The Color of Home: A Novel (16 page)

“Good morning.” Sassa greeted Matt and Myrina, already seated at the coffee shop, holding hands.

“Morning. We took the liberty of buying you a green tea,” Myrina said.

“Perfect. Thanks. I thought more about our conversation last night and I have a few more questions.”

“We figured. Let’s dive in,” Matt said.

“Okay. So, let’s start with finances. How much do you gross and how much do you net per year?”

“About $1 million gross and $100,000 net,” Myrina said. “I run the books. Matt does the food.”

“Wow.”

“It took us some time to build to those numbers.”

“Still, that’s fantastic. Next on my list, what kind of timing are you looking at and how much transition training could you provide?”

“We’d like to move as soon as possible, but what’s more important is leaving the business in good hands. We’re thinking three months of training is probably sufficient,” Myrina said.

“That sounds right. Do you know if the current employees will stay on?”

“We’ve talked to them and they want to stay. They’re good people,” Matt said.

“Good. Let’s go back to money for a moment. What are you thinking in terms of price?”

“Well, we need some cash to get started in Seattle. We have some savings, but we need another $100,000 to get started. So, we’d be willing to take $100,000 up front, then your profits for the next two years after you take out a reasonable salary for yourself.”

“That sounds like a fair price. And what about the name? Will you start a restaurant in Seattle with the same name?”

“The name is part of the deal. We’ll start a similar restaurant in Seattle with a few new twists and a new name. The Green Angel belongs in Portland.”

Sassa, Myrina, and Matt talked another hour and went through Sassa’s remaining concerns in detail. It was as if she’d known them for much longer and taking over the restaurant had been part of the master plan for a long time. There was something exhilarating about the restaurant business, about the connection with Matt and Myrina, about taking a big risk.

“That’s all for now. I’m interested.”

“We have a formal process on our end. Standard background check and, if we all decide to go forward, a three-month trial period where you can get comfortable that you made the right decision.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure I’ll have more questions down the road. I’d like to talk with some of my friends, review your financials with an accountant, and meet the staff. Does that all sound okay?”

“Yes,” Matt and Myrina responded in unison.

Did they always do that?

On her way back to Cambridge, Sassa phoned Brayden and detailed the restaurant in one long monologue. Vegetarian like Life Alive, but higher end. A chance to create something of her own. A way to give back to the community. Matt and Myrina had already done the heavy lifting.

Brayden listened closely and didn’t ask anything until she had finished. “Do you think this is on the path of most resistance?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should do it.”

“You really know how to boil things down.”

“Sometimes.”

She thanked him and let him go. He was a good man.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked.

She smiled. “Everything’s fine. I know we agreed not to contact each other during the year, but I could use your advice on a business opportunity.”

“Oh . . . sure, happy to help. Let me set down my guitar. I just started working on a track for a singer-songwriter who hired us to produce one of her songs.”

“Any good?”

“Not bad. A cross between Sarah McLachlan and Patty Griffin.”

“Cool. I have a chance to move to Portland, Maine, and buy a vegetarian restaurant.”

“You keep going farther away.”

True. She did seem to be making her way up the coast, attracted by smaller and smaller cities. Why was that? “I must have a thing for going north.”

“We have that in common.”

“Anyway, given that you started your own business, I was hoping you might look at the financials for me and let me know if you spot any gotchas?” Once before, she’d asked Nick about running his company. He was a natural at business stuff.

“Why don’t you give me an overview now, and then you can send me whatever information you have as soon as possible? What’s the timing?”

“I’d like to make a final decision by the end of next week.”

For over an hour, Sassa replayed her conversations with Matt and Myrina down to the last detail. Nick asked a lot of good questions, made her feel like he had her back, like she’d already asked Matt and Myrina all of the important stuff on her own. He had always encouraged her to explore, to take risks, to do what she wanted. He always would.

“What do you think?”

“I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”

The following week, Nick validated all of the financials, provided Sassa with useful information about running a small business, and endorsed her purchase of the Green Angel. They spoke one more time on the phone before the one-year rule went back into effect.

Sassa lay on her bed and pressed her feet against the headboard. The only thing she had on was a “
Let It Be
” T-shirt and black lace panties. John covered one breast and Paul the other. “Are you okay with our conversations this week?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“We did agree not to talk for a year.”

“We shouldn’t be so rigid. It’s nice to know you still need me.”

“I do.” With her free hand, she spelled out “Two of Us” on the blanket. She’d grown to love the Beatles almost as much as Nick did. Sometimes, when they were still together, they held Beatles’ weeks where they listened to one album per day in the order of their release date. Was
Let It Be
or
Abbey Road
last? She could never remember. Smiling, she crossed one foot over the other and curled her toes. Her T-shirt pushed up a few inches and exposed her panties.

“You’ll do well with the restaurant.”

“I feel like I caught up.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like I get to take advantage of Matt and Myrina’s ten years of hard work while I’ve been floundering around all these years.”

“I don’t think you’ve been floundering around.”

“Let’s agree to disagree on that one.”

After she hung up with Nick, she poured herself a glass of wine and toasted a picture of her mom and dad on the wall. Adulthood. She had finally arrived. A moment later, she rummaged through her desk drawer and found a box filled with colored pencils, and a large, still-blank journal Nick had given her when they first met. The first page: Sassa, May this be one of the first places you dream. Nick. She smiled. Turning to a blank page, she employed a trick one of her college professors had taught her. She drew a map of the simple steps required to take over the Green Angel: settle into Old Port apartment, meet employees, meet local suppliers, practice menu, get to know clients. With multiple colors, she sketched an old brick house, a group of workers, a farm, a menu, customers, and listed many detailed steps below each drawing. Once drawn, as if it was her most prized possession, she placed the journal under her mattress. She planned to move from step to step until she reached her goal, or “treasure,” as her professor liked to label the final destination. Manageable chunks, Sassa, manageable chunks are all you’ll ever need to find the treasure. Shortly after learning the trick, she had slept with him for the first time. At that time, she had had a thing for men with power.

Day One. Six in the morning: Sassa woke in her new apartment naked. She rolled out of bed, sat on the floor in the corner, and gathered her legs into her chest. There was so much empty space. She would work on that. Dressed for work in her traditional white chef’s vest, jeans, and black Bistro Crocs, she twirled her hair for a long time as she stared out her living room window.

First thing on her agenda: meet employees. She had mapped spending a couple of hours one-on-one with each one, listening to them talk about work, about their lives, about their dreams. In college, while volunteering in a halfway house for troubled girls one semester, she had learned that two-hour introductory meetings worked best. Much longer, and the girl, tired and exposed at that point, flamed out; shorter, and she felt misunderstood, invisible. The same approach would work with her employees.

At the local coffee house close to the restaurant, she met Jack first, her most senior employee. “Hey, Jack. So this is meant to be a really open session. We can talk about anything that comes up and nothing is off limits.”

“Red Sox versus the Yankees?”

She grinned. She liked him already. “Almost nothing.”

“Thanks for the two hours. It’s nice to have so much time.”

“For me as well.”

“So, have you thought about what you want to do with the restaurant?” he asked.

“A little. I’m going to keep a lot of what Matt and Myrina did. Serving the community and cooking with local, whole, organic foods for sure. Do you have any thoughts?” She really wanted all of her employees’ input, wanted them to re-up, to feel vested in the restaurant, in her, in each other. That was how she planned to build the company.

“Thanks for asking. I guess I’d like to change the menu more and experiment based on what’s in season any given week.”

“Good idea. Say more.”

“We could add specials based on availability of local produce or maybe have summer and winter menus.”

“I like the idea of summer and winter menus. Let’s discuss that with the rest of the team. Can you help by pulling together a proposal?”

He pushed back in his chair and sipped his coffee. The corners of his lips flashed upward. “Sure.”

“How do you feel about a fresh juice bar?”

“A lot of work.”

“I know. Good margins, though. Maybe next year. What do you need from me?” she asked.

“A chance to grow. In a few years, I’d like to start my own restaurant. The Green Angel is a stepping stone.”

She nodded. “That sounds great. I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Yes. A wife and three girls.”

“Bring them in sometime and I’ll cook for them.”

“One big happy family.”

“For sure.”

Day Thirty: Sassa spent the morning organizing the kitchen mise en place. In Sassa’s kitchen, everything had it’s own container, it’s own spot. Chopped onions. Minced garlic. A collection of finishing salts. Different curries. Green mustard. Cabbage. Brussels sprouts. King oyster mushrooms. The French had gotten organization right. It allowed her and everyone in the kitchen to focus on the cooking later on when hungry customers were waiting for their meals.

Using a number of prep containers, she made salad dressings and soups for the day, tasting along the way to make sure each one was perfect. Coconut soup. Spicy bean curd dressing. Coconut milk and chili dressing. Into squeeze bottles, she poured different olive oils. Squeezing was easier when in a hurry. She stacked plastic dining trays six feet high against the wall. They used them as easily swappable cutting boards, which were faster to swap out than wiping down the counter. Timing was critical at the Green Angel. A moment too long or too short made all of the difference in a dish. Next to the dining trays, she organized metal sheet trays for prepping and cooking vegetables. Whenever possible, they used the same pot or pan or metal sheet for more than one purpose. Dual use simplified clean-up and maintenance in the kitchen.

Sassa had spent almost every minute during her first thirty days prepping, shadowing Matt, working side-by-side with her employees, building trust and respect. She’d normally arrived a few hours early each day, and at the end of the day, she made sure she was the one who closed down the restaurant. The key to a successful transfer of the business was the customer perception that everything—the food, the quality, the atmosphere, the staff—remained the same. Once she’d established credibility through sameness, she could start experimenting.

“Hey, Matt. Just finished all of the prep for the day,” Sassa said.

“Want to try something?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I planned a visit out to the Blue Moon Harvest Organic Farm so you could see things firsthand.”

“I’ve been meaning to visit those guys. Thank you.”

“It’s a cool place. You’ll like the owner.”

“Down the road, if things go well, I’d love to buy a small farm and source the restaurant that way.” Sassa hadn’t shared her entire map with anyone. Not Matt. Not Myrina. Not Brayden. Not even Nick. While she had plenty to do to get the Green Angel where she wanted it, she hadn’t stopped there. She’d mapped much bigger. Why not her own restaurant in the country, sourced by organic meat and produce from her own farm? Why not a few restaurants up and down the coast?

Day Seventy. The coming out party: entering the main dining area, calm and at ease, she mingled with her customers. Hard word had been a gift. For the first time in years, she’d completely thrown herself into work. She’d committed to it, and though there were obstacles along the way, she had enough strength to overcome them. It was as if she’d re-discovered resiliency.

“Hi. I’m the new owner, Sassa. How’s your dinner?”

“Great. Just like it’s been since I started coming here ten years ago,” said a man from a party of two.

“That’s good to hear. That was my goal.”

“You’re easier to look at than Matt.”

She grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. He has his fans.”

“I may have to come more often.”

“I would be honored. Thanks for your business. If you have thoughts on how I could make the restaurant better, please let me know.” She reached out and gently placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Have a good day.”

Menu variety. Price. Service. Whatever. She would listen to her customers and improve based on their feedback. The Green Angel was already a great place, and she was committed to making it even more exceptional. Some sushi chefs in Tokyo spent their entire lives perfecting their craft. She would do the same. After visiting a few more tables, she made her way to a corner table where a woman seemed upset.