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“I love you”.
“I fucking love you”.
Carmy stares stupidly at the fluorescent sparks as they arc and fly from the walk-in door. His chest and his gut hurt, ache even, but his mind feels oddly dull.
Somewhere deep down, he knows he has to make amends, but he has wronged so many people that he doesn’t know where to begin. For now, it seems safer just to let himself drift into nothingness for a while, and finally embrace the cold.
After what seems like another hour, but is really only a few minutes, he hears an unfamiliar voice.
“Hey, are you ok in there? You can get out now. Can you move?”
Carmy looks up, his eyes bleary with unshed tears. His throat is dry, and his lips are chapped and cracked from the cold, so he can’t respond, but he staggers to his feet.
Before the handyman in the hat can speak again, he’s shoved aside by an eager Fak.
“Carmy, you’re alive! God, I’m so glad!” - Fak slaps him on the shoulder, and then embraces him, as if to check he’s real, before releasing him and standing back to say, “But yeah, I think you’re in a whole heap of trouble. A whole heap. Huge”.
Ignoring the last part, Carmy husks out, “Did we … did we do it?”
“Yeah, we did it - we totally smashed it! And, like, pretty much everyone is happy, except you know Natalie and Richie and Sydney are all really pissed at you, Carm, and I’m fairly certain I saw Claire Bear run out crying, so yeah, basically you’re fucked”, and he shrugs.
Carmy closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. They had done it. Even though he hadn’t been there - no, because he hadn’t been there, the night hadn't been a complete bust.
He knows he deserves every bit of anger and contempt that will soon be coming his way, but at least he hasn’t ruined everything for them (like he usually does).
“Hey, so, sorry to interrupt, but who should I send my invoice to? I’m gonna have to charge you for labor, plus for the emergency call-out, and while I don’t think I’m gonna be able to order in a new door anytime soo-“.
“Thank you so, so much, Tony”, says a worryingly calm Natalie who has suddenly appeared, “we really appreciate you coming out at such short notice, so please just go ahead and email your invoice to me, and I’ll make sure you’re paid as soon as possible”, and she ushers the fridge guy away.
Fak looks at Carmy, wide-eyed and fearful, and Carmy sighs again as he knows he’s about to get thoroughly reamed out.
“I think I’m probably gonna head on home now, Carm, cuz I only have the one nice shirt and I need to go get it laundered before tomorrow’s service -“
“Where do you think you’re going, my love?” Natalie says from behind Fak, in that sugary-sweet way she always does with him.
“Oh, hi Nat, I’m assuming you two will wanna have some kind of a family debrief and, although I do love you both, I’m technically not a Berzatto, so I’m just going to leave you guys to it -” and with that, Fak practically scurries out the door.
“Bear” - her sugary tone continues.
“Save it, Nat”, he stops her, though he won’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know, uh, I know that I’m a piece of shit. And, uh, I know that I let all of you down. I, uh, I should have been here. I should have been present. I should have been focused. And, uh, I should have called Terry”.
“Tony”.
“Whatever, the point is, I know I fucked up. Because that’s what I do - I fuck things up. I” - and he pauses for a beat - “am a complete waste of space.”
He can feel his right hand start to judder, but he somehow manages to tamp it down. He really wants a cigarette. Instead, he chokes back his own saliva, clears his throat.
“And, uh, I know you hate me, and Cousin hates me, and Syd hates me, and I’m pretty sure Claire wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire, so, to be honest, I don’t think you could make me feel any worse than I do right now. But, but - this place is good, right? It works, right?”
At this, he finally looks up at Natalie, slightly desperate, pleading, rubbing a circle on his chest.
Her expression is hard to read, but eventually she says, quietly, warmly, “It’s good, Bear”.
She holds her arms out to him, but Carmy makes no attempt to move forward until he sees a slight ripple of annoyance on her face.
He folds his body awkwardly into his sister’s for a hug, trying to be careful not to crush her bump.
Natalie still flinches a little. “God, you’re so fucking cold, Bear. I mean, that makes sense, but also what the fuck?”
Carmy chuckles weakly into her shoulder. “Yeah, being stuck in a walk-in for several hours will do that to you … um, Nat, I may be cold, but you’re kinda damp - wait, is this the toilet dress?”
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me, Bear. You know you have to fix things with Richie and Sydney and Claire, don’t you?” she says gently. “Like, you may have annoyed the fuck out of me once again, but I’ve lost one brother already, and I don’t think I can afford to lose another”. She laughs, but it comes out more like a sob, and she clutches him tightly to her.
She continues more firmly, “But those guys? Those guys will walk. You get that, right?”
He sniffles, coughs and clears his throat again, and says, “Yeah, no, I get that, Natalie, I do”.
She pulls back and forces him to look at her.
“Bear, I’m giving up a whole fucking career to do this thing because I believe in you, even if you are an asshole, and I believe in The Bear, even if it does feel like a fucking millstone a lot of the time.
So if you fuck this up, Bear, if you fuck up our family, by which I mean Richie and Sydney and the rest, I will never forgive you, but more importantly, Pete will never forgive you, because he loves me more than anything, and he is therefore literally so invested in all this shit, I even caught him crying earlier.”
She pauses and holds Carmy’s chin up with one hand.
“And I know you and Cousin think that that kind of thing makes Pete a pussy, but you are so, so wrong, and you have never seen him angry before, and I promise you, Bear - it’s best that you never do”.
At this, Natalie kisses Carmy’s brow, releases his face, and then walks away, saying, “Lock up behind you, Bear - that’s the least you can fucking do.”
Carmy just stands there, incredulous at the thought of Pete being able to muster more than a mild rebuke, but then he decides it’s not worth the risk, and yells, “Heard!” after his sister.
He flexes both hands, closes his eyes, lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in, and listens out for any other signs of life.
It seems like everyone else has punched out though and he really is the last man standing - ironic, considering how long he’d been sitting on his ass earlier on, doing nothing but being useless and trying not to fall apart.
So. He can start being useful now. Carmy begins to go round and do their regular final checks, but then he realizes that Syd isn’t here to do them with him. Why does he suddenly feel like crying? Oh yeah, because he fucked up royally and now she’s probably, no, definitely going to leave this place (leave him), and this time, it’ll be for good.
Wiping away a few treacherous tears with the back of his hand, he walks around and does the checks anyway, and then changes out of his clothes.
As he switches the lights off and makes to leave out the back, Carmy hears a noise. Panicking, he goes to grab a weapon of some kind, but in the darkness the only thing he can find is a stock-pot lid, so he holds it in front of him like a shield in one hand, and with his keys pointing out between the knuckles of his other hand, like Natalie taught him when he was little.
The lights go back on. “HOLY mother of God! Why the FUCK are you just standing there like a gimp in the dark?”
Richie lunges to clip him round the ear, which Carmy, still clutching the pot lid, manages to swerve.
“I see you didn’t freeze to death, Cousin, which is a shame cuz you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, you freaky little shit.”
“Richie, cut it out. What the fuck do you want?” Carmy’s own heart has finally stopped racing - embarrassed, he can’t help but revert to sullen.
“I left my wallet, Maximus Dorkimus. It spoils the line of my pants, so I stuck it in my locker. Now get the fuck out of my way, you stunad”.
Richie brushes past Carmy like he’s a gnat and heads to the staff area.
Carmy calls out to him - “No, wait”.
Richie stops, but he doesn’t turn around.
Carmy puts down the pot lid. “I, uh, I didn’t mean the things I said. Uh, you were right, and, uh ...” he tails off.
Still with his back to him, Richie gestures to him to continue. “Go on, I’m listening”.
“I, uh, I wanted to say thank you, Cousin. For you always being there for Donna, and for Natalie, and … for Mikey, when …”, and he clears his throat, “when I couldn’t be.”
Richie finally turns round, grabs Carmy into his chest for a tight hug, mutters “Figurati”, and then kisses the top of Carmy’s head without letting go. Carmy accepts this crushing proximity as some kind of penance.
“You know I was just yanking your chain when I called you Donna”, Richie mutters, “God forbid that my Eva end up anything like her fucking loser dad one day.”
Carmy replies with a muffled, “I know.”
“But I did mean what I said, you little bitch, when I said that I fucking love you.”
“Are you … are you crying, Cousin?”
Richie pushes him away at this and says wetly, “No, I’m not a fucking girl” and then he rubs at his face with his hands.
Carmy breaks into a wry half-smile. “Heard, Cousin. And for what it’s worth, I fucking love you too. And I am sorry”.
Richie looks at him then, grins a soft grin, and then wags a finger at him. “You know who else you need to apologize to though? First of all, your, may I remind you, pregnant sister who puts up with so much shit from all of us and deserves so much better -“
“Yo, I already did that”.
“Ok, but you also need to go grovel to Claire Bear, because whatever the fuck you said to her really fucked her up”.
Carmy sniffs. “Heard, yeah”.
“And last, but by no means not least, you need to do something big to make it up to Sydney. And I mean huge, like, I dunno, ritually disembowel yourself - I think the Japanese call it harakiri - because you really left her in the shit today, Mister ‘I Retained Three Michelin Stars’, and even then she still fucking pulled it off”.
Carmy looks at his feet. “Exactly how mad is she at me?”
“Well, you know how you were like yelling and yelling and yelling for her, like a whiny little bitch?” - Carmy flushes - “There’s a reason she never once responded - your ass is grass, my friend”.
Richie wags his finger again, “Syd may be a knife-wielding psycho, but she’s our knife-wielding psycho, and this ship is fucked without her”.
“I know that, Cousin”, snaps Carmy.
“Yeah, so you get down on your knees, and you make it up to her. Whatever it takes, man. Pull out all the stops. She’s a good kid, better than you any day”.
And with that, Richie opens his locker, grabs his wallet, successfully flicks Carmy in the ear, and then walks out the door, calling, “Don’t forget to lock up, you jag-off”.
Carmy rubs his ear ruefully, and weighs up his options as to what he should do next. He could go home, crawl into his bed, and mope like the little bitch that everyone thinks he is. He could go find Claire and - no, she can wait. Right now, The Bear is more important than anything else, so it just makes sense that Sydney is his priority for now (forever).
45 minutes later, after a quick check in Syd’s file to find her home address (not an HR violation because this is an emergency, right? And he’s probably the only HR they have, because it’s hardly going to be Richie, and Nat is technically just their project manager, although he’s going to lock her down for more if he can) and a short-ish ride on the L, Carmy finds himself standing in front of an unassuming brownstone.
He rubs his face just above his chin and starts pacing back and forth. He hasn’t exactly planned what he’s going to say to her, what combination of words will be most likely to get her to not quit. Maybe he can just stand there and rub circles on his chest till he wears the fabric away? No, Richie said do something big. Shit, he already did the Thom Browne thing - who else could he use to call in a favor? Oh, oh, Noma! He could beg Chef Redzepi to squeeze them in - he could take her away this Monday if he rearranged the roster. And then they could also finally do the palate reset that he’d flaked out on, and -
“Son, you’re thinking so loudly you woke me up”.
Sydney’s dad is standing on the stoop with his arms folded, wrapped in a dressing gown, his face a blend of amusement, irritation, and pity.
“Are you going to come in, son, or are you just going to wear a hole through the curb?”
Carmy’s confused - although he had spotted Emmanuel in the restaurant tonight, they weren’t introduced so they haven’t officially met, and so he doesn’t know why he’s inviting a stranger into his home.
“I know who you are, Carmen. My daughter described you well enough” (Carmy would worry about this later) “and I’ve seen you in one of her magazines.”
“Ok, thank you, Mr Adamu, sir. Ok, yes, I will come in”.
Emmanuel goes back in, saying, “No outdoor shoes inside, son - there are slippers if you want them”.
Carmy timidly toes off his sneakers and pads into the house in just his socks.
“Take a seat, son” - Emmanuel sits down in an armchair, gestures to another opposite, and Carmy obeys - “and before you say anything, Sydney isn’t here right now”.
Carmy looks crestfallen.
“She took off for a drive - it’s what she always does when she’s angry or upset” - at this, Emmanuel steeples his hands - “so would you mind telling me why my daughter would be angry or upset, considering I just witnessed what I would call a very successful evening?”
As Emmanuel waits sternly, Carmy’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly like a fish struggling to breathe out of water, and he starts rubbing circles on his chest.
“Are you ok, son?” - Emmanuel now looks concerned - “Do you need a glass of water?”
“Uh, no, no, sir, I’m fine, I just, that’s, that’s how Sydney and I say sorry to each other”.
“I see”, says Emmanuel, “and why would you be needing to say sorry to her right now?”
“Because I fucked up, sorry sir, I mean I messed up. I promised I would be there for her, but I let Sydney down. I, uh, I was actually trapped in our refrigerator for most of tonight and it was entirely my fault.”
Emmanuel leans back, bites his top lip, and looks like he’s trying not to smile at this, but doesn’t say anything, so Carmy continues to ramble.
“So any success you may have witnessed tonight is purely down to Sydney and the rest of our crew. Your daughter is an incredible chef, sir, and an incredible person, and The Bear wouldn’t exist without her, and, and everyone adores her, and I think I would be lost without her, and you should be extremely, extremely proud of her”.
“Oh, I am, son. Always have been. Now though, have you bothered telling Sydney any of what you just told me?”
Carmy looks down, chastened.
“I figured not. Perhaps you should.”
Carmy remains mute, his face flushed.
“Anyway, I need to get my beauty sleep, but you can stay and wait up for Sydney if you like. I’m assuming otherwise you’ll just end up mooning around in front of our house anyway and it’s 30 degrees out there tonight”.
Carmy looks up. “Th-thank you, sir.”
“Goodnight, Carmen. Be good to my daughter, but also to yourself.”
“Goodnight, sir!”
“And Carmen - you can call me Emmanuel”.
He shuts his bedroom door before Carmy can process this and suddenly the house is far too quiet.
Too antsy to just sit and wait, Carmy gets up and starts to look around the living room. There are picture frames everywhere, all shapes and sizes, on walls, on shelves - certificates and awards and family photos - Syd winning a spelling bee, Syd eating the biggest ice cream he has ever seen, Syd speaking as valedictorian (of course), Syd building a sandcastle at what looks like Clarke Street Beach, Syd sitting on an ugly wooden horse on the carousel at Pirates’ Cove while holding hands with a pretty woman standing next to her who must be her mother.
As well as being ridiculously cute as a kid (as an adult), it turns out Syd looks a hell of a lot like her mom - even as a child, she was a mini-me - and Carmy wonders if she knows this (of course she knows this) and what it’s like for Syd to be reminded of her dead mother every time she looks in a mirror.
Then his thoughts turn to how he looks more like Donna than Mikey or Natalie do, and how folk would sometimes call him mini-Donna and how proud he was of that (as an oblivious kid who loved his Ma more than anything), and how that nickname began to rankle the older he got and the less his siblings were able to protect him.
As he begins to feel a little panicky, Carmy hears a key turn, the front door open, and a tote bag clunk on the floor.
“Hey Dad, you know you really didn’t have to wait up for me - oh.”
And Syd immediately picks up her bag and turns round to head back out.
“Please stop”, Carmy calls out in a broken voice - even he can hear how much of a pathetic loser he is.
He hears Syd slowly count to ten under her breath and then finally she turns, and she stares at him, defiantly.
“Sydney”, he whispers.
“Car-men”, she says, firm and full of scorn.
“Syd”, he says, even more quietly than before.
“So you wanna tell me exactly how you know where I live?”
Carmy suddenly finds the floor very interesting. “I, uh, looked at your file”.
Syd raises her eyebrows. “Isn’t that, like, an HR violation?”
“Probably” - he laughs weakly, rubs his face - “but then I think I am HR.”
She doesn’t laugh or even smile, but she does put her bag down.
“So the fact that you are here, in my home, is obviously an indication that either you broke in and locked my father in a closet or he is seriously lowering his standards for desirable houseguests.
Now, unlike earlier this evening, I don’t hear anyone banging or screaming for me, so I’m going to assume it’s the latter, unless you did something really fucked up and gagged and tied him up too?”
Carmy laughs again, nervously this time. “No, no, I didn’t lock your father in a closet”.
“Ok, that’s a good start, although on reflection, clearly my own standards have dropped for me to even say that.” Her tone remains acerbic and Carmy winces.
“So” - Syd gestures around her - “what brings the former best CDC at the most excellent restaurant in all of the United States and current biggest piece of shit to my humble neck of the woods?”
Carmy runs his right hand through his hair so it sticks out even more wildly than usual. “I think … I think I owe you a big apology”.
“Oh, you think, do you? You think? That’s awfully generous of you”.
“Syd, please, no” - Carmy is rubbing circles round his heart.
“No, no, you don’t get to do that any more. You don’t get to shit all over me, all over everyone, and then use cutesy sign language to get away with your shitty behavior this time”.
“No, I mean, no, I’m not trying -“
“Ok, so what are you trying to do then, because I am this close to leaving again, and” - Syd gets increasingly heated - “oh hey, wait a minute, you know what, this is my fucking house, so no, I am this close to kicking your skinny, white bitch-ass out of -“
“Sydney, is that you back? Is everything ok, baby?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Everything is good, I’m so sorry, go back to sleep, love you”, she coos (the switch from furious to angelic is almost laughable, but Carmy knows better than to acknowledge this).
She turns back to Carmy and hisses, “Ok, fine, say more, but this had better be good” and flops down into the same armchair that Emmanuel had sat in, crosses her arms, and stares Carmy down.
Carmy’s struck dumb for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, he’s frantically wondering what he can say that might actually appease her and not land him in even more shit.
Secondly, he’s suddenly noticed that even when she’s furious (or maybe because she is furious), Syd seems more alive, more powerful, and more beautiful than anyone or anything he has ever seen before in his whole, pitiful life - it almost feels like he’s trespassing just by being in her presence.
She looks like some kind of an angry goddess, an avenging angel, a Fury, a Valkyrie, someone about whom someone like Wagner (but not a Nazi) would have composed a whole damn suite of symphonies, and it’s stirring something deep inside of him that he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before, and couldn’t put a name to if he tried.
It’s at this point that Carmy finally realises he’s fucked (in love).