Chapter 4
Chapter 4
T
he clock had ticked past four on Tuesday afternoon and I slid into the seat in the back corner of the café. Earlier that day, Dad had told me to hang back after closing as he wanted to chat with me. He hadn’t given me any more indications about what, and while I’d tried not to jump to conclusions—the one where Dad tells me he’s retiring and the café is all mine to do what I please with—I was secretly hopeful. At least the meeting was a good distraction from what was going on between me and Wil. Which was nothing, but also something. Wil had acted like nothing was wrong Sunday morning after the disastrous dinner with his parents and his revelations the night before. I hadn’t wanted to raise the issue again either, so I wasn’t complaining. I wanted to concentrate on the café, something I could control. And maybe this was the moment I’d been waiting for. Wil and grandiose yet tempting thoughts of Italy would have to wait.
I powered up my laptop and opened both the file with the business plan and the handover ideas, then clicked through to my Pinterest account where I’d carefully curated vision boards for my ideas for the café going forward. It was a work in progress, and I’d pinned everything from stonewashed walls to rustic counters like the one I’d already been quoted, not to mention hundreds of menu ideas. My mouth watered at the roasted tomato and haloumi lasagne, ricotta cheese and orange tarts, and mini pizzettes. There were so many things I wanted to do. My cheeks hurt from grinning at all the photos. Pleased with my effort, a tingle of excitement worked its way through my body and just as I was putting the finishing touches on the final board, Dad appeared.
‘
Cucciola
,’ Dad’s smile was wide as he greeted me at the table.
Cucciola
was something he used to call me when I was little. It meant “little cub”. Dad never liked my full name—Demitria. Mum was convinced when she was pregnant that I was a boy, and she wanted to call me Demitri. Dad was annoyed because it was a Greek name, but Mum stood firm. When I arrived—cute
and
a girl—she changed it to Demitria. Dad protested by calling me cucciola when I was little, and otherwise, only ever Demi. Rarely has he called me Demitria.
Dad sighed as he sat down in the seat opposite me. The lines between his eyebrows deepened in thought. Jovial Papa was put aside. This face was Business Papa with a capital B. The bubbles of excitement popped and deflated inside my stomach, replaced by a pit of worry.
Did I have this all wrong?
‘What’s wrong, Dad?’
‘Ah, Demi. I getting too old for all this, you know?’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Business. It’s not how it used to be. See, a new café opened round the corner.’ He gestured over his head dramatically. Of course I’d noticed. The Organic Elk, or some weird name like that.
‘You watch,’ he said, pointing his finger at me. ‘Everyone will go there.’
‘Dad,’ I said, trying to think of how to put it. ‘Sure, some will go there to check it out, but they’ll be back. They always come back. Why wouldn’t they? We have the best coffee in Melbourne!’
Dad nodded, a knowing smile creeping over his face. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe not. We’ll see.’
I studied the melancholy look on Dad’s face and waited for him to address the elephant in the room.
‘I think it’s time,’ he said.
‘For?’ The butterflies in my stomach paused mid-flutter.
‘For me to hand the café over. For me to retire.’
The butterflies turned into fireworks and it took all my resolve not to jump up and happy dance through the tables. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to calm my reaction. ‘Really?’
I shifted to the edge of my seat. ‘Okay. I have so much to show you. I’ve prepared a business plan, a handover proposal that we can discuss, of course, and I have so many ideas. Not too many changes. Just a few. You know, keep the usual clientele happy but open us up to new customers.’
Dad rubbed his hand on his forehead, but I continued on without hesitation, determined to prove that I was ready for the opportunity I’d been waiting forever and a day for. I spun the laptop screen around to show him, my pulse racing. ‘Look.’
An image of a café not dissimilar to ours but with a more rustic look filled the screen. Still uniquely Italian, but a little bit more modern without being hipster—it’s a fine line. Big blackboard menus leaned against exposed brick walls, large industrial style lighting hung above the corrugated iron-counter, and wine barrels made for makeshift seats at the higher tables. Dad narrowed his eyes, squinting at the screen.
I continued, ‘And I have some ideas for the menu for some new dishes.’ I clicked the screen again. ‘Tomato and mozzarella salad with a balsamic reduction. And this one, ravioli with artichokes, capers and sundried tomatoes. And look at this lemon and olive oil cake. All authentically Italian. And I was thinking—’
‘Demi, Demi. Slow down,’ Dad interjected, holding his hands up.
‘I know it seems overwhelming, Dad, but I know I can do it . . . I . . . I don’t expect you to gift me the café, of course. I’ve been saving for this since I was sixteen. I have almost thirty thousand dollars.’ I was on a roll now. So much so, that I didn’t notice Dad shaking his head. ‘I was thinking—’
‘Demi. Wait.’ He raised his voice, and I paused mid-sentence. ‘These ideas,’ he continued. ‘They are very good. But your siblings . . .’
‘I know. Of course, we will work out the financial side of things—that’s what my business plan is for, to get a business loan and pay everyone their share.’
‘But your brothers.’
I jutted my head back, confused. ‘What about them?’
‘Nick. He’s the oldest. I have to give him first option.’
‘First option?’ I froze. ‘At what?’
‘The café.’
My adrenaline disappeared instantly replaced with a heavy, nauseous feeling. ‘Nick? The café? No.’ I shook my head. ‘Nick’s happy in his job. He only recently got the promotion he’d been waiting over a year for. He’s not interested in the café.’
‘Anthony is not interested, but Nick—’
‘You’ve already spoken to them? When?’
‘The other day.’
My head began to throb.
He offered Nick the café?
It didn’t make sense. ‘But Dad,’ I argued. ‘You know how much I want this. I love this place. Taking it over has been my dream.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘And Nick? Nick loves nothing but himself.’ My voice rose. ‘He has no interest in running this place. What does he even know about hospitality? He up and left here as soon as he started university. I’ve been here since I could walk! I’ve never let you down!’ My voice was shaking and hot tears began building behind my eyes.
Dad placed his hand on top of mine. ‘I know, Demi. I know how much you love this place. You and Nick—you could make a great team.’
Team? I couldn’t even bring myself to respond. How had I not seen this coming? Why had I never considered that he’d go down the road of “tradition and male succession”? How could I have had it so wrong? I didn’t know my father at all.
‘And . . .’ he paused. ‘Now you have Wil.’
‘What?’ I said, slamming the laptop shut.
‘You know.’ Dad shrugged his shoulders.
‘Wil has nothing to do with this and in no way affects my ability to do my job here. I can’t believe you would think that.’
‘I like Wil. I think you two make a good couple. And well, maybe soon you will settle down and have babies. You will not want to run the café then, huh?’
I swallowed back the swell of fury ready to leap out of every inch of my body. I had never envisioned my father to be so closed-minded and well, frankly . . . sexist!
Dad reached over and cupped my hand again. ‘We talk about this another day, okay? When I talk to Nick more about the finer details, si?’ Dad pushed himself to his feet, kissed the top of my head and then disappeared through the kitchen, leaving me at the table with my mouth hanging open.
What just happened? How could Dad do this? I was smart and strong enough to handle the café
and
a relationship
and
kids if they came along. And what was with Nick? Why would he even be considering this? Dad must have misunderstood him. The hot tears didn’t fall until the back door clicked shut. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right AT ALL! I picked up my phone with my shaky hands and punched out a message to Nick.
Where are you?
I waited, tapping my fingers on the table. I wanted to scream.
I’m at Sofia’s parents. Why?
Damn it.
Nothing.
I sucked in some slow and steady breaths, not sure if I was hurt, angry, upset, or just in plain shock—or all of the above.
—
On the drive home after meeting with Dad, I went from ranting banshee one minute to crying like a toddler the next. Stopped at an intersection, the lady in the next car stared through the window as if I was crazy. But I didn’t care. My mind and my body had been taken over by an overwhelming feeling of bewilderment. I couldn’t believe this had happened.
Who even was I without the café? And I didn’t want to run it with Nick. To Nick it would be purely a business. No heart, no passion. That wasn’t what I wanted. The café was so much more than serving food and making money. It was comfort. It was home. It was a passion for creating food with flavour, heart, and fresh ingredients. It was seeing people’s faces light up as they bit into a slice of pizza with fresh, local olives and creamy buffalo mozzarella. It was the aroma of nutty coffee beans tingling at your senses first thing in the morning. The buzz of happy customers leaving with full stomachs and big smiles. It was so much more than Nick would ever see. Working with him would be impossible. It wasn’t going to work. I needed to talk to him. Confront him face-to-face and remind him I was the one who loved this place, not him, and there was no way I was going to let him rip it out from under my feet. No bloody way!
Unlocking the door to our apartment, I found Wil sitting at the kitchen table on his laptop.
‘Dem? What’s wrong?’ he asked, scraping back the kitchen chair and getting to his feet.
I placed my bag on the table and held on to the chair for stability. ‘Dad’s giving the café to Nick.’
‘What?’
‘Dad’s being a sexist traditionalist all of a sudden and has asked Nick to take over the café. Not me. Nick.’ My voice shook with anger and I bit my lip to stop the tears. Wil pulled me into his arms.
‘Hey. Sshhh,’ he said, rubbing my back. ‘Is there any way you can talk to him again, or talk to Nick? Maybe it’s a misunderstanding or something.’
‘I don’t know. I can’t believe this. All my plans, all my ideas, everything I’ve been waiting for so long for. It’s gone.’ I sucked in a deep breath and held it at the back of my throat before grabbing a tissue.
Wil’s mobile buzzed on the table, and his eyes shot to it. He quickly picked it up and declined the call.
‘Who was that?’ I asked
‘Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’
The fine lines crinkled under his eyes. ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. Of course. Why?’
I shook my head. I wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with Wil’s weird behaviour.
His phone buzzed again in his hand and he shifted on his feet.
‘Just take it,’ I said, turning to open the fridge.
Wil grabbed his phone, disappeared into his office and closed the door. Uneasiness grew in the form of a feint throb in my temple, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it.
Wil’s voice was muffled, and I couldn’t make out the words. But his tone was nervous, anxious even. The floor creaked, and I jumped back as Wil’s voice grew closer.
‘No problem. I’m on it,’ he said.
I scooted back to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.
‘Hey, Dem,’ Wil said, entering the kitchen. ‘I have to head back to the office. We’ll talk when I get back, okay?’
‘But it’s after six?’
‘Sorry, Dem. I won’t be long.’
‘Can you not leave it until the morning? I thought you’d have my back right now.’
Wil ran this hand through his hair. ‘I do, babe, it’s just—’
‘Work comes first. And who was on the phone that you had to close the door?’
‘What? No one. Just work stuff.’ He shrugged on his jacket. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I settled at the kitchen table and dialled Anna’s number. I needed to talk to her. She could always make me feel better at the worst of times. Her phone rang but went to message bank. My chest was tight, and my eyes stung as they threatened to leak again. I wanted to start the day over. Surely this was some bad dream. But I knew it wasn’t. This was my life skewing off course. Never in a million years did I see this coming. I took a long sip of Pinot Grigio and made a decision. First thing in the morning, I’d pay Nick a visit. That was the only way out of this mess. I had to talk Nick out of it.