Chapter 3
The stairwell down to the kitchen was narrow and cold compared to the dining room. The air got cooler with every step I took. Upstairs the chandeliers were still burning and nobody was talking. Down here the hum of the refrigerator was the only sound, and the light was the flat white from under the cabinets.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder.
She was at the small staff table against the far wall, the one we used for folding napkins and checking the place cards. She wasn't at the big island where the catering trays were laid out. She'd made herself as small as she could. Her coat, a dark wool coat that had seen a lot of winters, was folded over the back of the chair next to her. She hadn't hung it up. She was sitting with her purse on her lap like she might need to leave quickly.
In front of her was a bowl. Not the one I'd carried upstairs. A plain white bowl from the set we kept for staff meal, filled with the same broth. She had a spoon in her hand but she wasn't eating. She was looking down at it, breathing steady.
"Rosa?" I said softly.
She looked up and tried to smile. She was older than I'd expected, small hands, hair pulled back neatly. Her eyes were tired but kind. She didn't look confused about where she was. She looked like someone who knew exactly where she'd been told to be.
"Emma," she said. She remembered my name from when I'd let her in the service entrance an hour earlier. "You shouldn't be down here. The dinner—"
"The dinner's on pause," I said. I stayed near the doorway at first. I didn't want to crowd her.
The kitchen was clean and warm from the ovens, but the staff table was set apart. There was a single placemat, a single glass of water. The catering staff had left their jackets by the back door and were standing out on the loading alley, giving us space. Someone had left a tray of untouched filets on the counter, covered in foil. She hadn't taken any of it.
"Did you make this soup?" I asked, nodding toward her bowl.
She nodded. "I brought it in my bag. I kept it warm. I thought Luca might like something familiar." Her voice was quiet and even. She glanced at the chipped bowl upstairs in her mind even though it wasn't here. "I didn't want to be trouble."
"You weren't trouble," I said. I pulled out the chair across from her and sat. My uniform felt stiff against my skin. I could still feel the heat in my face from upstairs.
She folded her hands around the bowl but didn't lift the spoon. "The nice lady upstairs, the one in the red dress, she met me at the elevator. She was very polite."
I waited. I didn't want to fill in her words.
"She said it would be better if I ate down here," Rosa said, looking at the table, not at me. "She said Luca was very busy hosting and I might make him nervous if I came up without warning. She said his friends wouldn't understand. She said to stay downstairs and not bother anyone and she would tell him I was sick. She wasn't unkind. She just... she said it like it was already decided."
My throat tightened. I reached my hand across the table and stopped just short of touching hers, letting her decide.
"That's what she told him," I said. "That you were sick and couldn't come."
Rosa gave a small nod. Her eyes watered but she didn't cry. "I didn't want to embarrass him," she whispered. "He works so hard for his nice apartment. I told her I would stay. I ate down here so I wouldn't be in the way."
"You didn't embarrass anyone," I said. My voice was low and I had to steady it. "Luca asked for you, Rosa. He asked where his mother was. He saw the bowl you made and he knew."
Her hands tightened a little around the bowl. A small tremor went through them.
"He did?" she asked.
"He's standing upstairs right now next to your bowl," I said. "He didn't let anyone move it. He sent me to find you. He wants you to come up."
She looked toward the stairwell door like it was a long way off. She glanced down at her sweater, at her shoes, at her coat. "I can't go up there like this," she said. "All those people. I'm not dressed for that table. He'll be ashamed."
I shook my head. "He won't," I said. "He's waiting for you. That's his table, Rosa. Not theirs."
She stared at me for a long second, breathing. I could see her weighing it, the habit of staying out of the way against the one person she didn't want to disappoint.
"Will you come with me?" she asked finally.
"Yes," I said. I stood up and moved around to her side.
She left her bowl right where it was, steam curling up in the cold kitchen air. She left her spoon resting inside it. She didn't try to fix her hair or take anything with her. She just pushed her chair back slowly and stood.
May you like
I didn't pick up the bowl. I took her hand instead. Her fingers were warm from holding the soup and a little rough. She held on tight.
We walked together toward the door that led back up to the dining room. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, and I waited with her until she was ready.
