Eleven | Ollie

It was the increase in volume of the kitchen timer that awoke me from a lazy afternoon nap. The Google Home device lit up with circling rainbow dots while it only continued to chime louder. I groggily rubbed at my tired eyes, as if it would release the exhaustion I'd been dealing with for the last two years.

"Okay, Google," I said to an empty room. "Stop my timer."

But it didn't stop. The damn thing never worked, even though I relied on it to keep my entire life organized. Without it, maintaining a life of a professor and a chef would be impossible. So even though I hated technology and preferred most of my life left to the old-fashioned way of doing things—the way every farm kid is raised—I needed this damn thing.

"Okay, Google!" I repeated, with a tone hinting I was ready to throw it out the window to a busy Chicago roadway. This time, it paused. "Stop my timer."

The colors circled one last time before the room went silent.

I didn't want to remove myself from the couch. It was too comfortable. The room was nice and dark, even though it was early afternoon. Storm clouds and booming thunder that rattled the old windows had sent me right off to a sleep I desperately needed. To dreams of splintered barn beams, a tire swing, and lofts of bailed hay. I could practically smell the pig shit, even though the farm was over a hundred miles away. This one wasn't a nightmare; I was a kid again. The timer woke me before that changed. And even though it was a dream, manure plagued my senses instead of my finished casserole.

"Get up, Oliver." I slid from the couch until my knees hit wooden floors and cursed my aging bones. "You have shit to do." I used the coffee table and the couch cushions for the support to bring me to my feet. The walk to the kitchen was more of a hobble. Chef life meant a stiff back most days.

Prior to falling asleep, I had prepared a spot for myself on the stainless island of the kitchen; complete with a fork, plate, and empty glass. Every meal was eaten from this spot. The room didn't need the dining table or chairs sitting beside it. I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't want to use it again. It was Shelby's, but there wasn't a chance in hell she was coming back. She had moved on before I could even grasp she was gone.

Being a chef, there was nothing lonelier than preparing a meal for one. I never was the type to reheat leftovers or repeat the same recipe two nights in a row. The bubbling lasagna pulled from the oven was made in the smallest casserole dish I owned, and I still would be throwing the leftovers in the trash. And even though no one was here to see it, I took my time to plate the food on a stark white platter—to make it look more like art than something to be devoured in a few bites. The dish was topped with freshly grated parmesan and some parsley from the herb garden which sat on the kitchen's window sill.

Meals were the loneliest times of the day. It was a reminder I chose this life. I wanted to go to school—to be the best. I worked my ass off, night and day for years, to accomplish it. Shelby only wanted me. I couldn't give her the attention she needed when that attention was already focused elsewhere. Now I sat alone, an accomplished chef, without the girl I'd done all this for. I came to terms with the fact I deserved it, but it didn't make seeing Shelby hurt less. I just wished I could find the power to move on after she did so easily.

Life was a bitch like that.

I shoved a forkful of lasagna into my mouth, extending my opposite arm to bring a stack of unchecked schoolwork forward. The taste of gooey cheeses, homemade noodles with spinach and chicken, was exquisite compared to the filmy taste of tobacco from my last cigarette. I had about fifteen minutes before I was due in the restaurant and had thirty assignments left to grade. I red-penned the stack as I finished lunch.

As I made it through my first period's assignments, I stopped when I came to Sloan Smith's. My fork dropped to the plate, and I leaned into the back of the stool. It was her first zero for not completing the lab. She had not received a mark less than a hundred percent until this, and now I was writing a zero beside her name. It made my chest tight as I wrote it, unsure if I was more disappointed in her or myself.

Sloan was not the first to give up on my class. In fact, I had broken quite a few students over the years. Knife skills wasn't my first subject choice to teach, but after a few students had meltdowns in the kitchen, the institute thought bookwork was more suited for my teaching style. I taught the way I was taught. When I was young, my dad made it fun. As I grew older, he taught me the importance of running a strict kitchen. There were days my father was worse in attitude than I was, but it made him a diligent chef. Some days I hated it. Now I was thankful to have someone like him lead the way for me.

But Sloan cracking was probably the last student I thought would break. The whole situation kept replaying in my head, and I couldn't figure out why it was bothering me this much. She quit over a green pepper. Her knife was too dull. I could see the way the blade had rocked the opposite direction from its wooden handle. It was only a matter of time before it came completely loose. It was an injury waiting to happen. And in a knife skills and safety course for fuck's sake. Was I supposed to ignore it? Of all the times I was a jerk, she walked out the one time I was being helpful.

I said it too harsh.

It was the way she snapped I wasn't prepared for. It was like she wanted me to challenge her; so she could walk out and not come back. If she had really been trying to use me and our night together to improve her grades, this would have never happened. She had the highest grade in the class, and it wasn't because she was a good fuck—an amazing fuck, I reminded myself, knowing it was beside the point.

Something with Sloan didn't add up. She remained a mystery. From the first time I met the disaster of a woman in the supermarket, to finding her again at the bar and laughing to where we couldn't breathe; some of the hottest sex I'd ever had to her shyness the next day. And then she ends up being my student and is the first one this year to flake out on me? The girl was all over the place. She had too many personalities. Maybe she really was crazy. Wouldn't be the first time I brought one of those home.

It didn't even matter now. She couldn't hack it, and she was gone. Likely never to be seen again. The first dropout of the year. So why did it bother me so much to write a red zero beside her name when it never bothered me before when other students did the same?

My phone vibrating on the counter cut off that trail of thought. I pushed the papers away, stood, and took the empty plate and fork to the sink before retrieving the phone. It was silenced because of the very person whose name flashed across the screen.

"Mikah," I looked to the microwave for the time, "I have five minutes before I need to be in that kitchen. What couldn't wait until then?"

"You have a visitor."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?" I asked. "It best be the goddamn pope to get me down there early. I have papers to grade. And if it is the pope, I'm still not sure he's worth it."

"Definitely more important than the pope. Get down here."

It was Mikah who ended the call first. That was fine, because I was now sprinting for the pair of sneakers beside the door. We weren't due for a health department inspection, but that didn't mean they wouldn't show up whenever they pleased. I ran a tight and clean kitchen; however, my nerves were already telling me everything that could go wrong. They always managed to find something.

Leaving the door ajar, I took the iron staircase two steps at a time until reaching the main floor. The bar was already buzzing with the noon crowd when I opened the door to the restaurant. I greeted the regulars with a plastered-on smile while silently panicking my way to Mikah's bar—where he was nonchalantly mixing a drink for a customer. Mikah appeared calm and collected as he used a shaker over his shoulder. I wanted to believe Mikah was smart enough to panic when an inspector was here, but he wasn't known for making the best life choices; so maybe not.

"Mikah?" I lifted both palms up to the ceiling, panting from my run. I already felt the vein in my forehead protruding, ready to burst with how fucking livid I was about to become with my little brother. "What the fuck? Who is here?"

"It's me!" A familiar voice said, followed by the sound of two hands clapping together once.

I froze.

Fuck.

My eyes pressed shut, hoping I was imagining it. But when I opened them to see a smug Mikah, I knew it wasn't my imagination or a dream. I could have laid him out for not warning me on the phone. My head shook at him, knowing we were having words later, before turning to the petite woman behind me. Her sapphire blue eyes looked heavier than normal.... drained of their usual sparkle. Her hair wasn't as done up as she had always worn it, hanging just beneath her ears, shorter than normal and definitely grayer than when I had last seen her. It didn't help that it was raining, and she was soaked. I couldn't help but think the older I got, the more I looked like her.

"Ma," I scanned the restaurant for any more surprises, "you're... here."

Penelope Mulligan hadn't been seen in the restaurant that held her name for years. I ran the numbers in my head, recalling I was a teenager when I remember her being here last. Twenty years? Maybe more? Now having an unobstructed view of the usual patrons, I could see they too knew this was unheard of. They bowed their heads in hushed whispers and gave surprised glances our way. While my father loved this restaurant as much as one of his own children, my mother never felt the same.

"Yes." She clutched her hands together, holding her purse at the crease of her elbow. "I figured it was the only way to speak to you. You know, since you seem to avoid my calls."

"I'm not," I said. "I've just been busy with work. I was going to call you back tomorrow."

She was too smart for that. We both knew I was lying, and the chuckle from Mikah behind us was an announcement that he also knew it was a fib. I just didn't know how to talk to her anymore. Texts were easy. Those texts turned into calls, and one avoided call turned into another. Suddenly I was snowballing my way into a vicious cycle of not speaking to my mom.

"You!" Kit's voice escalated above the noise of the restaurant.

"Christ," I said, already frustrated and knowing with my sister also here this was about to become a day from hell.

Kit ran until she collided with my back, throwing her arms around my middle and kissing my cheek. It was her favorite way of embarrassing me. My hard-ass image as the head chef was quickly diminishing with my entire family in the room.

"Make me a Caesar salad? Please, please, pretty please?"

"No."

I attempted to avoid Kit's hold while continuing to stare at my mother's uncomfortable demeanor. She shifted her feet and looked around the bar, pretending to take in the newer décor. The last time she was here, it still had mirrored walls and a disco ball over the dance floor. This wasn't the same bar as it was even five years ago, let alone twenty.

"I want blackened chicken on top. Thanks." Kit released the hug before moving her way to the bar to bug Mikah. "And you!" She pointed to our brother. "I want a Cosmo! A pretty one; like the ones in Sex and the City!"

"We don't make those here." Mikah said, matching my enthusiasm. "You'd know that if you ever came around."

"Google it!"

"Dammit, Kit," Mikah attempted to block the bars partition, "don't come back here."

She pushed her way forward. "I'm going to show you!"

With a sigh only my family could induce, I glanced at my two fighting siblings, seeing Mikah swat at Kit's hands. You'd think the two of them were ten the way they acted when together. You'd never believe they were in their thirties.

"Kit!"

"Mikah!" I yelled, causing both siblings to stop what they were doing and look up. "Let her make her goddamn drink. She owns this place too."

With gritted teeth, he reached for the bottle of Absolut Vodka and slammed it to the bar top. "Fine! Then you can make her a Caesar salad!"

"With blackened chicken," Kit said from behind Mikah's growls. "And feta! Do we have feta here?"

I inhaled another sharp breath, attempting to keep my composure in front of the customers. The combination was an abomination, but I nodded a yes to my sister as she twirled her long brown hair around her finger, beaming because she got her way. A spoiled brat who knew it and used it to her advantage.

"Where is your kid?" I asked, realizing we were missing one Mulligan.

"Daycare," she said, still more interested in her drink. She pointed to the glass while wrinkling her nose. "Mikah, it needs more vodka than that! I'll just do it! Move!"

"Oh boy," my mother said from my side. "I almost forgot what it was like to have you three all in the same room."

The comment made me feel worse. I remembered exactly when the last time we were all in the same room was. And as if that day wasn't stressful enough on my mother, her children made it a lot worse. Well, one did more than the others.

"Ma, can I make you something to eat? Want a Caesar salad with blackened chicken and feta?"

"Oh," her hand waved off that idea, "no. I'm not here long. I just wanted to know your schedule for the holidays."

Yeah, I had a terrible feeling twisting in my gut that knew this was why she was here. It was the subject of every ignored text and voicemail, and now I was being put on the spot in person. She could read my facial expressions for the lies. Simple answer? I had no holiday schedule. Both the bar and the school were closed for holidays. Those options were out the window. I stammered, running my hand through my hair, unable to come up with a good answer that would get me out of going home.

"You haven't come home in over a year," she said, jaded. "How long are you planning to avoid me?"

My shoulders dropped, feeling even worse than I had before. "I'm just busy, Ma. I'll try to move my schedule around. I'm not avoiding you."

"It's a holiday, Oliver. Come home. See your niece."

"I said I'll try."

My mouth ached for a nicotine fix. Stress only made my addiction worse, and lying to my mother wasn't helping. There was no way I was going home for the holidays or any other day. I just couldn't find a way to tell any of them that. The fact she was willing to walk into this bar proved my lack of strength didn't come from my mother's side of the family. My priorities were to keep this bar afloat without killing my brother until I could make other arrangements. I had no issues with meeting my mother in the city to take her shopping or out for a meal.

"You!" an unfamiliar voice hollered across the bar.

I wasn't the only one to turn my head to see whose attention the stranger required. With one glance towards the blonde booking it in my direction with her finger extended at me and only me, I knew exactly what this was going to be about. It wasn't hard to forget the ridiculous threat of jamming a toothpick through my dick when she couldn't locate Sloan the morning following our one-night stand. I now got the feeling she had heard about the green pepper incident and was about to rip me a new one for making her friend cry.

"Uh oh." Kit giggled from the bar. "Blonde and crazy. She's definitely here for Ollie."

I shifted my glare to her dig at my type. Mikah, finally finding something to agree with his sister on, laughed with her.

They did not know what they were even laughing at. This was not another one of my hookups that got too clingy. This was going to be about the brunette that I slept with, and it was not a confrontation I wanted to have in front of half the restaurant or my mother. The blonde marched right up to me, crossing her arms and waiting for me to pay her any sort of attention.

"Really, Ollie? Another blonde?" Kit continued.

"Gross!" The woman cringed. "I've never slept with him!" Her thumb was pointed my way before she turned back to me with a scowl. "We need to talk. Now."

While this wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to, it was the perfect excuse to back out of the talk we were having about the holiday situation. I would probably take heat for this later. My mother was already eying the woman with disgust. Even my mother thought I hooked up with another blonde. I hadn't realized Sloan was so outside of my type until now.

"Ma, I've got to..."

"Go," she said, motioning with her hand to leave the restaurant floor. "I will call you about Christmas again next week. You know, when you've figured out your schedule."

She was calling my bluff. I exhaled deeply before placing a kiss on her cheek. "It was good seeing you, Mom. Kit too." Her smile was unenthused and for show, but she said nothing more.

I placed my hand on the small of the blonde's back, ushering her towards the private hall that housed nothing other than the stairs to my apartment and an old office that had been dormant for some time. It would give us a place to chat while I waited for my family to leave the premises. I fumbled with the light switch, smacking the wall a few times before finally catching it. The fluorescent light above flickered and finally brightened the small space. I tried not to look at anything in it and only at the clearly irate woman I was with.

"You need to dust this place." She scanned the room, dropping a finger to the desk and dragging it to collect a fresh layer of dust. "This is gross."

"We don't use it." I pushed down the finger being held up about an inch from my nose to prove the room was in need of a cleaning. "What may I do for you, Miss...?"

"Reynolds." She finished my sentence. "I am Hallie Reynolds and I'm about to become your worst fucking nightmare."

"I highly doubt that," I muttered, pressing my thumb and finger to the corner of my eyes. It didn't help with the headache that was fast approaching. This day had gone to complete shit.

"You are destroying her!"

My hand dropped. "Come again?" I asked, now very interested in how I had destroyed Sloan Smith when she walked out of my classroom all by herself.

Her hazel eyes narrowed before a single tear dropped from them. I gulped, unsure of what the hell I was supposed to do. She was just as crazy as her friend...yelling one minute and crying the next. Manning up, I did a quick once-over of the office, trying to zone everything out but the box of tissues sitting atop an old green filing cabinet in the corner. My arm was long enough to reach out and grab them, holding them up to her.

"No-thank-you," she said through gritted teeth before taking a deep breath.

I tossed the box down to the old metal desk before sitting on its edge and crossing my arms. "I can't read minds, Miss Reynolds. And I'm supposed to be running a kitchen right now. I'm not destroying anyone."

"Yes, you are." Hallie huffed and looked towards the ceiling. "You just don't realize it."

"She is a student." I became defensive. "I am a teacher."

"Just shut up!" she yelled, burying her face in her hands. Her long blonde hair fell forward, shielding my view of her face. "You need to listen for like five damn minutes."

"Then, talk." I shrugged. "She