Work Text:
Syd had not necessarily expected company following service, but she had only realized this fact by the time Richie was searching through her kitchen, remarking, “If I may be so bold: what are you eating on a given day exactly?”
It was only a day after Tiffany’s wedding. It had gone well. Really well, Syd thought. Like, really, really well. She had needed an entire evening of complete silence afterwards, but it was nice. Nice to dress up and breathe a bit, have some good cake, and not really think at all. She was starting to no longer panic whenever her phone vibrated. Her dad was doing well. Shapiro had only texted her five times and called once. Carmy was in a pretty good mood actually, dare she say, relaxed?
And Richie hadn’t thrown up on her open-toed shoes, which was excellent.
“Uh, excuse me,” Syd was following Richie from cabinet to cabinet, attempting to intervene his perusal. “I have plenty of good food. Oh, what, are we too good for Hamburger Helper now? What has he ever done to you?”
Richie stepped back with his hands out in surrender. “Fine, just know… I won’t forget what I’ve seen here today.”
“You won’t forget because it’ll be amazing is what it’ll be.”
She was used to manning her kitchen solo. Richie, who was almost tall enough to hit the ceiling by just standing there, seemed to anticipate exactly where she needed to be. She finally pointed him to the end of the counter and handed him a carton of cherry tomatoes. “Just start, like, I don’t know. Can you start washing and cutting the tomatoes, please?”
He nodded, instantly serious. “Yes. Chef, thanks.”
Marcus appeared at the doorway, tapping the frame. “The one that I mentioned is still open. I’m thinking like a dozen or so for everyone?”
Syd glanced up. “Ooh. Yes, thanks. And, like, whatever you think is good, obviously. Don’t–”
“Old Fashioned,” Richie barked.
“--listen to Richie.”
“I’ll get you one,” Marcus laughed, leaving.
Syd sidestepped out of the kitchen to lean into the living room. Luca sat hunched on her sofa, determinedly flipping through channels. Why, she thought, are all the men at The Bear huge or just like weirdly tall or wide? Or maybe her apartment was tiny and she was tiny herself. It didn’t help that she had like ten people in her one-bedroom apartment right now. Tina glanced up, on her phone.
“Carm’s gonna be late.”
Syd snapped and pointed her finger, “It’d be weird if he wasn't.”
She cleared her throat as loudly as she could.
“Hey, everyone, Marcus is going to Do-Rite and we should have everything plated up in, like, ten minutes. So, just, I don’t know. Hang out, relax. Do not step foot in my kitchen. Two people max unless like you want a pop or something. And, Luca, it’s input three. Or, like, yeah, someone help him. Okay, thanks.”
“Beautifully said, Syd,” Nat called out from a corner.
Syd returned to the kitchen. Richie glanced up from the cutting board. Half of the tomatoes were chopped.
“Thanks for hosting this, uh, impromptu dining experience.”
“Of course. Back,” Syd walked past him and to the boiling pot on the stove, “honestly, it’s been nice to do this type of stuff. I used to feel exhausted after a shift. It’s like weird that I really don’t anymore?”
“We’ve got a good system now. Like a fucking dynamite system, actually.”
“True, true. We’ve got a good team right now. Things seem good.”
It was unnerving the way Richie caught on to that slight hesitation. He had only glanced at her before returning to cutting, smiling but only a little.
“That’s hard to trust, isn’t it?” he asked, quieter. “That things are going good?”
Syd had dumped in the pasta, stirring. She nodded. “Yup.”
They worked for another moment in silence.
“It’s just, you know, waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Syd said, almost all in one breath.
“Yeah. I got you.”
“I totally thought I wasn’t built for this type of stress, actually. Like, I had tried to do catering and that just totally blew up in my face and my dad was waiting for me to have, like, a meltdown, which I kind of, sort of, had a bit. But, like, I wanted this. What we’re doing at The Bear. It’s great and it’s going great and it will continue… to go great, but, yeah. It’s waiting for something to go wrong. Like all the time.”
Richie was quiet. He set aside the chopped tomatoes and wiped his hands on a towel. Leaning back against the counter, he looked down at the linoleum with his arms crossed. He continued to stare, slightly furrowed, as he said, “The shoe seemed to fucking drop when Carm came back. That was what I was dreading. After, Mikey, you know, died.”
“I’m sorry,” Syd said. They had never really talked about Mike before. She had wondered if they ever would and it seemed like they were now.
“I mean, you and Carm are fucking dynamos at this stuff. Like, you could go to French Laundry and do what he did. You guys are at this level and,” he laughed then, “me and Mikey were just not that. We were just having fun. Just making food, somehow keeping up a good business. So, having Carm come back in and just be disgusted with the place, with me. And with him… I mean, I thought that was going to be the end of it. I was in panic mode.”
Syd wouldn’t have considered Richie back then in panic mode. More, a total and complete asshole. She pursed her lips, thinking of how to politely respond to both… acknowledge what he was saying and also note a slight discrepancy in how she recalled him acting.
He seemed to see this because he quickly stated, "And, I mean, I get it. I was a douchebag. I was miserable to be around.”
“You were,” Syd admitted. She shrugged before looking over at him. “but I could understand that. A little bit. Now. Carmy is… a lot. Like, a lot a lot. And, doesn't like… have a great track record on just going with the flow? Like, I think he’d implode actually. But, you’ve worked really hard on yourself. We genuinely wouldn’t be where we are without you. Like, honestly. You run the front of house like a badass.”
Richie bowed his head, accepting the compliment with a tight smile. He shrugged, “You’re gonna be like a world-famous chef, Syd. I don’t think you need to worry if a shoe drops or whatever… And you’re also, like, eleven. So, just imagine how great you’ll be ten years from now.”
They continued to cook. At some point, there was a few cheers in the other room and the sound of her front door closing. Carmy wandered past the kitchen with one part of his hair sticking straight up from what Syd would confidently guess was a tortured walk all the way from the restaurant to her place. He stopped and leaned back in the doorway with a little wave.
“Hey,” he said to them.
“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” Richie said.
He cringed, “Yeah. I'm sorry. For being late. Can I help out at all or…?”
Syd pointed at the doorway, “We're making pasta. Marcus is getting donuts. Go sit down and, like, enjoy life.”
Carmy had no objection to this.
“That… actually sounds amazing. Okay.”
He left them be. Syd didn't want to let go of their conversation just yet.
“What would he think of The Bear? Mike, I mean,” Syd asked. She was genuinely curious. She always knew the restaurant was hallowed ground. Maybe no longer the nature of the restaurant but what ground it stood on. Pictures of Mike in the back office were still there, so Syd had wondered.
“I don’t know,” Richie admitted. “No, actually, I think he’d like it. He might not get it, but he’d appreciate it. He’d probably just be blown away by Carm. He always was. He’d probably think I’m a total asshole with the whole suit and stuff, but, yeah, I think he’d like what Carm’s done.”
“Well, it’s been a team effort. Like with you, Nat… everyone.”
“Yeah,” Richie noted, thinking. “That’s true. And you, obviously.”
Syd poured out the water and proceeded to drizzle a healthy amount of olive oil into the cooked pasta. Stirring, she motioned for the chopped tomatoes. “Tomatoes. And can you also get the red wine vinegar from the fridge, please? And the dijon mustard, too.”
“Yes, Chef.”
She glanced at him, smiling. “He’d definitely think you’re an asshole for saying stuff like that.”
That got a laugh from Richie.
“He would. Abso-fucking-lutely.”