I would introduce something beautiful and unexpected into these cafeterias that many viewed as utilitarian. My reputation did not suffer, but it did not soar or overtake Julian’s, which had always been my goal. Like the potentially awkward conversation I never had with Griffin, I chose to keep moving. Eyes wide shut.

When I would get to Elliott’s, I would often find him asleep in the darkened bedroom, a plate of leftover food next to a bottle of scotch, an empty glass, and a bottle of pills. Sometimes, he would be waiting for me on the couch with glassy eyes. He would be cranky and hungry, and he would expect me to fix him something to eat. Then he would retreat to the darkened bedroom. I often lingered, making notes on the night at the restaurant, and conducted internet shopping sprees for Ipanema and a smaller Peruvian restaurant, Aztec, that had just hired me. On scraps of paper, I jotted down wedding ideas for Elle. I threw my anger, unspoken conversations with Elliott, and my lack of control into the lonely atmosphere and then picked up my pen. I often fell asleep with the pen still in my hand.

The days were the hardest for me. I had no idea how to run a restaurant. While Rex had mastered cooking similarly to Elliott, he could not match him in the day-to-day selection and purchasing of food items. No one could. Elliott was meticulous. I went to the market and called Henry several times a day asking about fish, lamb, or some spice. I would call Griffin for any suggestions on wines and cocktails. I even picked his brain for the new trend in “bespoke cocktails.” Both were kind not to pry too much as to why I was so involved in the day-to-day of the restaurant. I marveled at the way Elliott, Henry, and Griffin made this look easy. Well into the sixth week of Elliott being sick, Leah came into Elliott’s office, which I now occupied.

“I’m just getting here. Thought I’d check in. Wow, you look like you could use a coffee or something.”

I looked up at her. I knew I looked a mess. My appearance had been the first thing to go—along with about fifteen pounds. My favorite Chloé blouse was hanging, rather than draping, off my shoulders. Even my hair had begun falling out.

I felt like I was in left-brain living hell. Paying bills, making payroll, and ordering supplies were all mundane but necessary things I was ill-equipped to do.

“If you could make a decent cappuccino, I’d give you a raise right on the spot.”

“Then you haven’t tasted my cappuccinos. I make the best. And by the way, if you’re doing payroll, it’s Lea without an H. I haven’t wanted to bother you.” She smiled. My mind was already churning.