My text goes unanswered and reluctantly, I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and start the car.I give the apartment one more glance, hoping like hell that she somehow sees me and comes down to talk to me, but no such luck and I have no choice but to head home.
When I get back to my place, I’m surprised to find my parents are still there.Waiting in the kitchen with worried looks on their faces.
“You couldn’t find her?”Mom asks as I come up the stairs.
“She’s at her brother’s,” I reply, heading into the kitchen and grabbing a beer.“She doesn’t want to see me.”
I don’t miss the worried look my parents share before Dad walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder.“I feel like this is all my fault.”
Twisting the cap off the bottle, I throw it into the sink before taking a long pull.“It’s not your fault,” I say, even if a tiny part of me thinks it is.“I never even told her who you were.I should’ve, so maybe this wouldn’t have been such a fucking disaster.”
My words sound bitter, and I don’t miss the way my dad flinches as I finish the rest of my beer.Right now, I just want them both to leave so I can wallow in my own regret and anger.And maybe drink enough that I pass out and tomorrow somehow gets here sooner.
Dad exhales, squeezing once before removing his hand from my shoulder as he now leans back against the counter.“I know I’m harsh on them,” he says, his words quiet, almost as though he doesn’t want to admit these words out loud.“It’s meant to make them stronger, make them better—”
“Look, Dad, I really don’t want to hear this right now,” I say, holding up a hand.“Hannah is an amazing chef.And she’s strong and feisty and I know she can handle your shit in the kitchen.So yeah, I don’t want to talk about how you run things.I’ve never questioned the way you do things, even though it’s not how I run my kitchen.But in this case…” I trail off, knowing if I continue, I’m only going to say things that make both of us angry.
Dad meets my gaze, his eyes filled with worry and perhaps a tiny amount of regret.It’s no secret that he and I run our kitchens in totally different ways, polar opposites, really.And while I don’t agree with his methods, I have never once questioned him about them or even suggested he change them.I know it’s not my place to do that and if he ever tried that with me, I wouldn’t want to hear it.
Even if right now, all I want to do is scream at him and question how the fuck he could treat the woman I love the way he did.
“Tell me how I can fix this?”he asks, his words barely audible.
I grab another beer from the fridge before I turn to him.“Honestly, I have no fucking clue.”
Later that night, I’m sitting on the couch, about eight beers deep and staring at my phone, willing it to ring.My parents have gone, driven back to San Fran when it became clear that the whole meeting my girlfriend thing had completely gone to shit and that I was in no mood to try and hash it out with them.
I’d spent the time since they left doing what any rational guy in my situation would do.Getting shit-faced drunk.
I take another swig of my beer as I slide down the couch, my bare feet resting on the large wooden coffee table.Waking up my phone, I go straight to the photo app, scrolling through the shots I have of Hannah, alone, with me, in the kitchen with the rest of the crew.
In every single one of them she’s smiling or laughing, and just so fucking happy it makes my heart ache.Makes me wish she was here with me right now, that I could hold her or just speak to her.Promise her that everything will be alright.
It fucking hurts like hell not having her here and before I can question whether I should be doing this or talk myself out what I’m sure is a really stupid move, I move to my contacts and hit redial on her number.
It rings and rings and when I pull the phone from my ear to check the time, I can see it’s almost midnight.I know it’s probably on silent and when her voicemail eventually cuts in, I don’t do the smart thing and hang up.Instead, I ramble like the drunken idiot I surely am.
“Hannah, baby,” I slur, my eyes closing as the empty beer bottle slips from my hand.“Please come home,” I beg.“Please, I miss you and I need to talk to you.Need to see you, hold you.Please, Hannah…”
Even I can tell I sound drunk right now and I’m surely going to regret this phone call in the morning, but right now, I just don’t give a shit.
“I love you and I don’t care what happened.We can get past this, we can—”
The beep of her voicemail cutting me off sounds in my ear and I’m forced to hang up.With a groan, I throw my phone onto the coffee table, sinking further into the couch as I do the smartest thing I can do at this point and pass the fuck out.
The next morning, the sound of an incoming text message wakes me.I sit up, my eyes blinking as I try to focus and figure out where the fuck my phone is.My head feels a little fuzzy thanks to the copious amount of beer I had on an empty stomach, and I have a crick in my neck from sleeping on the couch.
When I reach for my phone though, all of that disappears as the words on the screen slowly register.
Ellen: Hey Leo, Hannah messaged last night to say she needed today off.That’s all cool of course and for the record, we are happy for you guys to run this stuff past each other.No need to get our permission.Have a good day!
“What.The.Fuck?”I shout, suddenly feeling a lot more awake.“She fucking texted, Ellen?”I say to my empty loft.“What the hell?”
I flick back to her number, once again hitting redial as the ring tone sounds in my ear.Pushing up from the couch, I pace the large open plan living room as I wait for her to answer.Or her voicemail, anyway.
But the second her automated message kicks in, I stop, knowing I have no right to be angry with her for needing a day off.For needing some time to deal with the fact that her boyfriend’s father is the asshole chef who left her with no choice but to walk out without any notice because she was so fucking unhappy in her job.
I hang up without leaving a message, wondering how the hell I am supposed to fix this.How the hell I’m supposed to unfuck the fact that my girlfriend and my dad hate each other.
