Chapter Text
Fuck, he's so nervous, he can barely stand it.
Even more than having to talk to his own mom. This is it. This is what's going to make him or break him. Scarier than fucking Empire if he's being honest with himself.
He stares over at the diner window, at Emmanuel sitting inside in the booth, waiting for him.
“I'm sorry,” he rehearses, seeing his breath hang out in the chill Fall air. “I'm sorry, sir that I fucked this up...shit.”
He looks down the street. He could just run away from this. After all, Syd did, and she's not returning his texts or phone calls. And he respects that, but, obviously not enough, because he's reached out to her dad, and he knows she's going to be pissed when she finds out.
Maybe that's what he wants. All her anger, instead of her acting like she felt nothing when she told him about going to work for Chef Shapiro. Who, by the way, is a fucking smudger.
God, he has to calm down and get his shit together. He sets his hands on his hips. No, he's not going to stand up Syd's dad here. He's going to try to make this right.
He goes inside the diner and hears the ding of the bell at the door, sees Emmanuel look up at him from his spot in the booth, a glass of pop in front of him.
When he gets to the booth, he doesn't stand up, just sits there, quiet and calm. So much like Syd, he thinks, and stares up at him. “You're late,” he says to him.
Fuck.
“Yes, sir,” he says, taking his jacket off quickly, sitting down in the booth.
“No, no need to sir me,” Emmanuel says immediately. “We're not doing sir today.”
Holy shit. He is about to get destroyed. There is zero chance here. None. Nada. It's fine, he thinks, slipping into the booth. Because he deserves this. He made his daughter's life hell.
“Carmen,” he says to him, nodding. Because he thinks asking her dad to call him Carmy sounds stupid.
“She always called you Carm when she spoke of you,” he replied to him. Past tense.
“Okay, well, you can call me whatever you want, Mr. Adamu,” he says back.
“Nope,” he says with another shake of his head. “Just Emmanuel for today.”
“Emmanuel,” he repeats, and then stops when the waitress approaches, and he orders a pop like an idiot, watching Emmanuel sigh, and then tries not to fidget in the booth. So, he reaches into his jacket instead and pulls out an envelope and slides it across the table towards him.
“What is this?” Emmanuel asks him, a disbelieving sound in his tone.
“Back wages,” he said to him sheepishly. “We had to defer salaries, to try to get the restaurant up and running, and I wanted to make sure she got this.”
“Hmm,” Emmanuel says, staring at him and sitting back in the booth now, but he's not touching the envelope. “That's what you called me here for?”
“Yes,” he said to him, watching him narrow his eyes. “I mean, no si-Emmanuel.”
“Which one?” he asks, the turn of his head, just like Syd, and it feels like a fucking grilling, like he's over a pit of coals right now. “Because whatever it is you're up to, I know you can't afford that,” he adds, pointing down at the envelope.
He watches in shock as he pushes the envelope back towards him. He never even tried to look inside.
“No,” he confesses, his eyes fluttering, he feels humiliated. Embarrassed. He shuts his eyes. “I miss her.”
“Now we're getting somewhere,” Emmanuel says. “Miss her because your restaurant needs her, or-” he pauses when the waitress returns with his soda, setting it down in front of him, and he doesn't touch it, just stares at the bubbles coming up to the surface. “Or miss her because you're in love with her?”
“What?” he asks, feeling his eyes go wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.
“You heard me.”
“I-” he doesn't know what to say, he runs a hand through his hair and stares out at the window, thinking maybe he should've run after all.
“You can't say it,” Emmanuel says, sound impatient like Syd. Bored. Done. “Okay,” he says, looking down, starting to get out his wallet to pay for the drinks.
“I tried to keep her all for myself,” he admits to him quickly, his hands on the table now. “I held her back for me, and it was selfish.”
He sees her father frown at him now.
“I don't know if you would even call that love. But I've never had that before. And then, I had it every day. She was right there with me. And...and I lost her.”
It throws him completely off guard, watching Emmanuel tear up. “Yeah, I know that feeling all too well.”
“Sir,” he says to him, and tries to correct himself, as Emmanuel puts up a hand to pause him.
“It's fine,” he says to him. “I'll take your sir now.”
He just nods at him, unable to think of what he could possibly say next.
“You know,” he tells him. “Syd has always been about The Thing. And what she's doing now, it's not The Thing at all. It made me realize that The Thing was...it was probably you. You and her together, I mean.”
He feels his heart about to beat out of his fucking chest, he lets out a breath he realizes he's been holding, and finally lets himself take a drink of the pop, gulps it down.
“My daughter is extremely stubborn, so you'd better be prepared to roll that rock uphill like Sisyphus young man. You might have to settle for just being friends or being all good and going your separate ways.”
“Yes,” he nods. He's right, reality is setting in now. “I want to try to make it right.”
“You couldn't even make her sign a business agreement, son,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head.
“No, I could not,” he admits.
“You can't just pretend you know how to change the tire,” he tells him, emphasizing it with his hand. “You got to get out and change the damn tire, you know?”
He knows, but he does not know.
He's willing to learn.