"What did 'The Chef' say, Mom?"
Her mother smiled then said, "Look at you. Ten years old and worrying about your mother."
She gave her daughter a hug and said, "Just one more reason for me to love you so much!"
Her daughter returned the hug then said, "Nice try, Mom. Now tell me what he said."
"Persistent, too."
Her daughter, Charity, crossed her arms, tilted her head, and waited for an actual answer.
Her mom sighed then told her, "He said he's looking at bringing someone else in."
"What? That's so unfair! Mom, you've worked there for five years waiting tables then two more as a hostess. And you've taken cooking classes. You're on time, you're smart, you're good with people, and you deserve a chance!"
Felicia Warren did deserve a chance. She'd just turned 40, two days after her daughter had turned ten, and all the things Charity just said were true. Felicia was too modest to admit it, but she knew she drew a lot of repeat business to the upscale Seattle restaurant. Admittedly, most of it was because of her looks, but if that brought customers back, it brought them back.
No one believed she was 40. No one. Well, maybe not 'no one'. There were some obvious exceptions like Charity, her family, and her closest circle of friends who knew the truth. Felicia was exceptionally blessed with great skin and a very attractive face. She'd worn braces as a girl and sported a perfect smile that seemed to be a part of her as she was almost always pleasant and upbeat.
She was also heavily into diet and exercise after her husband of ten years, Marty, walked out two years after Charity was born because she just couldn't lose the 40 pounds she'd gained during pregnancy. Looking back, she knew why. She was deeply depressed and ate from the time her husband went to work until he came home, always careful to hide the evidence.
He was a shit for abandoning her for having put on some weight, but three months after he walked out, his leaving had served as the boost she'd needed to take care of the problem that was destroying her life. After having to force herself to get to the gym for the first three months, Felicia found herself looking forward to going as the depression lifted and the weight came off.
Within six months, she found herself attracting more and more attention as she got back into shape, and by the time she could once again wear a size 6 dress, she was being openly hit on by all kinds of men. Younger, older, black, white, Hispanic, and Asian, and even a few women let her know they were very interested her. But her then-three-year old daughter was her priority whereas dating was not.
A huge side benefit was finding the energy to keep working out and work full-time, and after spending a couple of years waiting tables in a crappy restaurant, she applied for a similar job in a more upscale restaurant and was hired on the spot. She had no doubt whatsoever her appearance played a big role in her getting the job, and she'd paid very careful attention to it ever since.
She threw herself into her work knowing advancement was often slow as very few people quit because the money at a restaurant of this caliber was very good. But she'd kept at it and had moved up to essentially being the maitre'd which meant even more money, money she used to take cooking classes (in her 'spare' time) with the hope of one day being hired on as a chef.
Felicia was willing to take any chef position just to get her foot in the door. She didn't care if she only made salads as long as she had the word 'chef' somewhere in her job title.
Just before she left work, she asked The Chef, a man named Daryl Phillips who was the head chef, the GM, and the owner, if he'd consider taking her on as a trainee since one of his chefs had been offered his own kitchen in another upscale restaurant in Portland, Oregon.
"Felicia, you're an incredible asset to my staff. You're talented, hard working, enthusiastic, and let's be honest, your smile has made a lot of money for this establishment."
"I sense a 'but' coming," she'd said forcing one of those amazing smiles.
The Chef sighed, ran a hand through his thinning hair, then said, "Yes. There is a 'but'. I know you've been taking classes, and your work ethic is legend. But I have to go with my gut, and it's telling me to go with another applicant."
"I see," was all she said.
"If there was a second spot..."
"May I just ask what his qualifications are?" Felicia inquired tactfully even as she interrupted—something she knew better than to do but did anyway.
Chef Phillips gave her an evil look but didn't chide her for cutting him off. He did, however, answer her question in his typical direct fashion.
"Felicia, I don't work for you, so I'm under no obligation to explain myself to you. Who I hire is my business and mine alone. However, I will tell you I see a lot of promise in this young man, and because cooking is more art than science, I am very confident he will become an excellent chef."
At that point, she knew that was all the explanation she was going to get. There was no need to get the second part of that speech which was, "If you don't agree with my decision, I'm sure there are many other restaurants who would love to have you." He'd probably end it with an offer to write her a glowing recommendation, but she knew the next restaurant would call, and if she walked out, the verbal recommendation wouldn't be so glowing.
Felicia also knew Chef Phillips was as good as they get, and he would never bring someone on board who might jeopardize all the years he'd spent building and reinforcing his reputation. And ultimately, she knew he was right. It was his kitchen and she worked for him. That he was so direct was still difficult for her to take, but take it she did.
"I understand," she told him politely. "Thank you for your time."
He didn't reply, but she could tell by his eyes the conversation was over so she stood up and walked out. Or rather back to her same old job, one she was nevertheless grateful to have.
Raising a child on her own was no easy task. Trying to do it without a decent job was even harder. Her ex-husband did pay child support, but it was barely enough to cover the basics for Charity, and Felicia was doing her best to save for college while paying the bills and taking cooking classes two nights a week while her mom watched Charity after school until she got off work late at night. The last thing she needed was to lose a job that paid quite well knowing how hard it would be to find something comparable.
So for now, she would be the best at what she was while continuing to prepare for the future; a future she dearly hoped would one day include not only a better job, but also a man she could both love and trust; one who would love her and her beautiful daughter as his own. She'd put finding one on the back burner for years, but after this latest huge letdown, Felicia was beginning to think perhaps it was time to maybe 'shift gears' and try looking again.
If past experience was any predictor of future success, Felicia knew she had a very difficult task ahead of her. Being a very attractive woman, she had no problem getting dates. The difficulty was finding someone who really, truly wanted a ready-made family, and she would never, ever settle for anything less. It wasn't enough for a future husband to tolerate 'raising another man's child'. He would have to be someone who'd want to be a dad to Charity while accepting the fact he could never be her father. It was a tall order to fill, but one on which she would never compromise even if that meant living alone until Charity was in college.
In the meantime, Felicia occasionally found someone attractive enough and nice enough to take care of her own physical needs in a no-strings kind of arrangement. Most of those rendezvous took place when Charity was spending her one weekend a month with her father. Otherwise, she either did without or when desperation won out, she would 'take things into her own hands' as a kind of last resort. Lately, the method of last resort was her one and only resort and that was getting very old.
Felicia's train of thought was interrupted by her daughter who said, "Mom? Are you listening?"
The truth was she hadn't been, and she didn't try to pretend she had.
"No. I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm a little more upset at being shot down than I let on. I wasn't paying attention and I apologize. What did you say?"
Charity wanted to know if she had to spend the weekend with her father, a comment that really took her by surprise.
"But you like spending time with your father," her mother said.
"Not since he started dating this...this...new girl," Charity said.
Her daughter was exceptionally mature for her age. She was ten but sounded and reasoned like someone much older. She was kind, polite, thoughtful, and very sweet. For her to even say something this...uncharitable...was very unusual.
"What new girl?" her mother asked.
Charity did a 'Valley Girl' kind of voice as she replied, "Oh, you mean...Jennifer?" her voice rising at the end of the sentence.
Felicia tried not to laugh, but it was too funny to ignore.
"How old is this one?" her mother asked.
