on Chloe's shoulder for a moment, then picked up the tray and carried it into the walk-in as Antonia came back through the swinging door, laughing.
”My mother, she likes to call me at this time,” she said to Chloe. ”She says it is the only thing that is good about my living so far away-she can wish me good morning and good night at the same time. Morning for her, night for me. And always, she wants to know when I am coming home to marry Angelo.”
”Wait,” Chloe interjected. ”Who is Angelo?” Lillian, exiting the walk-in, raised one eyebrow.
”Oh, he is fine. A nice man. But he does not want to marry me and I do not want to marry him.”
Lillian and Chloe looked at each other.
”I know who you want.” Chloe's voice was mischievous. ”But will he ever get up the nerve to do anything?” Antonia blushed.
”Now, Chloe.” Lillian's admonishment was diluted by a smile she couldn't quite control. ”We all know some bread just takes more time to rise.”
Chloe laughed. ”Yeah, well, I think it might be time to punch the dough, then.”
CHLOE ARRIVED HOME at almost midnight that night. Jake was waiting in the kitchen. at almost midnight that night. Jake was waiting in the kitchen.
”I thought you worked Monday nights?” Chloe asked.
”Not this late.” He looked at her closely. ”You look different. Where were you?”
”With friends.” She read his expression. ”I'm taking a cla.s.s, okay?”
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