Dearest Philip,

It's been a week but neither John nor your folks have received your call. I'm starting to worry now.

Somehow, John was able to track your mailing address so here is the second part of my apology.

Philip, I miss you. Every part of me longs for you. Every corner of my apartment, places where you sat, slept or even touched reeked of your memories. I am sorry for pushing you away, for not giving us another chance. I heartily apologize for not considering the possibility that you didn't want to hurt me by telling me the truth.

You love me with all your heart and I was the blind one to ignore it. Ignore all the signs and the possibility that there was more to the truth than you stated.

Please, I beg you to give me a chance at making it up to you. Just one chance to redeem me. Once, just once more, save me.

Call me, respond to me. Contact me somehow, Philip.

I wish you all the luck with your work.

God, I can't even fake it.

I love you, Philip. I miss you like a parched man in a desert storm, hoping for a miracle, praying for a sight of an oasis.

Liberate me of my suffering, baby. I beg you to talk to me. You can yell and scream. I swear I won't cry but dammit, please talk to me.

I miss your morning messages, your evening greetings. I miss my Philip.

Love

Daisy.

~

The second letter was posted while on my way to work. On the way to my new job, to be precise.

Glass and Ice's head, Joseph Clementine was thrilled when I told him I'd take up the job before going to Roseville for the break. At that point, I wanted to move away from Philip and anything that reminded me of him.

In retrospect, it was the stupidest decision I had ever undertaken. I had left the familiar, venturing into the unknown. I had left Philip behind to take up a new life.

Every night before bed, my folks called me to ensure we didn't have bad blood between us. As much I wanted to hate them for what they did, their reasoning sat well in my mind. I couldn't deliberately hate them for what they did. It would be selfish of me to drag them into the hells of despair because I was burning in it.

Speaking of selfishness, after Linda's father took over the restaurant, he made her the head chef. She was forced to stay with him and had to move out of our apartment. When she came to collect her stuff, there was not a shadow of doubt about her suffering.

Linda's father wanted her to make a name for herself. Getting her the head chef's designation in the kitchen of a well-conducted restaurant served his purpose.

During my last few days working at Three Aces, my job felt pitiful. I was demoted to peeling and chopping as opposed to cooking. Though it was under Linda's instructions, I knew well who pulled her strings.

I had powdered GM's pride the day he came to threaten his daughter at the restaurant. I stood up for her then, not having calculated the repercussion. Now GM had his turn and he ensured I danced to his tunes.

But Steve had it the worst.

On one occasion, Linda told me the reason for her breaking up with Steve.

She was protecting him from her father's wrath. She even tried every possible way to get a new job but GM's influence was tough to break away from. Upon his order, most LA restaurants didn't accept Linda's application, much less give her an interview opportunity.

Steve left with me on my last day. He resigned while I took my letter of recommendation. Thankfully, he had a glowing recommendation from Marcy before she left. He planned on using it to his advantage - to find a job in Europe.

Hopefully, something in a Michelin starred restaurant. Let's see.

As far as Linda was concerned, her life turned downright sad. She couldn't stand up to the tyranny of her father. GM too seemed to ignore his daughter's misery due to his selfish act.

The heartbreaking episode for me was watching Linda leave our apartment with tear-filled eyes and heavy bags hanging from her shoulders. She was parting ways with the apartment she loved living in.

As a parting gift, Linda gifted me her mother's deathtrap couch.

"Daisy," someone called my name. I was sitting in the waiting area of the restaurant, expecting someone to escort me. Ken - Joseph's assistant, walked towards me. He looked around the deserted place and moved closer. "Did nobody tell you? You can come in."

I jerked up from my seat. "The receptionist told me-"

"Ohh, makes sense." Ken rolled his eyes and head like he was possessed by some alien entity. "She is new and tends to screw up things more than usual."

Gesturing towards the entrance of the restaurant, he walked with me in parallel. "Are you excited about your first day?"

"Very much." Lie.

I was a ball of nerves. If anything went wrong today, I'd be a weeping mess.

I had realized that it wasn't the new job that was nerve-wracking. It was a culmination of leaving my first job, Linda officially leaving the apartment, Steve's move and Philip's silence that made the day feel heavy.

There was no Marcy to handhold me and make me learn to walk. Joseph Clementine was a much busier chef who preferred his sous chefs to take risky calls by themselves.

Jo was one of those head chefs who preferred working in silence, channeling his inner creativity once the food was presented to him.

My eyes rolled inwards every time I witnessed the modern-day dramatics of the so-called creativity, which truth be told, had nothing to do with creativity.

Taught and nurtured by old school chefs, I was bred with the idea that both sous chef and the head worked well if they interacted. A head chef had to command and motivate the other chefs if the job had to be done better.

Silence never worked well in a restaurant kitchen.

I remembered those happy days back at Three Aces when Steve would crank up music when he was put in charge of desserts. It used to uplift our moods.

Inside the famous Fire and Ice kitchen - between the sounds of clattering pans and spoons, muffled chattering, a symphony of thuds and thumps when vessels hit the grates - I found my footing.

In the dissonance of the kitchen, I found my new home.

The long workstation, where every chef leaned near the stove and watched their creation come to life, echoed with utensils noises and danced with aromatic scents.

Joseph, our main protagonist, stood at the end of the station, peering outside the large window, eying the orange ball fired up in the sky.

"Jo... She is here," Ken said, moving a step back and presenting me for slaughter. Kidding. Just presenting me.

"There you are." Joseph's serene expressions changed - from deep and meditative thinking to lively and bright. He shook my hand with such vigor, I assumed my arm would fall off its socket. "I'm so excited to start working with you," he said, while I peeled my gaze from him towards the rest of the working staff.

"Me too." I was faking it. I had no clue what new challenges I would be presented with.

Marcy had taught me well. Every new difficulty was a new experience for a chef. I was embracing the new, unfamiliar environment even though I wanted nothing more than to run back to my old workstation at Three Aces, Back to the familiar crowd - none of whom existed anymore.

Holding my elbow, Joseph walked me out of the kitchen and into the serving area where we first talked on the day of my interview. The sky looked different than the last time. The sun cast its reflection through the glass, lighting it up. The warmth stayed out with the protective glass shield covering.

"What can I start with?" I asked, excited to begin my day. "I can do sauces and then-"

Jo's hand raised, halting my word-train. "Before we begin, I want to ask you how was working at Three Aces?"

"It was good till Marcy and Steve managed." My shoulders slumped with my next words. "The new management is kinda..." It was hard to find a euphemism for GM - a sexist, asshole.

"Good," Jo clapped his hands. I felt like a kindergarten kid who was appreciated for doing the bare minimum. "We can proceed now."

"Proceed with that?"

"Oh sorry," Jo said, smacking his palm to his forehead. He leaned closer and whispered. "We are acquiring them too."

"What?" There wasn't a single soul present who missed hearing my intonated question. Joseph pulled me to the corner, taking me away from every watchful eye. "Why are we? I mean...Oh fuckk... Does this mean GM-"

"No. No. No. No. No," Jo's head and hands moved in different directions but conveyed the same. "GM is asked to let go. Something came up against him and now the Justice Department is looking into him."

And there, one a thirtieth floor from the ground, my world swayed off its foundation. Somewhere deep inside, I had an inkling about the person responsible for it. 

~

And there we have it...

Philip having his hand in something else too...

But then why isn't he responding to Daisy and her letters?

Do you think he is fine?

Let me know in the comments ;)