Bright, biting ginger struck across Zoe's palette. In its wake, cushioned across creamy avocado, chewy nori, and conjeeled rice, globs of wasabi napalmed her sinuses. By all accounts the roll wasn't as good as the pieces she'd sampled hours earlier during the event's set up- but not by much. Her chews were slow and measured. She appreciated every minute detail of flavour. The sparkles of the sour, the unique fire of the spicy eastern radish, the subtleties of the grains, and fruit. Moment to moment of evolving combinations, mixed with each careful chew. Sure, the avocado had browned a touch, the rice a smidge tougher than fresh, but tucked within was the same euphoria. The piece warranted another. Zoe gave her chopsticks a few happy clicks and reached.
Appetite appeased, Zoe moved the remainder to a glass container, sealed its lid with a satisfying click, and loaded it into their already teeming refrigerator. Stacks of leftovers filled the shelves. Regardless, her partner would be thrilled with the newest additions the following morning.
Zoe untied her hair as she moved to the bathroom, ran the shower and undressed. Freed from their constraint her dark roots cheered and scalp buzzed in relief. Scalding water stripped dried sweat from her brow, and rinsed the microdrops of kitchen grease from her hair. The steam soothed her joints. She let the moisture wash over her and breathed in the warm vapours.
As the suds bubbled in her hair she reflected on her shift. It had been a long day, they always were. Over the years Zoe had come to terms with, and appreciated, exerting herself, though, that didn't make it any less exhausting. Her showers were slow, prolonged, and indulgent. She took her time. She treated herself to expensive soaps, shampoos, scrubbers, looking to them as restorative medications rather than luxuries. She reminded herself that money was in her account, the evening a success, and the stress of it all left for someone else's worrying mind when she clocked out.
There were times when Zoe lost herself to societal standards, and became hypnotized by a sad story of her life moving backwards. Despite her mind's venomous fictions, the truth was she'd never been happier. Happier than when she'd ran her own circus of a restaurant and catering service. Happier than when she'd be the toast of the town. The initial move from being an employee rather than employer had been bumpy for her pride and self worth. Now, nearing a year later, the dust had settled, and with it piece of mind.
The glory of her business had come with weighty, unexpected costs. An incalculable consumption of time, both on and off the clock. Hours of sleep lost while her emotions and mind battled in gymnastics. Constant calculations, measurements, and disappointment. Rapid growth brought unreliable staff, and overwhelming margins. A great reputation ushered in wealthier clientele and crippling anxieties. The added zeros forced her to not only create collaborative masterpieces for demanding hosts and contractors, but nurture their obtuse egos aswell. And it had taken its toll. For what? Fatter paychecks? The money only poured back into the business, to help, or lavish indulgences that she could hardly enjoy. She wasn't present. Her relationships and family had suffered. Her light had dimmed.
It had been under a rising Sun while waiting to catch the first returning fisherman at the docks when the realization clicked. A morning ritual that she had performed hundreds of times before. She'd sit with the men under the salty air, and reddening skies while the great ball of fire rose from its cradle. Together they'd taste. Little samples. Little combinations. Zoe would bring sticky rice, her own broths, and crusty breads to share, often experimenting her recipes on their gracious stomachs. Over time she netted their finest catches along with their friendships. That day as they broke bread in the quiet hours of the morning Zoe realized that she and these gruff, weathered men, were eating the exact same food that the fools in their tuxedos and gowns would be paying a small fortune for later that evening.
As predicted Zoe watched the self proclaimed elite gorge themselves later that evening. Her eyes flicked between her smock and their fashions. The cloth was different, finer, the cuts cleaner, but they were clothed non the less. The divide between the servers and the served was so arbitrary, so imaginative it was comical. Sure, the illusion was as strong as a wall, as captivating as a cage, but despite its perceived strength, the prison only a mirage all the same. In that instance the differences between the envied and the pitied became infinitesimal.
No matter the class, be it in the small budgeted events when she started to the most extravagant celebrations, more times than not, when it came time for the bill there was always a battle. Her clients fought their previous deals with complaints and cutting smiles as they tried to nickel and dime her. While people's vocabulary may change, their nature would not. It didn't matter how expensive the suits, the dramas were equal. The same hubris, the same demands, the same scenes. She'd heard the same stories, wiped the same tears, from different women in different bathrooms. Drama, more present then not. The guise of manners or high society no match for tempers, jealousy, violence, and fighting. It wasn't always bad of course. Where some evenings were walks through the circles of Hell, others were enchanting. The equalizer always love and respect amongst the patrons, and families. Without it events were laden with buffoons, the difference of the size of their pockets irrelevant.
The bigger the wallet, the bigger the expenses. Parks and backyards traded for halls, tiers added to cakes that no one finished anyways. The higher the number, the higher the consequences. After packing up the last of the vans that fateful night, Zoe tossed her embroidered apron in a heap in the back. It would not be washed again.
It took a day of rest before she made up her mind. It took a few more for her to make all the calls. Zoe sold her business to her biggest rival, and washed her hands of it. The sale was fair and friendly, and she secured herself a comfortable job within it, welcomed on the team in a position she'd requested, without responsibility. A cog in their machine.
The moments of joy were still there, Zoe could still feed people, she was still able to watch them savour her work. However, when they were finished- so was she. Free, to return home, share the rewards with those she cared about, and rest. She was a valued, coveted worker and there was always work available. The calls would come and Zoe, and her skills, were at the mercy of none.
Zoe scrubbed her scalp, as the last of the conditioner plummeted from tips of her hair. Her car was not the best on the lot, she did not spend her winters in the tropics. Because Zoe's life no longer needed vacationing. Her days were filled with family, and a fridge as full as her heart. She had time to move through life at the pace she liked. And she liked old sushi just fine.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write