Mom sighed.
“That’s one way of saying it.”
They had worked together at a diner more than forty years earlier, before I was born.
And according to Alaric, my mother had changed his life.
“I was twenty-two,” he said. “I was broke, inexperienced, and convinced I was going to become a chef.”
“You were talented,” Mom interrupted.
“I was also stupid.”
“That too.”
For the first time since the insult, Mom almost smiled.
Alaric told me that when nobody else believed in him, Mom did.
She tasted the meals he experimented with after closing.
She encouraged him.
She convinced the diner owner to give him time in the kitchen.
“She was the first person who made me believe I belonged there.”
Mom looked embarrassed.
“You would have made it anyway.”
“No,” Alaric said. “I might not have.”
Apparently, he later got fired after arguing with the owner.
“You threw a pan,” Mom reminded him.
“I did not throw it at him.”
“It landed near him.”
“My aim was terrible.”
A few people nearby laughed.
Even Mom laughed.
Then Alaric became serious again.
“After I lost that job, Molly helped me find another one.”
“Anyone would have.”
“No,” he said quietly. “They wouldn’t.”
He looked directly at her.
