Keeping Up with the Berzattos

by Chefskiss40

Summary:

A flash into a future - vignettes, slices of life and a look into what life could be if Carmy and Sydney got married, had children and how their lives evolved and changed.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Everyone knew the Berzattos…

Or at least they used to.

It was the hottest day of the summer. The potency of the heat and the sun's vengeance forced everyone to retreat into their AC - cooled homes, giving the neighborhood a preternatural quiet backdrop that was unnerving to its oldest and most loyal resident.

She was the only one sitting on her porch, her hazel eyes still good after all these years, sharply observing the neighborhood like a well-paid security guard.

Antonia "Tia" DeAngelis had lived in this corner of Northern Chicago since she and her dearly departed bought their home in the 1960s. Their cozy life of wedded bliss after Joe returned from the war was disrupted by the arrival of two rambunctious boys. So, like many second-generation Italian Americans, they scrimped, saved, and bought a house on this little tree-lined street, nestled outside the city's cacophony. Time went by, and her darling Joe passed away. The “good” kids left the traditional neighborhood behind for good schools, shiny and fancy jobs, or life outside the "old neighborhood." Family businesses shuttered. Despair and alcohol, claimed the rest of what was left.

---

Her oldest, Tony, lived in New York but always came for holidays with his wife and the grandbabies. She was, after all their favorite Nonna…Or their only Nonna…The wife was a WASPY type from Connecticut whose idea of Italian food was a reservation at a white-tablecloth laden establishment.  

Her Johnnie – well, he and his boyfriend lived in a tiny yet stylish condo in Silicon Valley. He did not visit as often but was always sure to send expensive presents to his mother. They did not talk much. He did not take too kindly to her refrains about him going to mass to "repent for his sin."

She had watched her lovely neighborhood transform from an interconnected web of families who spoke the language, who made their Sunday gravy from scratch – disappear.

Was that not what happened to many children of the "old neighborhood?

The old paisans who used to run the block were dead and gone. Leaving behind assimilated children who would not deign to work at a water plant or be an associate for This Thing of Ours…to put food on the table.

The large, roomy homes with natural sunlight that had become shabby vestiges of a past world had now been renovated and occupied by the River North elite who commuted to their well-paying jobs, downtown.

The moment she really knew her “old neighborhood” changed for good was when the Berzattos moved in. Or at least the new iteration of them.

Donna's youngest, the cherubically beautiful rugrat who Tia used to babysit when the Berzattos were going through….their "Berzatto moments," had returned to the neighborhood with a new wife and two children about five years ago. The Old Berzatto home was about five minutes from the new one and bore no resemblance to the old. The New one used to be owned by the Cominettis. The Cominettis moved to a retirement community in Florida about 10 years ago.

The Old Berzatto home was a mid-century central hall classic. The most excellent home on the block at the time. Brimming with loud voices, peppery ragu, and Donna's wine rages.

A finance type owned it now.

The new one was something out of a magazine. Renovated, tony with crisp white shutters, a sumptuous dark red coating on the shingles, and a wrap-around porch that boasted imported Italian furniture. She could see the tease of a utopian garden out back but had never been invited over to get the full effect.

The only noises you heard were the joyful laughter of the children, sumptuous mixes of R&B, Jazz, and 60s soul, and the occasional bustle of an outdoor dinner party. It was not uncommon for the house to stand vacant for weeks as the family of four took vacations to Italy, the horn of Africa or the tropics of South America.

Often, she would see the steel gray Lexus Sedan that would reveal Donna’s only daughter. It’s nice that she brought the kids to play with their cousins…

 

The old "The Beef," where she and Joe used to treat themselves and their kids to Sunday Italian Beef sandwiches yonder ago, had now been converted into a fine dining establishment from what she read in the Chicago Tribune.

Not too long after Donna’s oldest had done the unthinkable.

She remembered pouring so intently over the newspaper profile, she almost burned her Sunday roast.

She remembered how jarring it was to see him…now. The quiet, little blonde boy who used to break her heart with his vulnerability was now a grown man. His florescent blue eyes glared at her with detached pretention. The stylish and minimalist backdrop. The captions shouted out fancy designers.

He's just wearing a nice sweater and slacks. Really? $1,500? And who is this Thom Browne? And why so much for just clothes? And what's with all the tattoos? 

And chief amongst the jarring nature of the photos was the lithe wife and business partner draped over his shoulder in a figure-hugging black dress. Her well-turned ankles, the long mane of delicate braids, and the large ruby of a ring that elegantly festooned her ring finger intrigued Tia.

Chef's Kiss: How the Berzattos Disrupted Chicago's Fine Dining Scene. 

She kept the spread and folded it neatly into the pages of her giant, worn bible. She would return to the article to glean insights into the young man she no longer felt she knew.

The small, discrete wedding off the Amalfi Coast. 

The love story…all information she had heard secondhand. Only to have the article confirm it.

 

"Aww, Donna's youngest got married?" 

"Do we know her?" 

"Whatever happened to Claire?" 

 

Her old comrades, proud Italian women who had nurtured, cooked, and cleaned for their families, were replaced by minimalist types who neither ate nor wore much color.

They hired people to clean their homes.

They shopped at upscale grocers and worked from home.

They did not say "hi."

They did not stop by to announce their move into the neighborhood with a pan of hearty food.

They just jogged with their strollers and ignored the small, slight woman who sat on her porch with her Catholic bible.

All except the New Mrs. Berzatto.

 

She was friendly, with a wide smile. She's pretty, in a magazine way. All limbs…

Skin like lacquered chocolate….Lips that always seemed to be curled into an intelligent smirk. She had a kind of chic, yet aloof disposition that contrasted with the fiery intensity one would attribute to anyone who carried the last name “Berzatto.” Sometimes at dusk, Tia would see the New Mrs. Berzatto drinking something warm from a mug while she read a book. Sometimes she would wave to her and Donna’s boy while they were lovingly curled into each other with a bottle of wine on their porch, watching the sunset.

She had to confess; the kids were angels! The oldest, a boy. Refined hair, a rich creamy complexion with his mother’s eyes.  

“Hello, Mrs. DeAngelis” he would say in his polite little voice. The youngest, a toddler who had inherited the famous Berzatto blues was doll-like. Pretty and disarmingly well-behaved. Never fussy.

The New Mrs. Berzatto would say “hi” and would write little kind notes and leave treats in her mailbox. Small talk, nothing more. Friendly, but oh so guarded, that one.

She would forage the article for details.

Dad was a college administrator.  The mom was dead. Graduated from the Culinary Institute of America. Illustrious credentials Tia did not understand. She wondered if she grew up on the South Side.

Everyone from the old days had assumed the youngest Berzatto would marry the lovely, dark-haired Claire. Focused, quiet, and devoted to their respective fields, culinary work, and medicine, they would have a beautiful, sprawling Italian wedding at St. John’s. They would move into a lovely brick house on the coast with a pool and would do them proud. Invite them over for a spread, maybe?

 

But…that didn't happen.

She had been rooting for Donna’s son and Claire.

Just once, she would like the "old neighborhood" boys to marry a nice Italian girl. To be an example that the old ways were still embraced. If Claire and Donna's youngest ended up together, it would be a lovely balm to the wound of having countless neighborhood boys bring home a refined outsider that bore no resemblance to the "Mamma Mias," as her Tony derisively referred to the old guard when she broached the topic of Carmy Bear's wife over the phone.

 

I don’t know how she bore those precious kids with those narrow hips! No childbearing hips. 

 

What was it about this new generation? Why could they not connect to the lovely neighborhood girls from the same part of the boot as they were from?

It's not like she did not like the New Mrs. Berzatto…

It's just…

What was wrong with a girl who cleaned her own home? A girl who knew how to make Braciole? A girl…

…who went to mass

She wonders what the Old Bear himself would think of his youngest married to a…

Well, times had changed. She had accepted her little Johnnie's lifestyle. Maybe Donna had accepted her only remaining son’s lifestyle as well. Last she heard; Donna was in a looney bin….

 

Tia just was not sure she liked how it had changed. She lifted her petite frame and aching joints and left the sweltering, hot porch for the cool refuge of her home. Sepia-toned family portraits lined the wallpapered walls.

As she slowly turned around, wistful for the time when Joe would come home to a plate of hot food and the warmth of her love, she caught a glimpse of the New Mrs. Berzatto across the street – a halo of thick curls, with the two adorable children in tow. She’s draped in a chic linen number. Donna’s boy must be at the restaurant. She heard they opened another one.

She was loading the kids into the car. Patient, she was with them.

She was happy Donna’s boy found his happiness.

She was happy he made his way back home.

But as she watched the Volvo SUV pull out of the driveway, regret shot through her heart.

She was happy he found the love he never had as a kid.

She just wishes he did not have to wander out of the “old neighborhood” to do it.

 

Chapter 2: Sydney, the Lady Who Kind of Lunches

Sydney Adamu – Berzatto was tired.

Not tired in the way that she found particularly useful. Tired in a way that felt like an irritating bug on a hot summer day. On a hot summer day like this one, where she would instead be spending her valuable time in her airy kitchen, creating new recipes, answering emails, and playing with her babies.

"Where are we on the chicken vendor?" Sydney asked in a weary voice, fearful of the answer.

Seated comfortably in their respective car seats, her babies had thankfully fallen asleep, victim to the soothing drive and the blissful air conditioning in the car. Their midday naps allowed her to catch up on work with Carmy and not play that godforsaken song from Encanto for the millionth time.

"Syd, I told you not to worry about that –"

"I must worry about it; President 44's birthday reservation is around the corner and –"

A deep sigh of frustration permeated the car. The disembodied voice of her business partner and husband would typically act as a soothing reprieve. However, she had to admit – he was getting on her last nerve. They had been talking about changing their guy since a salmonella outbreak hit a series of fine dining establishments three weeks ago. Luckily, The Bear had come away unscathed. However, it was enough to make Sydney move the need for a different vendor to the top of her list.

In true Carmy fashion, he had provided her with a series of assured and sincere "I know, I'm on it" excuses only to not follow through. She would ordinarily put her foot down, but he had strategically upped his already prodigious cunnilingus output, granted more frequent foot massages, and mysteriously seemed to make sure Lily's diaper changes were always his responsibility this week…

No more distractions. Sydney meant it this time. She swore. Really.

Sydney made a shrill noise of frustration. She had to pull out the big guns. The last time he had been this committed to bullshitting a simple errand, his stubborn ass ended up locked in the walk-in freezer.

"Baby…" she whined in that voice she knew he could not resist. Her large doe eyes shot to the rearview mirror to double-check that Junior and Lily were still asleep. Even through  the Bluetooth. Even through the phone – she still had that effect on him all these years later. She could practically see the signature shade of rouge wash over his neck and ears.

"Sydney?" He intoned, his voice taking on a reluctant husky nature. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of control. His attempt to sound "stern" was so flimsy she could practically see his eyes darkening with lust through the car console.  

A playful smile spread across her features as she made the final left turn onto tree-lined Division Street, slowly pulling into a parking space so fortuitous in availability Sydney was almost tempted to say a prayer of thanks. Part of her angst about even driving to Coopers’ home was the lack of parking in the neighborhood. She never understood the appeal of buying a home this expensive if you could not guarantee the availability of parking for guests.

She squared her shoulders and fluffed her large afro ponytail. She was going for the kill.

"You sure you want to keep forgetting what you-"

"Ayy! Cousin! We have that hack of a critic stopping by next Monday!" Richie's unmistakable voice broke through the charged hush that had previously circled the call.

"Fucko! Easy. The Mrs. and I were in the middle of something." Carmy replied with a frantic annoyance that let Sydney know that her evil plan to blackmail her husband into following up with the chicken vendor by withholding sex would have been very successful.

"Oh. Hey Boss Lady, look, sorry to interrupt whatever freaky-married shit you-"

"Richie, I've told you not to call me-"

Sydney tried to respond, but the crosstalk pushed her out.

"Cousin! Seriously, not now-"

"So, you guys were having phone sex-"

"Yo, what the fuck is wrong with-

"Just admit it, then I will-"

"Cousin!"

A giggle left her lips as she caught a glimpse through the rearview mirror of Junior stirring awake, his large brown eyes slowly plying awake from the raised voices.

"Guys! Guys! I'm at the Coopers. With the kids. Like, I'll talk later."

The cross-talk continued as Sydney knowingly clicked the "hangup" button on the console of the car, unbuckled her seatbelt, and did the "kids-mommy-diaper bag” tango so that she and the kids could make their way to the austere residence of the Coopers.

 

 

 

"Ahhhhh!!!" A high-pitched exclaim greeted Sydney's ears as she tried to gracefully balance the diaper bag on one shoulder while carrying Lily in her arms. A sheen of sweat was beginning to manifest on her back on that stuck to the linen Reformation tunic dress.

Thank God it was a freebie. 

The woman behind the exclaim made her way into view, her almond shape eyes going wide with exaggerated surprise.

Cecelia Alexander Cooper was important. The kind of important that even an iconoclast like Sydney knew she had to keep on her good side.

"Girl, you look so good! And yaas! I see you with the Rudy Huxtable! I see we are giving the braids a break. I love it! Let me have Zofia take this little cutie off your hands. Isn't she a darling?"

Out of what seemed like thin air, a short, stout woman with Nordic features in a grey linen outfit that uncomfortably looked like it would not be out of place in a Hunger Games movie took Lily out of Sydney's hands as Cecelia removed the diaper bag and placed it on the plush ottoman right next to the door.

Junior, outfitted in his playdate uniform of a of navy polo, white kiddie Bermudas and Jordans, looked dazed and slightly confused by the commotion surrounding them. Sydney was fighting to not scream: No! Please give me back my baby, lady. I do not know you!

But she did not.

She knew not to do such a thing.

"Honey, why don't you follow Miss Zofia into the playroom with all the other kids?" Cecelia had put her hands on her knees and bent closer to Junior's face, speaking in an irritating baby voice that drove Sydney to distraction. Junior smiled shyly and hugged his mother's legs. Sydney's heart ached.

What kind of play date was this?

Sydney looked down and stroked her eldest's soft, chestnut curls as he buried his face into the side of her thigh. They did not do baby talk with the kids.

Her face must have betrayed a sense of discomfort because Cecelia unleashed a hearty chuckle.

"Don't worry! Mommy will be right here. Miss Zofia will show you to the playroom. We have video games, and the other boys are in there?" Cecelia continued.

Seriously, what was with the baby voice?

"He's at that age, ya know? Mommy's boy." Sydney explained with a tight smile.

"Sure." Cecelia nodded as if Sydney had gone on a rant about quantum physics.

Sydney looked down at her precious boy, his eyes reflecting her own.

"Babes, it's okay. Follow the lovely lady. Mama will be here if you need anything. And Miss Zofia.” She added. Miss Zofia rubbed a hand up and down Lily's back, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

"Come on, girl, let me introduce you to everyone!" Cecelia opined, hooking Sydney's left arm into the crook of her right and steering her out of the foyer into a long hallway.

Sydney turned her head toward Zofia and her kids, a pang of pain and regret.

She was tired.

So tired.

 

 

 

 

Cecelia was the kind of girl who would have bullied Sydney in high school. She was pretty. Pretty in the way, Sydney understood her whole life Black women were supposed to be. Keen features, a petite and gym-toned frame that the popular boys would have described as “slim-thick,” her skin was a perfect beige hue, sprinkled with perfectly strategic freckles, and sheathed in a burnt orange slouchy jumpsuit. Her hair was cut short, which conjured memories of Halle Berry circa the mid-90s.

The jumpsuit probably cost more than The Bear’s safety net for the week. 

“So, how is everything going!” Cecelia looked up at Sydney as she tried to fall into a gait that made her comfortable. The whole hooked arm thing was a bit much.

“Ya, know...restaurant stuff.” She replied lamely.

Cecelia threw her head back and laughed. As they entered the kitchen, Sydney took in all the artwork on the walls. Was that an original Picasso?

“Girl, I love you; you are so funny! And you must tell me the secret to your hair growth.”

Before they entered the kitchen, Cecelia unlocked her arm from Sydney’s and turned to her. Her voice suddenly became a playful conspiratorial whisper.

“It’s yours, right? Because if it isn’t, you bought it.”

Sydney blinked. Moments like this reminded Sydney that Cecelia’s mother was White.

“Umm…yeah, totally mine. Protective styles are the secret.”

Sydney suddenly made a mental note to have the “hair” conversation with Lily much earlier than she hoped.

 

The gaggle of women in the kitchen, surrounding the swanky kitchen island groaning under platters of elaborate appetizers of the shellfish and cucumber variety, made the sweat spot growing on Sydney’s back feel twice as big.

“Guess who I brought!” Cecelia shrieked when she ushered Sydney into the kitchen. They were all wearing bright, monochromatic outfits. Why did Sydney choose this dull tan?

She splashed her best “front of the house” smile and allowed herself to be hugged and “yaaasssed” by Harpers, Jordans and a bunch of other beautiful, fancy, and well-dressed women who all seemed like a swatch collection of 50 shades of beige.

They kinda look like the ladies on that show we watch. Carmy had made an uncomfortably astute comparison between Cecilia’s friends and the cast of Carmy and Syd’s guilty pleasure, The Real Housewives of Potomac when they booked a room at Sydney’s trendy supper club for Cecelia’s 35th birthday.

It had been a brunch birthday. Complete with individualized Prosecco and Tiffany & Co. branded party favors.

“Here you go!” A tall one with a honey-brown layered bob handed her a pink flute glass of chilled rosè.

Give it two hours.

Sydney smiled tightly, grabbed a seat at an open bar stool, and brought the flute to her lips.

 

The Coopers were an institution in Chicago. Free African Americans who had started the largest black-owned law firm in the Midwest in the early 20^th century. Everyone knew Marian Cooper, son of the famed Congressman who had taken over the family business while the old man ruled the committee assignments in D.C.

The wedding of Marian and Cecelia had been the most significant thing to happen to Black Chicagoans since Obama secured the Democratic nomination.

Sydney’s supper club, The Block, part lounge, part speakeasy, part high dining supper club, had been the location of their engagement party. It had put her restaurant on the map and helped her build a profile in the culinary scene outside of being “Carmy’s hot sous chef” or “Carmy’s wife.”

 

However, maintaining a prized patron meant being thrown into social situations that made her feel like a skunk at the garden party.

Sydney’s idea of fun was an outdoor dinner party with her homegirls, her sister-in-law, good weed, and some sort of drinking game. Or Sunday dinner with the famous Berzatto Braciole with the staff of The Bear, having her cry with laughter.

She was not precisely the “lady who lunched” type. But she could fake it for maybe an hour.

“So, Sydney! How’s the restaurant business treating you?” Harper? She thinks her name was Harper asked her. Her well-crafted left eyebrow was lifted in an inquisitive arch. Yeah, that one was definitely Harper. The lawyer from Sidwell.

“Girl, I don’t know how you do it. Working with my husband would drive me crazy.” A short one, with the bouncy blowout and green eyes chimed.

“Yeah, how does that work? And I have so much respect for you. And he’s…ya know, don’t get me wrong, but how my inner Angela Davis is set up? How do y’all have the difficult conversations?”

Sydney let the question linger.

The truthful answer?

That her husband had been a workaholic emotional trauma unit and she had been a broke failed caterer before the successful revamp, plenty of therapy, patience, love, and hard work would have probably been the pin of the proverbial balloon. However, she took a breath, made a read on the social situation, and went for the low-hanging fruit.

“I guess…dick too bomb?” She said with a playful shrug and a sip of her rosè. Her quip sent the room into a raucous boom of laughter.

“Girl! This is why I love you. You keep it two Virgils.” Cecelia intoned, laughter coating her voice.

Sydney had moved from tired to truly epically exhausted.

Fuck me. 

 

 

Chapter 3: He Would Not Have It Any Other Way

Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto could not tell you when a “good night’s sleep” became a reliable part of his life. He knows it got easier once an angel with braids and killer legs walked into his brother’s godforsaken Italian Beef joint all those years ago. He knows that the first night they ever made love in his sparse bachelor pad, right around the corner from the old “The Beef” had sent him into a dreamless slumber he had spent his whole life chasing.

Over the years, a healthier and an organized approach to life made sleeping…normal. Morning runs, a winning battle against his cigarette addiction. A well-balanced diet…most of the time.

Routine, even.

He had nights of insomnia. When they had a critic coming to the restaurant or a high-profile patron made a reservation. That was once in a blue moon now.

And tonight, was one of those nights where sleep found him faster than he could outrun it.

It was “Girls Night” which meant Nat and Syd painted the town red and left Pete and Carmy to their own devices. His nephews were staying with Pete’s parents for the weekend,  which meant the party was happening over at his sister’s place.

For Carmy, that meant spending time with his two little angels.

---

A day of riding bikes, eating way too much ice cream and binge watching The Simpsons left Carmy deep asleep, mouth open and cuddled with Junior and Lily. The television was watching them in the chintzy family den, which was littered with family portraits, artwork collected on the Berzattos’ vast travels and their illustrious accolades from James Beard awards to Sydney’s CIA degree.

Carmy could feel the familiar and forceful (for her) attempt of his darling daughter trying to shake him awake. He slowly became sentient, blinking profusely and being met with large, ocean like eyes that were so identical to his own, he might as well be staring in a mirror.

“ S’ Up, buttercup.” Carmy greeted his youngest with a wry smile.

For only five, Lily Donatella Berzatto was freakishly mature. She uttered her first word way before she was supposed to.

Her heart-shaped face and sharp mind were all her mother’s. However, the wild, thick, and long dark blonde curls, boundless energy and arresting blue eyes was all Berzatto.

As sleep slowly drained from Carmy’s being, he realized his daughter was holding his iPhone. The bluish light of the phone screen providing the only light in the room other than the television.

“Uncle Pete.” She said with an eyeroll. Carmy smirked.  He felt a pang of pride. My Baby Bear.

Carmy nodded knowingly and sat up. Junior was still fast asleep.

He took the phone from Lily and cleared his throat.

“Hey Pete.” Carmy greeted his brother-in-law with affected excitement.

“Heeeyyy bro!” Pete responded, with his signature cornball cheer. However, his voice seemed to crack.

“What’s up. How are the wives?” Carmy asked, running a hand through his hair with one hand and putting the phone in the crux of his cheek and neck with the other. He got out the makeshift fort of pillows and blankets, gently picked up his oldest boy, walking out of the family den with Lily following in lock step.

“Umm, so they are kinda –“

“How wasted are they?” Carmy asked bemused as he and the kids made their way up the stairs.

“We’ve reached uh, they uh, Britney Spears portion of the evening.”  He said, his voice sounding shaky.

Pete uttered the words Britney Spears like it was a state secret. They had not been this bad since Syd’s bachelorette party years ago.

Carmy smiled as they made it to the top of the stairs and stopped. Lily looked up at him, as if to ask, “what’s the plan?” She was way too mature for her age.

“Go to your room. I’ll be in to tuck you in soon.” He whispered. Lily nodded vigorously and made her way down the hall, toward the first door on the left.

“Hey!” He whispered loudly. Lily spun around so fast; her long ponytail of curls practically hit her in the face.  

“Brush your teeth, wash your face and change into your PJs. Love you.” He whispered, blue eyes meeting blue. She grinned sheepishly, mouthed “Love you” and turned to her room.

Pete was still rambling. He caught every other word as he made his way to Junior’s room. It’s incredible how even through a trip all the way up the stairs, Junior never woke up. His gentle breath dusting his father’s shoulder.

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah Carm?”

“Let me get the kids to bed and call someone to stay with them for a bit. I’ll be there soon.”

 

 

Carmy knocked out the nightly routine of tucking in the kids in lightening speed. By the time he thundered down the stairs and pulled his worn White Sox cap over his messy curls, he heard a car pulling up in the driveway.

Thank Mother of Victory! He thought rummaging around in the hallway closet for his worn white Nikes.

The sharp sound of a door slammed and Carmy looked through the narrow window framing the door to see Richie’s familiar lanky form walking up the front stairs. Richie’s piercing gaze caught him.

“Yo! Cuzzo!” He greeted Carmy with a head nod, his voice traveling inside before his person made it in the door. Despite the chilly October night, Richie was wearing his signature beat up leather jacket and was pulling a cigarette from behind the ear.

The front door swung open, bringing in a dose of the cold Chicago air, which snapped Carmy out of any cossetted coziness that his slumber  had formed. He could feel the goosebumps raised under his arm hair.

“’S up, Cousin. There’s food in the fridge. You’re welcome to crash in the guest bedroom. If Junior wakes up in the middle of the night, make him a warm glass of milk and read him a bedtime story. Sometimes Lily gets-” Carmy said, his gold chain flapping against his chin as he tightened his laces.

He could practically see Richie rolling his eyes.

“Cousin, I got it. Go get Boss Lady.” Richie retorted. Carmy stood up, looking up to Richie. He was wearing a shit eating grin, a wistful look in his eye.

Carmy smirked knowingly. They did not have to say it out loud.

A decade ago, when that angel walked into their lives after it felt Mikey had ripped their hearts out, the idea of Carmy calling Richie for anything would have seemed insane.

However, Richie had always been there.

He had been there as his Best Man and as Godfather to his two children. He had been there when Sydney opened her spot.

All small gestures of thanks paled in comparison to Carmy giving Richie a second chance in life.

Carmy was the one to break them out of their silent conversation.

“Yeah. Thanks Cousin!”

“Anytime.”

“Oh! And Cousin?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t smoke in the house. Syd will kill both of us.”

 

 

Carmy was doing everything to not laugh hysterically at the sight before him. His sister and Sydney were drunkenly dancing to a Britney Spears deep cut that was blaring from the Apple music app on Pete and Nat’s TV.

“They’ve been like this since…” Pete trailed off, sipping out of his “World’s Best Dad” mug.

Carmy had made it to Natalie and Pete’s home on the North Shore in record time. He had jogged up the driveway and found Pete sitting at the kitchen island like a parent waiting for his children to come home after prom. He was wearing the dorkiest flannel pajama set that Carmy had ever seen. He made a mental note to tell Richie so they could have a laugh about it.

They both stood in the doorway of the living room, watching Natalie sing her heart out into the remote control as Sydney flung her arms around, her long mane of braids whipping gracefully around her. Natalie was wearing a metallic strappy number, her normally milky white skin, flushed red. She was doing some kind of thrusting motion. There were heels and purses (including the expensive Dior handbag Carmy had gotten Sydney for her birthday)  tossed all over the plush carpeted floor.

Sydney was wearing a black tube top and tight leather pants. Her tattoos, normally hidden behind elegant chef’s whites were on full display. There was the heart, pierced with daggers on her back right shoulder that Carmy loved to kiss in the morning to wake her up.

The cross on the upper left arm that acted as a compromise early in their marriage. She refused to convert to Catholicism, however she agreed to “mark” herself on their honeymoon.

Her eyes were closed as she gyrated and vibed to the staccato machinations of Nat’s bad singing. But before she could commit to the ill-advised tootsie roll she was about to break into, she stumbled into the buttery leather couch, her eyes squinting as if she was trying to make out whether the image of her bemused and slightly embarrassed husband and brother-in-law were real.

“Babbby!” She slurred, stumbling over to the doorway, and leaving Nat to her own devices.

Carmy smiled. Even through the mist of intoxication, she still looked like a million bucks.

“Hey, uh, babe. You ready to go home?” He asked. She squealed with delight and made a beeline to him. She threw herself into a full body embrace, grabbing Carmy by the buttcheeks, squeezing and planting a sloppy and wet kiss on his lips.

Some people got angry when they got drunk. Some people got introspective…

Sydney got horny.

“Hmm…babe…not in front of Pete.” Carmy answered, fighting his own impulses. She tasted like a distillery.

“Wow…umm.” Pete said, his face flushed with embarrassment, trying to find something other than the spontaneous make out session that was unfolding before him.

“Ewww!!! Graaarooos!” Natalie exclaimed like a five-year-old, her large blue eyes scrunched along with her face.

“Fuck you, Nat!” Sydney slurred wrapping her arms around Carmy’s neck. “Your brother is fuuuucccking hoooOOOTtt.”

Carmy played along, wrapping his arms around Sydney’s slender waist, enjoying the warmth of her body and the musk of her fragrance mixed with sweat. He knew how to get her in check.

Over Sydney’s shoulder, Natalie had dropped to all fours, her face suddenly taking on a green shade as she belched loudly.

“Oh dear. Umm…Carm, why don’t you get Syd home, I think Natalie is going to-“

Pete never finished his sentence. Nat’s stomach had betrayed her, puke spewing all over the carpet.

“Okay, yeah, Pete, I’m going to…” Carmy trailed off and with ease of a firefighter threw Sydney over his shoulder out the living room, through the kitchen and out the front door while Sydney childishly sang “I’m going to suck your cock” in a sing-song voice.

 

“You left my children with that gavone?” Sydney shrilled as the Volvo hummed quietly along the River North streets. It was the only thing Carmy could think of to snap Sydney into some kind of coherent state. For nearly 20 minutes, she had squirmed in the back seat of the car, almost mooned a group of club goers on the high street and wrapped her arms around Carmy’s neck, whispering all the filthy things she was going to do to him when they got home, in his ear.

Telling her that Richie was watching the kids had snapped her into some semblance of sense.

Carmy smiled, catching a glimpse of her outraged face in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were wide with horror, the lights from storefronts and signs made her smooth skin look luminescent.

“Hey, what happened to all that sweet talk a minute ago? Also, gavone? Careful, Syd. You are sounding dangerously like a paisan, there.” Carmy joked, a wide smile arresting his features.

“I’m Italian by injection.” She slurred. Carmy chuckled.

“Don’t I know it.”

“You are not funny.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty – whoa! Syd…careful!” Carmy intoned sternly as Syd climbed her way from the back seat and twisted herself into the front seat.

“Watch the road!” She slurred as she made herself comfortable in the front seat. As they pulled to a red light, Carmy turned to her, really taking her in. She was stunning. His heart swelled. Her eyes met his and the loose abandon that tequila had infused in her subsided enough to get her to smile that sweet, quiet smile that was only made for him.

“You have fun?” He asked sweetly, as she took his free right hand and stroked it with her manicured fingernail. She twisted around some, leaning her elbow on the armrest. Her eyes lowered into a seductive gaze. A whiff of the potency of the tequila met his nose, snapping him out of his revery.

She leaned in, her shapely lips dusting his.

“You want to have-“

The startling sound of a car horn met their ears. Carmy snapped his eyes forward to see the light had turned green and the driver behind them was not interested in granting them any more time.

“Easy tiger.” Carmy joked as Sydney bit her lip, reaching out her hand to take his cap off and run her fingers through his hair. He could feel a stirring in his lower stomach.

She giggled drunkenly, leaning toward his ear, her left hand slowly making its way toward his crotch. However, he knew her enough to beat her to the punch.

“You’re no fun.” She pouted, slinking her way back into the passenger seat, making a dramatic show of folding her arms.

“I’ll be as fun as you want me to be, Berzatto. When you are sober.”

He would not trade a night like this for anything else.

 

“I still cannot believe you called Richie of all people.” Sydney slurred as Carmy helped her out of her pants. They made it home to find the kids fast asleep and Richie snoring in the guest bedroom downstairs.

“Well, Tina is on a cruise and your Dad and Frieda aren’t back in town until tomorrow. Carmy said matter of factly, giving Sydney’s shapely left butt cheek a playful squeeze. They were in their bedroom. After many glasses of water, some aspirin and a delicious ice coffee courtesy of Carmy, Sydney had settled down some or at least enough for Carmy to help peel her out of her sweaty nightclub attire.

He stood in front of her, taking in the sight of her aglow under the soft warm light of their bedside lamps. She stared back at him with a smirk.

“Hi.” She whispered softly

“Hi.” He whispered back.

“Did you forget we have to pick up Emmanuel and Frieda from the airport?”

“Willfully.” She wrapped her arms around Carmy’s neck and kissed him again. Their tongues caressing as they fell onto the soft duvet on their bed. Her hands travelled to their well-worn favorite spots. His hair, his muscular back. Carmy allowed himself to indulge a little, sliding his hands under the black tube top to splay his fingers along her back. He moaned into her mouth as he felt the familiar heat of wanton lust alight his body.

Focus

“Mmm…babe. We…fuck…yeah, no.” He said, his face flushed as his body betrayed him. He pulled back to look into her eyes. Those large, gorgeous portals that he could stare into for the rest of his life. She curled a leg around his waist, her lips spreading into a smile.

“Just a little bit, baby. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She bit her lip, staring at him as if he was a well-aged steak and she had not eaten for days.

Carmy shook his head.

“No. You taste like the floor of a bar.”

“Just a –“

“No.”

“Wow.” She pushed him off, crawling off the bed and standing before him. He lay on his side and smiled playfully up at her. She was frustrated and clearly figuring out a way to get her way.

“Let’s see if this changes your mind.” She said in a sultry bravado. She tugged at her tube top, revealing her sumptuous breasts. Round, soft yet perky. Her nipples were glimmering in the dark. She had put in her nipple piercings tonight. Carmy huffed.

She was good.

“Okay, so-“

“Mmmmhmm…” she intoned triumphantly as she saw a slacked expression overcome her husband’s classical features. She proudly put her hands on her hips, watching him role over, sit up and grab her by the waist pulling her to him.

He stared up at her, his hands slowly making their way from her hips to the side of her waist and finally cupping her breasts and massaging them. She tossed her head back, a smile of triumph taking over as she closed her eyes.

As much as Carmy would love to, he could wait.

He stood up, placing a decadent kiss on her neck as she moaned from his touch. He put his lips to her ear and whispered as tenderly as possible.

“Not a chance. You are still drunk.” She gasped, pushing him on the bed as he laughed.

“Fuck you!” She mockingly slapped him as he was overcome with giggles. She climbed on top of him, straddling him and flipping her braids behind her shoulders.

“You would not have it any other way.” He shot back.

A comfortable silence took over the room. He rubbed her arms tenderly as she placed her palms against his chest.

“I missed the piercings, not gonna lie.” He gave the left one a playful pinch as he raised his eyebrows.

“I know. I was hoping they would be my fool proof way to get some tonight.” She snarked, sticking her tongue out at him.

He sighed. It was late. Or early. He turned his head to the clock on the bedside table to have large red numbers shout “2:37AM” at him.

“Alright, sweet nips, how about a bath. Me and you?” He offered, caressing her thighs, and blissful under her sultry gaze and supple body.

She twisted her lips as if she were contemplating whether to add more acid to a dish.

“I’ll take it.” She said, leaping off him and making a big show of swishing her hips on her way to the bathroom. His eyes followed her shapely, thong clad rear into their master bath. He let out a wolf’s whistle as she giggled and heard her rummaging around to start their bath.

His phone was laying on the oak bedside table. He looked over to see a barrage of missed messages from Pete.

Dude, Nat’s totally out for the count. Was his last message.

He smiled. He would follow up with Nat and Pete first thing when they woke up.

“Hey Italian Stallion! Get your fine ass in here! Syd yelled from the bathroom.” He made his way to the doorway to see she was submerged in their whirlpool, pouring what seemed like a little too much bubble bath into the tub.

He smiled and began to undress.

He would not have it any other way.

 

 

 

Chapter 4: Every Second Counts

The Block was packed. The main dining room was abuzz. The Block was in what was an old Bank. The private dining room was in what used to be the bank vault on the lower level of the third floor. Wood paneling, leather booths, and a piano player gave the place the feeling that you had stepped back in time.

Customary baskets of freshly baked cornbread instead of regular dinner rolls greeted guests when they were seated. A tasting menu with imported wine from South Africa was all the rage.

The kitchen was state-of-the-art, souped-up, and run mainly by women.

"Look alive! We need a squash curry at table 50; table five had been waiting on a refill since Mayor Daley was in office." Sydney intoned with authority. "Can I get a Callaloo to table 10!"

"Yes, Chef!" The staff responded as she listed off the logistical demands.

She was running expo tonight. She was in her zone.

 

The Block was uniquely Sydney. It was uniquely hers. She built it from the ground up. Two years and nearly a million and a half dollars. Thank goodness for the generosity of Cicero. However, after the first year, it had been such a roaring success she had been able to pay him back with interest. It was hers. Her very own. Her very own two-star oasis.  

She looked up from the tablet she was reading the orders from. The rows of kitchen line cooks, chefs, and wait staff zipping in and out of the warmly lit kitchen.

She sighed deeply. Another successful Friday evening. It had been a long day. However, they had stopped taking reservations and needed to ensure everything went smoothly.

She could not wait to go home, unwind, and cuddle with her family. She could not wait to take the day off and go pumpkin picking with her kids, taking in the crisp fall air.

None of that would happen.

Her perfect evening of a smooth, profitable night would stop short when her phone in her pocket started vibrating. She pulled the phone out of her pocket to see her husband's name flashing on the screen.

She answered.

"Hey Babe, I'm kind of in the- "

"Donna's in the hospital. It's time."

 

 

They knew this day was coming. They just did not think it would be so immediate. Donna's last days on earth had been ticking along. She had refused to undergo any more treatments. She only requested that she be "put up somewhere where she could enjoy her final days in peace."

So, a shared effort between Carmy and Nat financially landed her in a cozy retirement facility outside the city. Nat would visit. Carmy, not so much.

She had met the kids a handful of times. Sydney had insisted on it.

This was the end. They all knew it.

She had been rushed to the hospital an hour before Sydney had gotten the call. Nat had been the emergency contact. She had called Carmy. They planned for childcare. The kids were being looked after by Leslie, a babysitter (also known as the teenage daughter of Nat's neighbor.)  

So here they sat.

In the cold, sterile hospital waiting room sat their family. Carmy and Sydney were huddled in a corner, speaking their shared brain language of nonverbals and loving strokes of each other's hands. Pete and Nat were up front, taking care of the paperwork. Richie was slumped over, holding a hot coffee. Cicero and Lee were leaning against the pillar, discussing the Bears. Tina and Ebra were sitting solemnly by the window. The clock was ticking…every second counted.

In a comedy of errors, the attendant on staff was…Claire.

Time had been kind to her despite her demanding job. Sydney heard she got married to a lawyer. Her dark waves were pulled into a messy ponytail.

Sydney felt overwhelmed and overdressed, outfitted with her "front-of-house, cool-girl" digs. It took Carmy a good five minutes to make the connection that the woman responsible for seeing his mother to the next phase of this life was his ex-girlfriend. Despite all the maturity and growth, sometimes Carmy was still Carmy.

When Claire walked out, her bright eyes red and puffy, Sydney felt the air leave the room.

It was time.

Every second counted.

 

 

Death had been the pungent odor that had hung over the sharp, cold Chicago air. It had a way of stripping everything of pretense and making things plain. The funeral had been an exhausting and highly well-choreographed dance in grief, local celebrity, and myth.

Euphemistic spin coated the obituary and hymnal readings. How do you mourn a woman as wounded, broken, and dynamic as Donatella Olivia Berzatto?

Larger than life? Sure. Nat had that covered.

A force to be reckoned with? Interesting. Lee made that clear.

A fire that could either warm a home or burn a house down. Cicero diplomatically shared.

Like a second mother? Richie brought the house down with a funny and moving series of memories.

However, Carmy had stoically moved through the wake and burial in a politician-like manner. Stoic, detached, and composed. His expressive blue eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of aviators. He shook hands and accepted condolences. He never broke. He comforted his sister and carefully explained "death" to his two not-so-little angels.

Sydney knew the dam would break eventually. She knew her man, her lover, her business partner.

Her guy. 

She would touch his cheek tenderly in the rare moments of solitude following Donna Berzatto's passing.

Usually, their intimate moments were joyful, playful, and fun. A sexy and indulgent spectacle of pleasure and sensuous praise of the other's body. He usually loved her to take control, be on top, and engage in nonsensical pillow talk.

Their lovemaking had taken on an almost solemn and spiritual essence these days. While she lay on her back, Carmy slowly and firmly made his mark. His face was buried in her neck. She could sometimes feel the tears fall. She did not push. When he was ready, he would open up.

For now, she would lay on her back, cooing softly as he took the reins. It was almost like he was reclaiming a sense of…something with each thrust. She gently stroked his hair as she uttered words of affirmation. Whatever she needed to do to make him feel good. Make him feel loved. Make him feel like a man. She affirmed everything that had taken years for him to think by ceding control. She knew this was temporary. People grieved in different ways. It was part of the process.

---

They were covered in a sheen of sweat, exhausted and spent from a round of lovemaking-

Scratch that. That was not lovemaking. That was fucking.

Carmy rolled off Sydney. Sydney let the uneven, sharp sounds of his breathing act as the only noise. A silence fell around the velvety lush of the moonlit bedroom. Her eyes were closed as she felt her body cooling down.

"Did you-"

"No." She responded shortly.

She knew him so well. As he turned on his side, the bed dipping from the weight of his shift in position, she could practically envision him, emblazed in her mind, looking sex drunk, his eyes glazed and his lips pink from activity.

She would not give him the out. He would have to break the ice.

"Babe?" He intoned in a husky voice.

Sydney took a deep breath. She pryed her eyes open.

She turned to the bedside table and turned on the lamp, drenching the room in a warm, low light. She turned to face him, arching an eyebrow.

"Um." He cleared his throat. Sydney drank in the sight of him, his curls drenched, his pecs glistening. But his eyes. Those deep blue oceans of eyes were lined with a sadness she had not seen since the night of Donna's death.

She turned to lay on her side, shifted closer, and cupped her hand behind his head, bringing him closer for a ghost of a kiss. Their lips brushed against each other. His arm wrapped around her waist and brought her closer. They enjoyed the closeness until the flood came. Sydney could feel the wetness of his tears start to drip down.

"Fuck." He whispered, his voice thick with sorrow.

He laid on his back, one arm across his eyes, and Sydney placed her chin on his chest, giving him the time to cry silently.

"Apparently, you have forgotten how." Sydney said dryly, cutting into the sorrowful mood with her signature wit. A wry smirk danced across her lips.

He sniffed, letting out a watery chuckle.

"That bad, huh?" He lifted his arm off his head and looked down at Sydney.

"Well, trust me when I say I'm letting the dead mom thing be the reason why I haven't had an orgasm since-"

"Fuck off." He laughed. They laughed. He placed a loving and long kiss on her forehead. She scooted up and returned the favor.

The silence returned. Sydney's heart was pounding with anticipation. She had made the mood more apt for the conversation. There was no guarantee that it would happen tonight. However, they were working toward it. She could practically taste it.

Then, finally, it happened.

"So, I guess it's obvious that I've been avoiding talking about Donna?" He intoned with a heavy vulnerability; Sydney felt her heart would break under the weight of it.

Sydney sighed deeply, kissing his left pec, and tilted her head to give him a "what do you think?" stare.

"Well, Junior did ask me, and I quote, 'Is there anything I can do to make Papa less sad?' before I dropped him off at practice last week, so suffice it to say the kids have noticed," Sydney responded quietly.

With that, Carmy rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth with frustration. She could feel his body tense when she said that.

She remembers tearing up on the drive back home that evening. Her eyes cloudy with tears as she loaded the dishwasher after dinner, Carmy at The Bear working the dinner shift that particular evening. Her Lily-love, perceptive as ever, hugged her mother's waist and softly said, "It's okay, Momma."

"It's hard for them. You know. They did not know Donna that well. The funeral was a lot." Carmy said. His left forefinger twirled one of Sydney's braids absentmindedly.

"You were trying to protect them, Carm. You can't feel bad about that." Sydney assured him.

Carmy was staring at the ceiling. The famous thousand-yard stare had made its triumphant return.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"This sounds nuts, but dealing with Mikey was easier, ya know? It was cleaner. I could be sad and, angry and frustrated with him. But I knew he was dealing with shit. Shit, that made the way he died a lot easier. I thought I had gotten rid of all this, this this…"

He was stuttering. His body was tensing up. Sydney sat up, wrapping a sheet around her, and propped herself on their pillows. She let him vent. The tension in his jaw and his nose scrunched in fury as he got more worked up signaled the rush. The dam was breaking. Sydney took a deep breath.

Just listen. Don't interrupt. No jokes.

His eyes were now alight with rage.

"Fucking bitch. Always haunting me. Always criticizing me. I did it without her. I made something of myself, Syd. I did it. I built a business; I had our beautiful children. Me. I fucking did it without her! I wish I could hate her. It would be easier."

"Breathe, babe," Syd whispered gently, removing an errant curl from his forehead. He closed his eyes and started breathing. She stroked his forehead gently. The vein that had begun to protrude in his forehead slowly settled back down. The flush from sex and aggravation slowly started to subside.

He took deep breaths.

"What do you need?" Sydney asked softly, the salt of tears starting to build in the back of her throat.

Her words shook him out of his zone. His eyes popped open as he propped himself up to the sitting position. His handsome features, the cupid bow of his top lip, kept her heart soft.

"Babe." He cupped her cheek, stroking it. She laid a soft kiss on his rough palm. "I just need you, Syd. You don't have to do shit else. You've been so strong. Baby, you've been so amazing. Sometimes, I wonder what I did to deserve you?" He said tenderly. A tight smile formed on Sydney's lips as her throat contracted slightly. Tears welled in her doe eyes. He leaned in and kissed so delicately and softly on her lips that her heart swooned harder than it had in a while. She kissed him back with an aching need.

They broke apart and touched their foreheads, their breaths intermingled with comfort and love.

"I love you, Carm."

"I love you too, Syd. Always have, always will."

 

Morning found the Berzattos with a gentle hug. It was a crisp fall day with blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and the technicolor of changed leaves.

The children loved pancakes on Saturday. Carmy and Sydney had taken the day off. They were seated in the bright kitchen. The bay window and nook acted as their refuge. The table displays a magnificent spread of pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and freshly made orange juice. Thanks to their kiddie stepstools and the watchful eye of Carmy and Sydney, Junior and Lily had been their trusted helpers.

"Papa?" Lily's bright voice met Carmy's ears as he poured Junior a refill of orange juice.

"Yes, buttercup?" Carmy responded sweetly? His eyes met Sydney's, and they exchanged quiet yet knowing smiles.

"Are you feeling better?" She inquired, her large eyes round with hope.

"Uh, yes. Yes, Lil. I am." He responded, bemused and a little unsure.

"Good." Junior intoned as he chomped ungraciously on his bacon. "Gotta tell ya. You were kinda weird there for a second."

Carmy stared at his namesake, his handsome little dude precocious in his Spiderman pajamas, casually reprimanding his father for being a mope.

Carmy could not help himself for the first time in weeks. He laughed. A big, broad, rolling laugh that rouged his features and caused a bemused Sydney to catch a case of the giggles.

Every second counted, indeed.

 

Chapter 5: Love in the Time of Sunset and Sunrise

Summary:

A journey back to when our two favorite chefs finally decided to make this thing of theirs real

FLASHBACK

 

Carmy knew he was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble that caused his mind to fizz and his heart to lose rhythm.

Oh no.

It was the kind of trouble that took his breath away. The heart-stopping, blood pulsing in the vein feeling that a particular pair of doe, large brown eyes, and a set of shapely lips pursed in minor annoyance conjure on his best days.

He huffed to a halting stop in O'Hare's American Airlines departure hall.

He knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to have long, sweaty sex with Sydney Angelique Adamu.

She wore a vintage Blackhawk jersey, biker shorts accentuating her shapely thighs, and a pair of non-descript black sunglasses.

Her skin had a soft sheen that gave her lovely complexion a gauzy haze. The sun underscores her skin's softness from the setting sun's glow.

Her hair was free from its usual uniform of long and intricate braids and pulled into a frothy, long, and thick ponytail.

"Really?"

"I told you I would make it."

"I took that to mean you wouldn't cut it close to"

"I'm here, and I'm sor-"

"Don't!" Sydney exclaimed, putting her graceful hand up to Carmy's flushed face. He swerved his head to the opposite side of Sydney's hand and saw her annoyed grimace.

He knew what would melt the ice. Carmy only knew a little but knew one look at Sydney would fold her.

"Don't even start batting those baby blues at me, Berzatto! Don't even start." Sydney said, taking pensive glances at him over the dark frames of her sunglasses.

Carmy relaxed his face and enlarged his eyes, giving her a look of softness that she could not resist. He had slowly noticed her defenses weaken under an intense gaze, despite the performance of withering disapproval of his tardiness. He had first seen her appreciating his gaze during a most delicious time.

 

You like it? He panted softly. Their bodies were enveloped in each other, limbs connected to limbs, hearts stirring the other. 

Her mouth had fallen into a perfect 'O' shape, her eyes soft with the dew of lust and longing. 

I love it. She whimpered back as his hips chiseled away at her defenses, turning her into a pile of pleading mush.

Don't stop

Don't stop

Just like that 

A smile danced upon her lips. It was their little shorthand. Their little unidentified secret. The staff had figured out something was happening the first time they did it in front of everyone at Family.

They could sense Richie's inquiring piercing stares and Tina and Ebrahim's pointed exchanges.

They were having one of their patented back and forth about the merit of a pasta rub versus spooning your gravy on the pasta. Carmy, like any good Italian American who grew up with pasta, is both an arbiter of a good cook, courtesy of the dearly departed Michael Berzatto, and as the ultimate ode to simple comforts of culture and home.

Sydney, the wunderkind, thought pasta to be an indulgence, so they got into a somewhat serious back and forth throughout prep of Family on how to best eat pasta.

But what felt like an hour volley and serve between the two heads of the exalted and newly James Beard Awarded Restaurant was just them quibbled like children.

Until Carmy did the look. A single look that would make even the most pathetic hangdog look, pandering. Large, pleading eyes, hired on her and a slight pout.

Sydney smirked a defeated half grin and conceded with a speed no one at that table knew to be expected.

That is when they deduced.

Something happened between them.

Most of them had put it to the holiday party where Sydney wore that short 90s' Dionne in Clueless' red babydoll dress that showed how long her legs went.

The most intense night of both of their lives happened as they waited for the call from an old pal of Carmy's of the voting committee that had early news that they would be on the shortlist for the James Beard Foundation Awards for best new restaurant.

Carmy punched the air triumphantly as Sydney lifted her hands and looked to the sky in a joyful surrender as if to say, "Finally!"

After years of hard work, long nights, completely fucked immune, nervous, and digestive systems, and neglected mental health, it finally happened.

They had finally achieved a shred of professional validation for which both had respect.

---

This was not a 'bullshit' star, as Carmy would put it.

This was the top of the mountain top. A former mentor and CIA professor of Sydney put her up to submit them for nomination.

Persistence, paperwork from Natalie, and a few months later, they were stamped. In early June, they would be on a business class flight to Oakland International and take the scenic drive to Napa Valley, where this year's award ceremony and accompanying festivities would be held.

They shouted with joy, cracked open a bottle of vintage wine Carmy surprisingly had stashed in his sterile oasis he called an apartment. They would laugh, crack jokes, celebrate. Sydney would become hushed with pride and humility, commiserating on her sojourn toward professional success again, reflecting on how far she had come from losing her home, her car, her Sheridan Road to renting a lovely, sundrenched apartment in Hyde Park to buying a Jeep, to traveling and finding success with Carmy.

Carmy could not help being touched by the earnestness, gratitude, and wonderment in her eyes. Those large, brown eyes that he could get lost in. Her perfect button nose and smooth dark skin were as tight over her willowy limps as a well-crafted drum. Those lips. Those lips that snarled when angry with him spread into a wide smile when she could not help laughing at one of his corny jokes.

Those lips would plead prayer-like encouragements as he was balls deep in her, curled around her body and drilling with intense lust on his couch.

Don't stop…

Don't ever stop .

He was drunk with lust, sweat pouring from each pore as he unwinds years of longing into the thrust of his hips. 

  And then she said it…

Yes, Daddy. Don't stop.

 

Sydney was a doll sleeping. There was a spell, dusk after the night they first made-

Carmy would not allow himself to think about it.

Is that what this was?

What else could it be?

The receptionist at the check-in for the lounge had mistaken them for "Mr. and Mrs. Berzatto."

"Oh! Umm…” Sydney, in her characteristic way, fumbled around for an answer.

"That would be a yes." Carmy intoned smoothly, pulling out his platinum business American Express credit card and handing it over.

Sensing some tension, the young woman launched into a series of profuse apologies, only for Carmy to end the painful bout of awkwardness with what he subconsciously knew to be true since the first time he laid eyes on Sydney.

"We are not officially married, but we are partners," Carmy responded with a playful smirk, explaining their unique dynamic to its logical rhetorical endpoint.

Sydney rolled her eyes and went along with the bit.

"Right. Partners."

So here he was, shaking her out of her slumber as the plane deboarded at Oakland. They had arrived. They had been able to fly without the hovering cloud of their….

Whatever was simmering between them because they both fell fast asleep in their business class pods, lost to the need to catch up on sleep and whatever movies they had missed since pouring all their energy into The Bear.

"Syd. Syd!"

"Hmph!" She shook awake, startled, her large eyes slowly prying their majestic, long-lashed lids open. The blue gaze of soft care and cherubic beauty met her refined face about a foot apart.

Her face fell into an innocent haze of brief longing and comfortable forgetfulness. So Carmy pushed his luck.

"Babe. We are here." It was a pet name he had tried out. He could deploy it in front of the staff, he peppered instructions with the her, occasionally to differentiate whether he was speaking to the number of young, talented chefs or his trusty professional soul mate.

Or an intense friend.

Or…

Damn babe. You ride it so good…

Another stolen fossil from THAT night. The night that should remain unmentioned.

She smiled a soft, private smile that only manifested late at night when her legs were lying across his on the floor of their office as they closed out The Bear.

"I guess I had been knocked out this whole time."

Carmy, with ease, retreated away from her space as she got up and grabbed her backpack and belongings to deplane, popped open the compartment adjacent to her seat, grabbed her duffle bag, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty!" he teased. He turned around and headed toward the exit, a lanky flight attendant waiting for the last passengers to depart.

Carmy took one last look before he made his way to the terminal.

Sydney was smiling at him with a grin threatening to burst his heart.

 

"So."

"So."

They had made it off the plane to the car rental, and to the delight of Sydney, their rental was a cherry red Mustang.

They were driving with the top down as the sunset approached the plush Rancho Caymus Inn.

"Does Nat know we are balling on The Bear's dime," Sydney asked jokingly, her pretty face cracked into a smug smile as if the prospect of Natalie screaming against Carmy gave her the most excellent satisfaction.

Carmy let out a chuckle as they winded their way off the beaten path through a small, quaint town in which he had spent a few lonely weekends during his time on the West Coast.

He was thankful he had done away with  Midwest summer sweltering and was taking in the fresh air of the West Coast. He missed the tranquility. He lo-

Not that word again

 

Do you love me? 

Yes, yes, I do. 

I've loved you since I saw you.

 

"I will have you know; we are on the generous donation of the Carmen Anthony Berzatto Fund." Carmy snarked back, taking a moment to glance at Sydney as they pulled toward a light.

Syndey held his gaze. She had long dispensed with her sunglasses (and her performative anger at him arriving just an hour before takeoff at the airport)

The bloody red bruise of the sunset had given her an angelic glow. The humidity of the June night had made her look ravishing. Her hair had spilled out of its tight ponytail into a halo of indistinguishable coils, making her beauty more sumptuous and unvarnished.

Pure.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So, this Carmen Anthony Berzatto Fund. How often does he make donations." Sydney cleared her throat and broke the stare-off the two of them had been engaging in to let Carmy focus on the business of driving."

Carmy smiled, rubbing his fingers to his lips absentmindedly. His eyes cut to the fleshiness of Sydney's thighs. He briefly caught her, she rubbed her thighs together as she readjusted her shoulders. This was the Sydney special. Clear the throat, rip away eye contact, or slide out of a playful, sensual hug from behind to avoid any proof.

Any sign at all

Of that night.

 

Don't stop…

Don't stop…

 

They made it to the resort in a little under two hours, starving and ready for the quiet luxury of the fantastic vistas of Napa Valley. Dinner had been room service and wine in Sydney's room, specifically on her balcony. She had a view that overlooked the hotel, pool, and the wonders and greenery and provided fresh air and space. When Carmy arrived at her room, a bottle of wine in hand for dinner, it took everything in him to train his eyes not to look at the inviting fleshy pillows of her breasts underneath her thin tank top. The barely grey biker shorts made from the flimsiest fabric gave him an attractive view of what he considered the world's eighth wonder. The golden triangle that had his tongue thrashing about with wanton lust.

"You look relaxed." She tilted her head playfully, taking him in with his signature nondescript white shirt and a new addition to her sartorial memories of him, a pair of well-worn Chicago Bulls basketball shorts.

"That's one way of putting it." He sauntered past her to control himself from spending the trip through her room onto the inviting patio with its table, two chairs, and candlelit ambiance staring at her ass. Yes, he wanted her. However, he was not going to be a sicko about it.

"I do relax, you know."

"Do I know that?" Sydney volleyed back playfully. Carmy was in a funny mood. The heat? Maybe?

"Oh, I think you do," he said, sitting and working on opening the bottle of wine.

The Casita they were staying in was a lush, private home away from home.

Just what they needed.

"Do I?" Sydney would not let this happen without her signature path of optimism and flirtation resistance.

Carmy allowed himself to stare at her. Take her in. He did not always have the right words to say. But she was sitting here, now, with her in her most open and natural state. They were on top of their game in this beautiful slice of the world.

There is nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. No one else he would instead share it with. So, for once in his life, he would be the Carmy he always wanted to be. The no more shy Carmy. No longer let life happen to him. No more watching and waiting for the perfect right moment.

He knew three things to be true in this moment.

There was nothing like the evening view and wonder of Napa Valley as the twilight of the day set in.

He knew he had a pre-rolled blunt he had purchased at one of their stops along the way to the Valley.

And he knew Sydney Angelique Adamu was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He took her in, her long legs folded into a yoga-like position in the woven chair, her hair dancing around her shoulders as she took a hefty bite into the slice of margarita pizza before her.

"When I'm in you."

"What?" Sydney said, confused, handing Carmy a wine glass and leaning back into the joy of enjoying her slice of pizza.

"What do you mean what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that is when I feel the most relaxed." He said softly, continuing to look at her and wait for the realization to dawn on her about what he was talking about. Most importantly, what was he offering tonight?

She placed her pizza slice down, dusted off her hands of the crumbs of crust, and sat back, unfurling her legs from their yoga fold and straight in front of her, with an almost girlish bend of both knees together. Her lips pursed as she nervously tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Umm…Carm, I thought..."

He got up slowly and made his way over to her, with one firm yet gentle motion, placing her in his lap and burying his face in the sweet, floral from her recent shower, refuge of the crux of her neck. His body, warm with longing and hunger, was warm to the touch. She relaxed into the embrace and rocked back and forth, wordlessly curling into him.

"Mmm. You smell delicious." He whispered into her neck as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, sighing deeply.

"I thought we were just going to let that night be that night." She said, her voice grave and her lids low.

The electric pulses of lust shot through Carmy's bloodstream. It was tinged with longing and a need to be close to her. It was more than just sex for him.

"So, what if I ask you a question." He said gently, taking her hand and stroking it lov-

There went that word again.

Oh my God!

Oh my God! 

That night, he knew. She knew, and both knew they had helped the other see God. For Sydney, she ascended to the plane of nirvana more times than she could count.

However, with Carmy that night, he had seen Heaven. Heaven was a sweaty, lust-drunk, dick-drunk, uninhibited Sydney.

A Sydney who allowed her body to buck, fold and suck and ride.

All the things he would see again on his way to Heaven's gate this blessed evening.

Their slow and steady embrace turned into sharing that blunt.

It turned into slow dancing to old Motown songs that Emmanuel used to play for Sydney as a kid. They slowly landed on Stevie Wonder's music as her Apple Music playlist.

Ribbon in the Sky became the soundtrack for their entry into the truth of their bond.

It would be the first song they played at their wedding reception, bringing tears to their loved ones.

But that night, as the slow embrace on the balcony became a sway because of a sensual and impassioned kiss with tongue and indiscrete moans of longing and missed years wedded to the smallness of fear, they finally did it.

For hours, with the soft yellow light of their Casita, the seductive companionship of cannibis, they made love.

Core shattering, heart-stopping love. The kind that left Sydney babbling indecipherable and Carmy coughing into her sweating shoulder when they finally were done.

 

"I love calling you 'babe.'"

It was sunrise. The sky had returned, served by painting a tapestry of the most beautiful blues and shades of velvety purples to meet a new day.

"Yeah?" She scooped the plush pillow of bubbles surrounding them in the hot, muscle-easing bubble bath.

Their chef-worn joints were not adjusted to their endless bouts of lovemaking. A bath was the perfect remedy. They were supposed to go on a sponsored wine tour with the other chefs in a few hours. But they knew better. They were going to play hooky and spend the rest of the day enjoying the newness of what their love was.

"Yeah," Carmy said, smiling back at her. She had gathered her hair into a messy bun, tendrils hanging on her face like a 60s pinup.

Her smile was the only answer he needed.

I love you. 

I love you, too. I always have and always will. 

Three years later, on a cliff off the Amalfi coast, they would seal their love and the rest of their lives forever with a kiss. 

Chapter 6: A Picture and an iPhone Screen

There was a picture in the Berzattos’ household that was unknown to most people in their lives. It would require entry into their bedroom, first things first. Their spacious oasis. Their sanctuary of peace. The master bedroom suite, with its luxurious spa-like bathroom and a clawfoot bathtub.The suite was also equipped with a chintzy seating area - with a cognac-colored ottoman and bay window.

The reliable housekeeper, was one such person. The children, of course – Junior and Lily had been mainstays in their toddler years. However, with the coming of their formative years, a preteen and seven-year-old were, naturally more preoccupied with playdates, extracurricular activities, cousins, and friends than snuggling with Mom and Dad. Sydney and Carmy were quietly relieved at that development.

Natalie, of course, as Sydney’s best friend and confidante would come over for nights spent gossiping about the staff at the various Berzatto-owned establishments, their family members (no sex talk was allowed from Sydney) and caught up their circle of fellow mothers – married, career minded and very successful. There was nothing funnier than that one night Carmen came in as horned up as can be, only to be proverbially cockblocked by his sister, with his wife - in sweats, enjoying a binge watching session.

“What are you doing here, Sug?” Carmen drawled out, rubbing his emerging 5 o’clock shadow, dropping his Tumi duffle bag. He had spent two nights away from his beloved wife and kids for a conference of former NoMa chefs. The Danish Air eight hour flight back was brutal. He was looking to unwind with some delicious leftover lamp chops and....

...time with Sydney. To himself. 

---

 

Sydney and locked eyes with Carmen, winked suggestively and discreetly so Natalie could not see. But it did not matter. Their weird, twin brain “voodoo shit,” as Richie called the psychic link that had existed between Carmen and Sydney since those vulnerable months after Mikey was…gone.

Since the day she walked into what was then, “The Beef,” they had a connection that everyone could feel, and no one could explain. Until that faithful night.That faithful night when they got the call from the Voting Committee, in that apartment Carmy used to live in. The apartment right around the corner from The Bear. 

Her throat was numb. Everything was slow. She could feel the earth move beneath her feet, as her eyes focused on her favorite part of his body. His lips. He was shouting with joy. 

She loved the way the grooves of his upper lip curved into a cupid’s bow. But that did not take away from how hot it was when he got irritated with the staff, but she mostly loved when that vein throbbed in his thick neck…it was bulging now with unbridled excitement.

His fingers, his strut, his effortless grace…

His arms.

She heard his voice and did not have time for her brain to connect with the fact that she was leaving the ground. The ground because he hoisted her up in the air, his arms around her waist…

Her tiny waist, that he had noticed for the first time a few years ago, when she adjusted her sweater. The smooth expanse of her taut stomach was previewed as well. The softness of her big, soulful eyes.

Her perfect orbs for breasts.

The way her tongue wrapped around the spoon when she was tasting his cooking.

His.

Hers.

That’s when it happened. The explosion. The fire that burned when their minds and eyes connected on all levels for her to slowly drift down, as his hands caught the underside of her butt cheeks. Her soft, shapely, you-could-not-help-but-notice ass, it poked out from her elegant apron. Daily.

A soft “damn” left his mouth, moving from his throat -  from a sensuous groan.

What happened next was the big bang of that “voodoo shit.” A culmination so powerful it could only create a relationship as in sync as Carm and Syd’s.

 

Their names for each other.

Baby, My Girl….

Babe….he loved to call her babe when he was about to cum.

‘Just the way I like it, babe.” He moaned softly, his hand wrapping around her right breast as she bounced up and down on it.

All that tough guy gristle went out the window when Syd was on her “voodoo shit.”

She had his eyes rolling out the back of his head. His tongue, languid against his dimpled cheek as he scanned her from her head tilted back, to her braids touching his thighs, to the sweaty and velvet patch of heaven where they met.

“Fuck, your ride me so good.” He growled as he sat up and pulled her flush to him. His lips connected with her nipple, left – his favorite.

‘…fuck me…’ she whined quietly

‘mmmhhMhmm’ he moaned. She giggled a bit. He was so free like this…

---

Since that night, they never looked back. So even when Sydney thought she was being subtle, Natalie could pick up on the vibe that she was to make it to the guest room immediately, and with haste.

Because as soon as Natalie’s eyes drifted off to sleep in the still of night – Carmy had his wife on her first of three orgasms that night.

 

The depths of this intimacy and comfort for the Berzattos made it such that few had been in the sanctuary. 

So, the photo above the mantel, in the sitting area of their bedroom suite, was a photo from the reception…

The reception after their wedding.

Their glorious wedding…

 

In a romantic villa, off the Amalfi Coast. Sumptuous, intimate, romantic, and fun.

She wore a champagne-colored elegant dress that was chiffon and draped her willowy, yet womanly frame. He wore a classic black tux, his hair perfectly tussled and coiffed in that way she loved it.

Love.

That was the wedding. The blood-orange bruising of the sunset sky. The opera singer who serenaded masterfully as Mr. Adamu walked his only child down the aisle to a teary Carmy. 

The loving and soulful kiss. The exchange of vows that broke everyone one and left not a dry eye in sight.The reception, however, was a playful bash. Throwback 60s Motown, followed by elegant classic Jazz and Standards, then 70s dance pop, 2000s Hip Hop.At some point – Carmen and Sydney, Syd and Carm were swaying, her arms draped around his neck, her face tucked into his shoulder while his arms were wrapped around her waist. 

Call Me Irresponsible by Bobby Darin was the song they were serenading each other to.

 

Undependable, too…

Do my foolish alibis bore you?

Well I'm not too clever, I just adore you.

---

At some point, they retired to the foyer, with people, their people.

Tina, Ebra, Richie, Sweeps and Fak. Mr. Adamu, a picture of dignified pride and joy for his daughter's happiness. 

Natalie, even Donna lasted until 10pm until they sent her back to her room in the villa. 

But Marcus.

Poor, dear sweet Marcus, who thought he had found the woman of his dreams, only to see her pinned up against the desk after a rowdy holiday party at The Bear….

He had heard the whispers at this point, seen the lingering glances and longing tones. There was even the time Marcus caught Camry's hounddog-like, ocean blue eyes scanning Syd's physique while she leaned on the expo in between shifts.

But Marcus ignored it. All the guys knew Syd was bad. 

Carmy lustfully licking his lips when he saw Sydney walk into the holiday party should have been the clue for Marcus to quit.

But to accidently catch that glimpse of them in the crack of the door they forgot to close? 

He had to know…

But he knew forever after seeing Sydney drunkenly wrapping her arms around Carmy’s neck as he hiked her up and she squealed a girlish giggle that in all of the two and a half years he knew Sydney, he had never heard her emit.

Fuck…Marcus heard Carmy whisper. ‘If I knew you’d get this horned up over a second star, I’d have cared sooner.’

That was enough for Marcus.

Little did they know.

Marcus took a job with a niche luxury bakery in New York City and never looked back.

---

So, the Wedding Party of The Berzattos gradually scattered into the dusk of dawn.

But the photographer and the happy couple did not.

The elder, wry gentlemen took the photo that would be featured in their mantel piece…and one other place. In this photo, his tuxedo jacket was draped around her as she sat on his lap. He was oozing with the self-satisfaction of a bastard who couldn’t believe his luck.

His dimpled cheeks with champagne, weed and lust flushed with rogue.

His hand provocatively on her left breast, as she girlishly demurs to his snuggle. Their foreheads touch. A human heart shape.

That image hung above their bedroom mantel.

That image is also Sydney’s phone wallpaper when Carmy calls her iPhone.

 

 

 

The iPhone on the table of this corporate board room where the ‘ChiFooDie’, the chic nonprofit that had a Board of Directors of young, dynamic women who ranged in life experiences. Like the Indian American lesbian who was a civil rights attorney.

Or the woman of Puerto Rican Heritage who is married to an old moneyed-WASPY scion.  

All together to end food poverty in the City of Chicago, especially for historically marginalized communities.

Then, there was the beautiful, effortlessly chic Two-Star Michelin Star Chef who also happened to be married to that hot other Two Star Michelin chef…

The Berzattos went viral right?

For the Architectural Digest YouTube video tour of their beautiful Georgian-style sprawl, with a wraparound porch. The internet fell in love with their effortlessly irreverent chicness.

And their sex appeal.The longing glances, the excessive way he always had to touch her waist.

The joke about ‘where the magic happens’ all throughout the tour.

But they made sure to have the photo taken down before filming in their home...that was not meant for everyone. 

The gorgeous brunette of the Gold Coast, who was a doctor - secretly embarrassed because her husband served her with divorce papers this morning, was sitting next to the Michelin Star Chef that was married to a man who she never stopped carrying a torch for. However, the torch was extinguished as soon Claire's eyes landed on the buzzing phone of the woman sitting to her immediate right. 

What were the odds of Sydney Berzatto (formerly Adamu) sitting next to Claire Valenti (soon to be formerly Lloyd)

What were the odds they would be invited as the new ‘ChiFooDie’ Advisory Council. What would be the odds of Carmy forgetting she was going to the Advisory Council meeting after work and he needed to pick up dinner, and that the kids were over Natalie’s….

That Claire would see that image flash across Sydney’s phone placed neatly on the wooden table.

Then Claire saw Sydney’s long lashes flutter with the warmed annoyance and luxurious comfort Claire yearned for, but that picture confirmed she would never get. Sydney's layered bob, flipped with effortless grace as she artfully slide a delicate finger, adorned with the teasing glint of her wedding ring. They briefly locked as as mouthed with an apologetic eyeroll, "Sorry."

---

Claire felt like her throat caved into her stomach. As Sydney turned her attention back to the Board Chair, who was deep in a pitch for a fundraising gala at the museum. Claire felt the warmth leave the room. Her anxious eyes betrayed her as they drifted to the screen of Sydney's phone again - seeing the preview of a Text from "Carm"

"Hey beautiful, I miss you...you doing expo tonight? I was hoping to...."

 

Claire could not stop thinking about this. She cried in the Uber home, not stopping to network with the ladies. She raced out the glass building leaving behind the stilled conversations and name dropping that normally came with these events. 

Why?

Because Carmen Anthony Berzatto will always be head over, over the moon, can’t live without you, 'want to fuck you out' every night love with Sydney Angelique Adamu…

Now Berzatto.

And Claire knew at that moment.

She would never know what that would, was or could be like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7: Heat and Flame

Sydney needed a haircut. Her hair, as it stood now, was untenable. Thick, dense, woolly and now well past her shoulder blades, the piercing heat of summer was underscoring the need for her to make that appointment with Kima.

Kima had been her salvation. One part fairy godmother, one part therapist – the woman who had come recommended by her father’s receptionist, Ms. Thompson nearly 31 years ago had been her salve. Growing up a smart, bright chestnut-hued Black girl was not easy.

It was not easy to have been a veracious mind, a sharp wit and bounds of creativity, to a single father grieving the loss of love of his life. Kima with her tender hands and guidance had led Sydney through graduations, her father’s retirement, the week The Bear secured its first star…

It would not hurt to have her work her magic again.

 Your JETBLUE FLIGHT FROM O’HARE (ORD)…

 Carmy B: Hey beautiful.

---

Sydney stops tugging at her wild mane of tight coils. She catches herself in the mirror. 30 barely showing in her face. She stared at herself, feigning a smile, and standing up. Her lean, yet curvy figure comes into frame. She turns around to take in and admire the woman reflected before her. It had taken a long time for her to get to this point. There were times when she had to sit back and think. Think back to the girl she had been three years ago so she could give credit to the woman she was today. The woman who was accomplishing her goals and living her dreams. She had stars, awards…

She had been profiled by Chicago Magazine, done a photoshoot for Vulture.

She rented a sunny, one-bedroom overlooking the water in the heart of the Chicago.

She finally laughed and took time to breathe.

As she sat back down and tapped in her passcode to her cell phone, she had to fight the urge to check the message from Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto.

Carm to her in front of their staff.

Carmen to reporters and critics when they were bolstering their ‘golden boy and girl’ culinary world reputations.

Bear….

Bear was new. Bear had whined playfully when he sensuously pressed his body to hers in the office yesterday.

His lips dusting her ear and sending a shock wave down her spine, as his hands gripped her hips. She could feel the dull thrill of semi-erection in between her thin leggings.

“Behind.” He whispered mischievously, conjuring memories of him pounding away at her, dripping with sweat, his mouth open, his neck exposed.

“FUuuukkkk…” His body jerked forward, drawn to the pull of Sydney’s heavenly womanhood. He was torn between the feeling of needing sweet release or wanting to get lost in Sydney for the rest of his time on earth. For all of Sydney’s awkwardness and stilled cadence – in bed, she was free.

Girlish, playful, and liquid-like in her grace. Then again, she was also like that when they cooked alone.

“Aaaaooohhh…” Sydney squealed. Her knees giving out as Carmy curled his arm around her waist and curled under the covers with her.

“Bear….” She whispered instinctively, curling away with giggles as Carmy swayed them over to the desk.

“Mmm…” he intoned cockily. “Bear sounds so sexy coming from you.”

---

Sydney smiled at the memory, twirling her long spiral coil of hair around her elegant forefinger.

Her guy, her baby…

Her Bear.

Her….

What was he to her?

He was important. That was for sure. He was without question her best friend. And she was his. He never missed an opportunity to remind her. He was possessive of her. She could see his jaw set and his nose flair when she so much made meaningful contact with any man (or woman) who was not on the payroll.

She was his muse. His inspiration, the reason for staying in this game.

---

Carmy looked so handsome in his tuxedo. They were in a splendid ballroom, taking in another award for their innovation in the culinary field. Carmy and Sydney had been nominated by Natalie. Another dinner, another night of Carmy and Sydney being showered with what they always and finally, finally deserved. Sydney sat upright, her passion twists up in a high ponytail, with two braids loose on either side of her face. She was wearing tiny gold studs and a long, black halter column dress that draped her physique like it was lacquered on her body.

He caught a glimpse of her in the audience. His eyes lowering as if he were a crocodile in the swamp, waiting to strike. His heart swelled and he licked his lips. His cupid’s bow was more pronounced as his upper lip curved into a smile.

“I would be an asshole if I did not mention the reason why I’m here.” The room chuckled at the use of the word “asshole.” No matter how many awards he racked up, Carmen Berzatto would always be a wiseass baby son of Donna Berzatto.

“Sydney Adamu, you are a perfect glass of red. Complex, difficult to crack…”

She felt her face warm as the room giggled. Where was this going?

“But my god. When you get that perfect dry Pinot Noir on the best day, or - or on a godawful day, she will make you feel like there is a God. You have been my friend, my partner, the perfect picture of professionalism and hard work. I’d even go as far to say you are the reason, I wear chef’s whites these days. When my brother Mikey died-“

His voice cracked. His large eyes were swimming in tears. Sydney wanted to hug him.

“-I did not know how long I could do this.” He gestured around the room. “But you walked into our crazy little beef sandwich spot, and I thank God you did. I’d like to thank my family, my coworkers, who are my family and everyone who does the dirty work in the kitchen. Thank you!”

He bound down the stairs, from the side of the stage, his small award in hand and beelined for Sydney. Syndey’s heart burst, her body warm with affection as her throat bore the strain of fighting back tears.

His arms wrapped around her as he placed a long and sumptuous kiss on her temple as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. They stayed like that, oblivious to the heartened standing ovation that broke out and the pointed looks of curiosity about why the culinary world’s wunderkinds were keeping the worst kept secret in foodie Chicago circles, a secret.

“How long until they have a photoshoot for Chicago Magazine announcing their engagement?” A green haired pastry chef snarked to her girlfriend as everyone in the ballroom rolled their eyes at the indulgence of the newly minted ‘golden boy and girl’ of their industry.

“Oh, they are soooo fucking.”

What were they?

They were….partners. They did not put a label on it. Nor did they have to. The staff pretended to not pay attention to the fact that Carmy and Sydney went home in one of the other’s cars every night.

Or the fact that at staff parties and family, it was not unusual for Carmy and Sydney to be curled close in in conversation while sharing the same plate.

Or that everyone saw Carmy stroke Sydney’s ass the night they all went out to celebrate the restaurant getting their first star. Sure.

Partners.

Sydney had not wanted to put a label on it. When she started at The Bear she was recovering from heartbreak. The heartbreak of losing her business and her life savings, the heartbreak of moving back into her childhood home, being dependent on her father. The heartbreak of falling in, falling out and being cuntstruck for the first time in her life. What did that all mean? But after Gwen, she had never been with another woman…

Or man for that matter.

Well, unless you counted Carmy, who was her…

Partner. Right.

That’s what he would stay for now. She had a lot to be proud of in her life. Having Carmy at her mercy, sexually was delightful enough. She was not prepared for what life beyond that, with him meant for now.

---

Syd looked great, Carmy thought as he took her in. She was wearing an oversized denim shirt, leggings, and Converse sneakers. Her hair, normally in long, thin braids had been replaced by a thick, long single braid down her back, a handkerchief tied in that signature way of hers. She was walking toward him from the security checkpoint toward where he sat, in departure hall. It was early morning, so Carmy thought it would be nice to get them a nice cup of coffee.

“Hey stranger.” She sighed slyly, grabbing the second cup of coffee out of his hand, and sat down, dropping her duffle bag with a small “plop.”

“Hey.” Carmy smiled. He took her in. Her delicate face, her long lashes, her lips twisted in a playful way.

“You excited?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not every day you get to meet your…girlfriend’s Grandaunt.”

Carmy’s skin ran cold for a second. A second was too long, too generous. The smile that broke out on Sydney’s face was so instantaneous, so full and radiant – it reached her roasted, amber-colored eyes.

“Getting ahead of ourselves?” Sydney snarked, fighting the urge to blush.

He leaned in close and planted a soft kiss on the side of her pout.

“No. I just like the world knowing you’re mine.” He said, with a wryness that Sydney adored. She locked lips with him, so taken by the moment she never considered her hard and steadfast rule of not allowing herself to fall for Carmy. She also had not considered how annoyed the departure hall denizens around them would be by their shameless make-out session.

“Ahem!” the PA blared, the bored flight attendant pursed his lips, breaking Carmy and Sydney out of their fantasia bubble.

“I hate to interrupt, but we will now be boarding Flight 0623, American Airlines…”

A murmur went around the room as Sydney and Carmy sheepishly stood up, avoiding eye contact, and lining up for their flight.

---

Sydney knew Louisiana was hot. She remembered her trips down to her maternal Grandaunt’s rice farm right outside Louisiana, when she was a kid. Shrimp boils, Mardi Gras - none of that mattered. All she could remember was the heat.

The Landrys had owned this land since their ancestor, Marie DuBois of both Choctaw and African heritage, mysteriously inherited the land when her former slave master, Colonel Bethune died. She would leave the farm and its beautiful house to her hazel-eyed, passé blanc – looking son. Thankfully, he lost his heart to a beautiful Amazonian former enslaved woman by the name of Lynn. Tall, keen features with liquid black eyes and a bow of a smile, they had a handful of kids and lived of the land, creating generations of Sydney’s maternal relatives.

Suffice it to say, the soft curls and aquiline features of the Landrys told the whole story, silently. Occasionally a Landry cousin like her Grandaunt would inherit the ol’ Colonel’s piercing hazel eyes…

The Landry farm sat on a handful of acres, right in the heart of the Bayou. It was surrounded by the seductive force of the gothic green lush, which was centered around the colonial style main house. Creamy shingles, beautiful archway, and an old rickety rocking chair, it was peaceful.

The buzzing of swap flies and the hiss of the water added to the feeling that Sydney was back in an oasis. She was hot – had been forced to change into denim cut offs and a thin white tank, her lacy purple bra transparent as the swamp heat slicked her clothes to her frame.

She could feel Carmy’s eyes on her as her Uncle James (he was not really her uncle. He was an old ranch hand that worked for Grandaunt Millie’s father as a boy. He was a runaway who never left the Landry farm.)

He was also Grandaunt Millie’s drinking partner. And the love of her life.

So, to Syd, he was “Uncle James.”

He kept yammering. Talking. Tales of how he and Grandaunt Millie clipped newspaper stories about Sydney’s success up in Chicago. How proud they were of her. How excited they were to host her…

Friend.

Sure.

Maybe that’s what the kids were calling it.

Because Uncle James sure caught the once over his “niece” gave her “friend” just there.

He also caught the boy blush so hard; he looked like he was sunburned.

Some friendship indeed.

---

Meet me upstairs. I’ll get us some wine…

Sydney loved being down here. She loved walking around barefoot. She loved how dewy her skin got and how free her hair could be. How moisturized it stayed down here.

She did not love having to stave off her nightly dose of Carmy.

And his legs, and his arms and his lips and his-

She took a deep breath. She was wearing a large Looney Tunes shirt and barely-there cotton shorts. It had been a successful evening.

Grandaunt Millie and Uncle James were welcoming, lovely and kind. They were great cooks who filled their gin glasses and filled their bellies with etouffée and cornbread. They laughed - regaled Carmy with stories about Syd as a toddler as Carmy showed off and reveled in his ‘Famed Chef’ status.

As the night winded down and Uncle James and Grandaunt Millie made their way to the back porch, holding hands and listening to old jazz records, Carmy and Syd stayed in the brightly lit kitchen as Sarah Vaughn’s crystal-clear voice crackled on the old record player.

Sydney was polishing the sliver as Carmy did the dishes. She was distracted by the glint of his famed gold chain against his swamp damp skin. He had never looked sexier, manlier – or more beautiful than he did. The brightness of the sun left him with a bronzed tan, making his luminous eyes all that bluer.

Like that Paul Newman. Grandaunt Millie intoned softly as they sipped lemonade earlier and watched Uncle James and Carmy in the open field engaging in an animated conversation about farming techniques in Italy versus Louisiana.Her heart soared and never quite came back down. She licked her dry lips and let herself drift from the chore of polishing the last spoon, onward to the pleasure of wrapping her arms around her lover.

“Behind.” She whispered flirtatiously in his ear. She felt him chuckle as she enjoyed the smell of Dove soap and baby powder that was so him. The hair on the nape of his neck was damp with sweat. She placed a kiss there.

“What do you want?” he asked with mock bravado, turning around in her arms, placing his soapy arms on her shoulders as he pulled her into a kiss. She smiled as she opened her mouth wider to make room for his wandering tongue. Her slowly wrapped his arms around her waist as she found her hands traveling through his thick, gold-tinged curls.She pulled away from him, biting her lip as his hands gripped her hips and pulled her with ease toward him.

She stared into his hooded eyes, realizing how much she missed him.

“You.”

---

They made love under the low dim of moonlight, candles, and the sound of Bessie Smith crooning from the record player, the sound traveling through the velvety night air. Uncle James and Grandaunt Millie conveniently forgot to turn off the record player. They also made sure to sleep in the outer house to give the young ones some privacy.

Sydney lay on her back, with Carmy wrapped between her legs as they moved with the slowness of night.

They did not rush. They took their time. They had soaked in a hot bath, talked for hours about everything and nothing, her clothed in a towel, him in nothing a pair of black shorts.

She moved off his chest to turn off the soft, warm light the side-table lamp was admitting in the kitschy guest bedroom.

She never turned off the lamp.

Because his lips found the tattoo.

His favorite tattoo. The one he made sure to kiss every time they fucked, banged, and in this case…

Made love.

Sydney gave herself over to him. No more hiding. No more denial. So, when she met nirvana for the third time that night, panting and shining with both her and his sweat, she cradled his head.

He laid his damp head on the supple bosom of his lover’s chest. Their bodies exhausted from what their love could do.

She titled his head up, drinking in the playful smile that began to manifest on his face. The one that was only for her. That she knew he could make for only her.

“I love you.” She spoke. Clearly, with conviction. As her heart cracked a wide open, a goofy smile that spread across her lover’s face.

He lowered his head, kissing his way up her neck and nuzzled his nose in her ear, whispering low as she enjoyed the weight of him on her.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. Always have, always will.” He whispered.

Their eyes slowly caved to the heaviness of sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8: Case of the Exes

 

“Fuckfest?” Carmy asked Sydney with a flippant sexiness that came to exemplify their relationship.  

 

It was the coldest spell Mother Nature had cast on Chicago in years. The upcoming weather forecast was predicting two feet of snow with a side order of slush. They will be closing The Bear, starting after tonight’s staff meeting. Reservations – as profitable as they would be, had to be cancelled.

That was the last thing the Executive Chef’s and Chef De Cuisine cared about these days. The idea of a night of reservations having an impact on the two-star, James Beard-winning restaurant’s bottom line was laughable. Especially after the restaurant became known in sports media as the spot out of town professional sports teams loved to go to for dinner. A profile in Food & Wine with the striking and charismatic power couple of the Chicago foodie scene had made them untouchable.

 

In addition to giving the staff a well-deserved mini vacation that was normally impossible for anyone on The Bear payroll, save Natalie, to take…

When weather got in the way, whether it was a hellish heatwave or, in this case a snowstorm  - Fuckfest would be on the menu.

Fuckfest was the joking and affectionate term they had named their weekends off that involved no cooking, no working, and no public events. No photoshoots, no staff and definitely no Richie or Natalie (or Pete. Never Pete)  Driven, focused, and loving how their recent success had buoyed staff morale, they were on a high. A serious high.

For Carmy, his overflow of testosterone and kinetic energy, married with his insatiable appetite for his fiancé made him a little sex mad.  Sydney, so in love with her fiancé, relished his affection and attentiveness. She loved how unabashed he was in his desire for her.

The way he looked for any excuse when they were working shifts to maneuver her around by putting his hands on her waist.

“Corner!” He liked to yell, his deep voice radiating through the brightly lit kitchen, gripping her waist mischievously for no reason when it was only them. The way he bit his lip when she talked and licked his lips when she walked. The way he rested his face in her neck as soon as the last staff member left, and they locked themselves in the office to bookkeep (or so folks thought.) It was like the way Sydney’s eyes lit up when she fed him a sample of a new menu item and he moaned that moan of his…

His blonde lashes laid on the apples of his cheeks as his dimples peeked behind his rosy cheeks.

The warmth and solidness of his body when he curled into her….

 

In short – Carmy and Sydney loved each other and were not shy about letting the other know. Fuckfest was their code for non-stop lovemaking. To make up for the workmen-like sex they had most nights.

Fuckfest was their bubble. The bubble involved turning their cellphones off, breaking out the massage oils, and lovemaking at sunset with - alternative rock and R&B acting as the soundtrack. Sydney looked up at Carmy, who was standing doorway of their shared office, his chef’s whites unbutton, showing off his delicious neck and shadows of his toned pectorals…

Carmy’s face broke out into a smile. Sydney was so obvious when she was horny for him. The glint in her eyes and the way she curled her tongue to touch her top row of teeth answered Carmy’s question with ease.

“First Fuckfest of the Year.” She replied playfully.

---

On day two, they did not leave the bedroom until 1pm. They were famished. They ordered a mountain of Chinese food. They eat, they take a bath (together, of course) and take a nap.

 

Sydney loves this. The in-between. Their eyes have not opened but their bodies met, and their hands are having a conversation only the two of them understand. The reflexive way his strong arms wrapped around her waist, the blissful look Sydney’s face….

She loved that the sun was setting. She loved that there were old episodes of ‘Seinfeld’ playing on the flat screen hanging on the wall of her bedroom. She loved that they were on their cozy little planet, shielded from the snow cold, as they lay entangled, basking in their love.

“Mmm…” Carmy moaned. She felt a jolt of pleasure between her legs, pooling in desire.

She never thought she would be this girl. That girl. The girl who was so drunk off the lovemaking and high of physical touch.

“First Fuckfest of the year, off to a great start.” Carmy joked, pressing soft kisses on her shoulder blade. Sydney smiled; her eyes still closed.

“Mmm…missed this.” His head moved from her shoulder to her jawline, planting soft and wet kisses along the way. She smiled her famous toothy smile. Her eyes fluttered softly, meeting the burnt orange skyscape of Chicago and the cozy haze of freshly fallen snow.

She turned swiftly into his arms and faced him as she cupped his cheek and nuzzled her nose against his. He captured her lips into a soul-stirring kiss, navigating his tongue into her mouth. He shifted his weight from his side as he laid on top of her. Feeling him arrest all her senses was what she loved. Broad, firm, yet covered in soft skin and silky body hair. The way that groan of his rumbled low in his throat.

“Mmm…fuck, Carm. Give me a minute to recover.” She giggled as Carm buried his face in her neck, sucking and positioning his legs in between hers. Her body was a message of contradictions. Her throat, back and knees needed a break. The pool of pleasure gathering in between hers legs as Carmy’s moans and caresses threatened to coax her inner sex goddess out of hiding, said otherwise.

“Shit…babe.” He moaned, laying tender kisses along her collarbone, and laying his head on his favorite part of her body – her chest.

She stroked his silky curls softly as he sighed contently. “I’m sorry.” he said, the serrated gravel of sleep and desire coating his voice.

She looked at him with a puzzled look and smiled softly.

“What are you apologizing for?” she asked, her voice coated with pleasure.

He lifted his head and placed his chin gently on her sternum, his electric-blue eyes hooded with admiration. It did not matter how long they had been together, there would always be the jolt of excitement that manifested in her belly when he gazed at her, head on. Especially now that they were committed and in love. She continued to stroke his hair, massaging his scalp. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation as a comfortable silence circled the cozy bedroom.

“I get carried away sometimes.” He mumbled, a small smile curling around his lips.

She giggled.

“Sometimes? Baby, we almost broke your bed last week.” Sydney snarked, reminiscing about quicky that ended as soon as the suspicious sound of a loud “craccck” ran through the headboard of Carmy’s bed, as they tried to fuck away the stress of the Thursday night rush.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carmy said playfully, laying his head down on her stomach.

“Mmhhmm…right.” She laughed, her eyes meeting her stark white ceiling.

“Babe.”

“Yo.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”  Sydney uttered with uncertainty. The feeling of something heavy dropping in her stomach took hold. Was it ever a good sign when your lover had to “ask you something?”

Carmy sat up, laying on his side and avoiding her gaze. She could sense something was on his mind.

“So, I’ve been thinking…and you know, I want us to be supportive of each other.” Sydney suddenly felt exposed. Which was crazy, considering an hour ago, she was sitting on his face.

“Okay?” She said tentatively, her nose scrunching with anticipation.

He opened his mouth as if to start a thought and pressed his lips together, catching the thought before it had a chance to fully germinate. His eyes darted along Sydney’s lime green duvet, avoiding eye contact. The vein in his temple was starting to gain prominence. Sydney learned with time and patience to not interrupt Carmy when he was trying to be emotionally vulnerable. She pulled the covers over herself. This seemed serious. No need to have the merchandise on display, less they get distracted.

“So, like…you were there for me, with the whole visiting Mikey’s grave and, and…I have been trying, to not be shitty, right? So, I think we should talk more about stuff. Aaannd….I’m wanted to….ask you, because it’s like, a part of you-“

Sydney was nodding bemused, watching him work to formulate his thoughts. She took a deep breath and watched him close his eyes and breathe out.

“So, like, we’ve spoken, spoken about stuff…like me with, you know, Claire.” The name of her least favorite of Carmy’s exes caused Sydney’s left eyebrow to  arched so hard, it almost disappear into her braids.  Carmy did not need to look at Sydney to know she was wondering where he was going with this. He raised a hand, as if to say “hold on” as Sydney took a deep breath as if to indicate that she was at the end of her patience.

“So, like…, I feel like I’m not being supportive of your…umm, sexuality.” Carmy said with a head nod.

A hush fell on the room as Sydney tried everything to not burst out laughing in her fiancé’s face. It had all the charm of a young child asking a parent for an extension to their bedtime. Sydney felt her body melt from the tense tundra of nervousness that had set in before. This was like that time he bought her a teddy bear holding a Pride flag last June. It was sweet, adorable, and so Carmy. She blinked rapidly, processing that her fiancé, in his twisted way trying to be compromising. For reasons beyond Sydney’s understanding.

“You trying to ask for a threesome?” Sydney laughed jokingly, running a hand over his bulging bicep.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to be an adult here, Syd.”

She chuckled as his exasperated manner.

“So, like I feel like I’m not giving you space for you to be all of yourself. And I was talking to my therapist-“ Sydney leaned over and placed a soft, appreciative kiss on his lips.

“Carm. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but given the last two days, the last thing I’m thinking about is another person. I'm fantastic.”

“I know, but like, do you ever feel like I’m like, I don’t know too hetero or…”

Sydney laughed. This was too much.

“Syd, I’m serious. I know we’re good, but I want to make sure you have everything you need.” His eyes were wide with expectation, searching for a sign of Sydney’s contentment.

She could burst with how sincere he seemed. She pulled him closer to her, wrapped around each other and enjoying the warmth of his body against hers.

She smiled sincerely.

“Do me a favor, baby…”

“Anything.”

“The next time I fuck your brain out and you bring up Claire or even the prospect of either one of us with another woman, I’ll chop your balls off and put them in next Sunday’s Braciole.” she said teasingly.

He grinned, pulling her down into another kiss. They broke apart, looking into each other’s eyes.

He lovingly brushed an errant braid out of Sydney’s face.

“I won’t bring up any of my ex-girlfriends-“

“Or mine. Ex-girlfriends are not welcomed conversation pieces.” Sydney responded slyly, Carmy smirked, shaking his head in a that “you are too much” way he liked to do. After years she could still get him good.

“Actually, I’m not going to lie, that Gwen sounds like she’d be a great-Ouch!”

Sydney sneaked a pillow attack on him.

“Shut the fuck up!” She howled with laughter as she ducked out of the way of what was now a full-blown pillow fight.

---

Sydney’s evening was pure and would be utter chaos. She raced over to the kids’ school to pick them up, dipping out on dinner service, attended both Junior’s practice and Lily’s piano lessons, only to head home, with the mission to get the kids ready for bed, wait for the babysitter to show up, for Kima and her dress to arrive. Carmy also needed a haircut…

As she unlocked their front door and the welcoming warmth of her family home greeted her, the kids were playing their favorite game – who could give Momma a big ol’ headache on a night she and Carmy were supposed to be headed toward a black-tie event.

Gala season was officially in full swing.

 

The only reprieve to this overpacked day was it was a Friday. Did that make the kids argue less, or the produce guy deliver on time? No.

However, Sydney liked to fool herself into thinking Fridays were magically better days.

“Momma! For the last time, tell Junior it is my turn to watch TV!” Lily exclaimed, her cherubically beautiful face beet red from the cold and her frustration with her older brother. When she got angry, she looked so much like her father.

“Na-huh!” Junior retorted “You get fucking-“

“Ayyye!” Sydney exclaimed.  She switched on the light and shot a piercing glare at her oldest. His large brown eyes, a reflection of her own, suddenly wide with fear.

The cursing problem was beginning to get out of hand. Lily and Carmy Jr. were well-behaved and well-adjusted. Carmy and Syd made sure of it. Given the loving home Sydney grew up in, despite not having her Mom and Carmy growing up…well, the way he grew up, patience and tenderness were the way of the Berzatto house.

That did not mean they were not willing to ground or discipline their kids when the moment called for it. It seemed that their oldest was picking up on a few nasty Berzatto habits he had learned from his father and his uncles.

“I’m sorry, Momma.” Junior softly intoned, clearly embarrassed by his slip up and wounded by his mother's disappointment. Sydney whipped around, moving her hair out of her face to check on Lily. Lily’s florescent blue eyes were wide with anticipation, as a silence filled the dimly lit foyer.  

Sydney closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. 10….9….8…

“It’s okay, baby.” She leaned over and titled Junior’s chin up to get him to look at her. His face, that adorable little face that could make her heart sing. No matter how foul his vocabularly was getting. 

“What does Momma say about cursing?” she  asked softly, turning him around and  out of his puffy winter jacket, still outfitted in his maroon and white baseball uniform.

“No cursing.-” He replied apologetically.

“-unless we stub our toes, or you and Dad are not around.” Lily finished.

Sydney nodded smiling, letting out a deep sigh.

“Good. Now, the both of you – upstairs. Junior, you in the shower first. Then you both: share TV time!” she said firmly, peeling off her Converses and her black zip up.

---

“Cursing?” Kima exclaimed as she parted Sydney’s mountains of thick hair into sections, greasing her scalp. The kids were bathed, fed, and were lounging in their pajamas on Carmy and Sydney’s bed, watching cartoons.

Kima had set up her hairstyling station as she always did- in Carmy and Sydney’s large ensuite bathroom. Sydney was in her green and gold kimono silk robe, as her long-time hairdresser (and unofficial part-time therapist) worked on beautifying her in time for the first Annual ChiFooDie Fundraising Gala at The Ritz. Having proven her ability to get the city’s high rollers on their donor list, Sydney had been appointed Chair of the Gala planning committee. She was a guest of honor.

And so was Claire…

Or Dr. Claire….

Suffice to say, the last thing she needed tonight was her nine-year-old to start sounding like Triumph the Insult Dog.

“Yes, Kima. Just deployed the whole ‘F’ word. Not even a ‘shit’ or a ‘bitch’ Sydney sighed defeated. Kima smiled at her through the vanity mirror.

“Honey, I hate to break it to you but my niece and nephew sound like the got a case of-“

Sydney smiled playfully pointing at Kima’s reflection in the mirror, as if to say, “don’t you dare.”

But before Sydney could make a smart retort, the voice of her husband greeted her ears.

“Fucking last minute- Whoa!”

A cacophony of giggling and “Dad!” exclamations filled the air as the kids flopped off the bed and greeted their father enthusiastically. Sydney caught a glimpse of the adorable sight through the reflection. She could see him playfully tickling Lily as Junior was hanging from his father’s neck.

“Mmmhmm.” Kima intoned knowingly as she began to open the jar of styling gel on the counter.

Sydney rolled her eyes playfully.

Yup. She could not even argue. The kids caught a bad case of the Berzattos. It would not take an affinity for white designer t-shirts and gold chains to make that clear.

 

“I mean is it really that bad?” Carmen inquired as Sydney helped him tie his bowtie. They were all gelled, dressed, and ready. The car was waiting for them downstairs.

Sydney was a vision in a red, silk, off - the -shoulder Carolina Herrera gown. Even after two kids, her figure (much to the chagrin of the ladies at The Block and Natalie) remained a perfect totem to womanly curves and willowy elegance.

Her husband, who existed most days in a uniform of white shirts and black Dickies looked immaculate, thanks to his Tom Ford tuxedo. His wild fop of dark blonde curls were behaving, thanks to an impromptu haircut, courtesy of Kima and hair gel.

Sydney cut a knowing look to her husband as she finished the last loop and straightened out his tie. His clean and woody aftershave and the way he was absent-mindly running his tongue over his bottom lip were having unintended consequences. His eyes scanned her – from her elaborate chignon to her heaving bosom, propped by the corset she was wearing…

“Don’t even think about it.” Sydney said sharply. Giving his broad, suited shoulders a final brush, she spun around to retrieve her purse from her bedside table.

“Mmm…” He intoned saucily, making playful smacking noises with his mouth as he eyed his wife’s shapely posterior. 

She double checked to make sure she had everything in her purse.

Credit card, compact mirror….

“Carm!” Sydney exclaimed, giggling as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her to him.

---

They were 40 minutes late for the gala. They missed the cocktail reception.

Head of the ballroom, Table Two.

They had anticipated Claire. That would not be a problem. She was at another table.

Sydney had seen to it that they would not be seated at the same table. What they did not anticipate was the beautiful woman – a curvaceous, woman with pronounced dimples, honey brown skin and a short, blonde fade. She wore black rimmed glasses, a well-tailored suit, and ruby red lipstick.

Sydney felt her heart almost burst out her ass when she laid yes on Gwen Jackson sitting at her table.

Who the fuck invited her?

They would sit down, performatively smiling at the familiar array of Chicago society dignitaries at their table. However, Carmy knew his wife. He knew her better than anyone. The big gulp and enlarging of her already big eyes were the biggest indicator that something was up.

“Yo. You good?” He whispered in her ear, rubbing her back to sooth her. What was going on?

She took a deep breath, the kind she would take when the kids were getting on her nerves and closed her eyes.

“Remember when we agreed ex-girlfriends were not a welcomed conversation pieces?” Sydney said behind a gritted forced smile. A spark in Carmy’s synapsis went off at the perfect time. He took a glance at the woman sitting directly across from them.

It clicked.

So that’s Gwen. She looked different from the pictures. Must be the haircut.

Carmy’s eyes landed in the last place he expected. Right on a dark-haired woman sitting at the table right next to theirs. Brunette, with wide eyes – her lips curved in a mischievous knowing smile until she made eye contact with Carmy and suddenly became very enamored with her glass of champagne. He shot her a look radiating with anger.

Of course. Claire.

“Yeah, well, you and me both.” Carmy replied darkly. He made a big show of taking his tuxedo jacket off and placing it chivalrously on Sydney’s shoulders. He could feel Gwen staring at them, an unreadable expression dancing along her pretty features in the glittering glow of the chandelier.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter 9: "Oh Brother, What Art The Fuck?"

"Would you fuck me?" Natalie asked with a casualness that disarmed her very tired sister-in-law. It was a windy Saturday morning. The Berzatto household was quiet and peaceful. Carmy had started the morning with a crackling fireplace and a delicious breakfast spread of croissants, pastries, and smoked salmon. 

Junior and Lily were bundled up, playing a recurring game of softball that had been an unspoken tradition of Pete, Natalie, Sydney, and Carmy's kids since they were old enough to hold a bat. Family barbeques, picnics, and weekends on Lake Michigan at Natalie and Pete's place were their thing. For Sydney, who had grown up with little interaction with her cousins beyond funerals and the occasional family reunion, it warmed her heart. 

Usually, she would lean against the doorframe and watch them; Michael Jr, Natalie, and Pete's rambunctious oldest, Anthony, his younger brother, and her precious babies run the bases, argue about whether someone hit the plate before a "safe" call or even Carmy joining in on the fun as the unofficial umpire with a knot of emotion in her throat. 

However, her sister-in-law's large blue eyes and bizarre questions distracted her from relishing the family bonding that was happening outside. 

Sydney blinked, chuckling softly and replying wearily with a head tilt that signaled, "What is bringing this on?" 

Natalie rolled her eyes, rolling up the creamy cashmere sleeves on her sweater and nervously biting her lip. 

"Syd, seriously-" 

"Well, Nat, we both know Carmy would have a problem with that for several reasons." Sydney retorted slyly. 

"Syd!"

"Nat!" 

"Okay, seriously – I love you, but what the fuck?" 

"IcaughtPetewatchingporn." 

She rushed this out so fast that it took a beat for her utterance to sink in. 

Syndey blinked slowly. 

"Say more." 

Natalie closed her eyes and breathed out as if she was relieved. Sydney wanted another cup of tea. Her throat was sore from an evening of speechifying and glad-handing at last night's gala. 

Last night's gala….

They'd get to that later. 

"Okay, so I came home from my Junior League meeting last night, and I walked into the bathroom, and there Pete is, whacking away to 'Six Tits, One Dildo.' 

Sydney loved Nat. They were best friends and shared everything with each other. However, moments like this highlighted the profound difference in their philosophies to what happens in a bedroom. While they had their "no Sydney and Carmy sex tales' embargo, there were moments when Natalie let a peek behind the curtain of her sex life. 

There were many references to lingerie, 'birthday blowjobs' and 'spicing things up.' In other words, vanilla. 

Conventional and very, very middle of the road. 

Sydney sighed deeply and ran her hair through her bed-tousled waves, loose from the elaborate chignon from last night's gala. 

"Okay, for one, I'm not really into white women-"

Natalie smirked, tossing an errant kitchen napkin at Sydney as she ducked and let out a bark of a laugh. 

"Come on, Syd! Seriously, am I losing my sex appeal?" She whined. 

"Of course not, honey, you are very sexy. It's just…well-"

"Well, what?"

"Him watching porn does not mean he's not into you. God knows Pete is such a wife guy. It's just-" Natalie raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Sydney shuffled to the Le Courne stove to turn on the golden knob and reheat the kettle. It was easier to say this facing away from her. She could feel the chill of the "Berzatto stare" on the nape of her neck. 

She took a deep breath and threw her head back dramatically. 

"We have to break the embargo."

"Fine," Natalie said so fast that Sydney almost broke her neck, turning around to speak and staring at her sister-in-law. They held a look, Sydney taking a deep swallow. This was a big moment for them. 

"Are you sure?" Sydney asked slowly as if she were a negotiator in a high-stakes hostage crisis. 

"Just tell me, I'll vomit later." Natalie said, waving her diamond-encrusted left hand as if to say,  'Get to the point.' 

Sydney cleared her throat. 

"I don't think it's weird for Pete to watch porn. Carmy and I watch porn as foreplay, and frankly, I think you might want to explore that option." 

Natalie nodded slowly, her throat signaling she was swallowing bile at the mere thought of thinking about her brother's sex life. 

"So, how-" 

"Sometimes, when the kids are at a sleepover, I might roll a little something and get the show started." Sydney avoided looking her directly in the eye. 

You could hear nothing but the muffled sounds of Carmy cheering on Lily for hitting a home run while the boys gripped about her hitting the ball over the fence. 

Natalie walked around the kitchen counter, bent over to the mini-wine fridge, and uncorked a half-full, chilled chardonnay for a long and thorough swig straight from the bottle. 

Sydney took a glance at the microwave clock. It was 11:27am. As if reading her mind, Natalie clacked back to her seat across the kitchen island, chardonnay in tow, and ran a hand through her golden waves. 

"It's five o'clock somewhere." 

"Great, glad this isn't also an intervention."

"Don't get cute. A few follow-up questions." 

"Shoot." Sydney shrugged, leaning over to grab the chardonnay and take a swig herself. 

"Okay, for one. Paint a picture." 

Sydney took another swig and dropped her shoulders as if preparing for a gladiatorial battle. 

A month ago, Sydney had a perfect day. Carmy was treating her. She had landed a few James Beard nominations, and he was always happy to celebrate her accomplishments. 

"Don't worry, baby. I got this," he kept saying all week, his eyes glittering with love and longing. 

"Why don't you take the day off?" he whispered earlier that week, his voice graveling from sleep. 

Like a good little wife, she followed his lead. He deferred to her wisdom, supported her hopes, and calmed her worries. However, there was a small part. A small part that bloomed during that sweltering summer day when her eyes met those electric blue portals for eyes for the first time…

Sometimes, she could not contain the thrill that ran up her spine when he put his foot down. Or when that vein in his neck bulged as he spat out orders over a busy expo. 

When he was assertive, when he was in charge….

….it turned her on. 

So, she let him. She enjoyed the foot massages and his picking up the kids from practice and rehearsal….

She experimented in their bright kitchen, creating new recipes for the summer menu. She also went shopping for antiques and got a facial. At noon, he sent her a bouquet of flowers.

The sunset had fallen. He was going to leave the kids with Natalie and Pete. 

Mommy and Daddy needed a little alone time. 

Syndey was freshly showered, wearing only a lacy pair of purple boy shorts and one of Carmy's discarded white shirts. It smelled like him. She was resting on their sumptuous bed, rolling up a blunt on her dog-eared copy of 'Kitchen Confidential.' 

It was their first international trip to Amsterdam , where they tried cannabis together and never looked back. 

As soon as she carefully packed the blunt and leaned back, grabbing her stainless-steel lighter from her bedside table to spark up, she allowed the cloud of earthly pleasure to take over, feeling its spell. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her bookmarks to find her and Carmy's favorite video. 

It was them, in Jamaica….

Their fourth-anniversary trip. 

She was wearing nothing but the white, with red-blue trim Thom Browne chef whites….

'Fuck, babe.' His husky voice from behind the camera swooned. 

She was younger then. Those familiar braids splayed across the white sheets as her hand found its way between her legs. 

Before she could take another hit of her blunt, the voice himself appeared behind the open door. 

Their eyes locked as a smile spread on his face. 

The phone's volume was turned all the way. He instantly knew what she was watching. 

"I missed you." She purred as he sauntered over to the bed, ready to reenact the explosive first night of their Jamacia trip. 

Natalie's mouth was hanging open. If these two states of being were possible to be at once, she looked disgusted and impressed. 

Sydney shrugged her shoulders with an awkward shiftiness. As Carmy strolled into the kitchen, closing the door behind him, she adjusted the neckline of her knitted cowl-neck sweater. 

Sydney could feel Carmy walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around Syndney's waist. 

"What's up? What's going on?" he inquired, silently resting his chin on Sydney's shoulder as she and Natalie expressed their horror at his timing, silently. 

"Oh, I get it, y'are talking about Claire inviting Gwen to the fucking gala. By the way, we need to put Lily in softball." 

"WHAT!" Natalie exclaimed, startling Carmy. 

"Sug, easy. They can hear you in Naperville." Carmy chuckled, planting a loving kiss on Sydney's neck as he peeked to see if there were any more croissants from earlier. 

Sydney grinned sheepishly as Natalie's eyes widened beyond possible comprehension. 

"What am I missing?" Carmy asked cluelessly, taking a seat next to Sydney. 

Chapter 10: Case of the Exes II: My Man is Your Man

It was a classic Monday in the neighborhood. River North Chicago was a bustling collection of trendy cafes, high-rises, and classical brownstones. 

Carmy was a little early today for his appointment. He jogged up the stone steps and rang the doorbell to the auspicious grey stone rowhouse that housed a key source of his sanity. 

He rang the doorbell, and like clockwork, the familiar  bzzz  unlocked the front door and let him into the warm and cozy reception area. Dr. Patel's office was housed in her home. After many years working in the large hospital and institutional system, she decided to make her way to the more manageable path of private practice. Her office on the main floor of a three-floor brownstone felt more like a spa than a medical practice. For that, Carmy was grateful.

The couch in the waiting area was a bright, scarlet orange. In the corner of the room sat an auspicious oak bookcase adorned with books on psychology and mindfulness. 

A beaded mirror stood across from where Carmy took his regular seat to wait for Dr. Patel to poke her head out of the purple-painted door. 

The mirror reflected at him, a reflection that had all the impact of an old friend sneaking up to surprise you. 

His eyes were bright and clear from rest and the ease of a relaxing weekend. The gold-tinged locks that, for much of his 20s and most of his 30s, were a mop of unruly curls combed and behaving. The formally ruddy complexion, roughened up by smoking, long hours, and the thick paste of grief, had given way to a peachy smoothness that still shocked him. Carmy was not one to spend more time staring at himself in a mirror than he had to. Contrary to his wife and many foodie groupies who sometimes hung around The Bear, he did not think he was much to sing home about. He could, however, appreciate that as he aged, he did not look as frazzled and strung out as his youth once reflected in mirrors. 

"Mr. Berzatto?" A soft, familiar voice intoned. Dr. Patel's silver hair bob and pensive smile peeked around the purple door to her office. 

It shook him out of his daze.

"Hey, Dr. P." He greeted with his usual charm. 

"What's on the menu this week?" She inquired as he got up and followed her into her office's wood-paneled room. 

As he adjusted himself in her cozy LazyBoy and she turned on the sound machine under her oak desk, Carmy allowed his thoughts to drift toward the past weekend….

There she stood, in her long gown, smoking a cigarette. Her dark locks whipped in the Chicago air as her eyes bore the evidence of a good cry. The most startling part of this image was the Marlboro light lodged between her forefinger and middle finger. She took a good drag and inhaled the smoke. Carmy dramatically cleared his throat to signal his presence. 

'I would have never thought.' He smirked, shaking his head with a light chuckle. Claire rolled her eyes, sniffing from the cold and smoke. Carmy tucked his hands into his pocket and rocked on the balls of his feet, standing next to her. 

She raised her cigarette as if to invite him to smoke. He shook his head. 

Her dark eyebrows jumped with surprise. 

'The last time I smoked, Sydney was in labor with Lily.' Carmy smiled kindly.

Claire's turquoise-colored eyes squinted with confusion. 

'Our daughter.' He clarified, leaning against the brick wall, taking in the fresh air. 

'Oh, right.' She said, with a sharpness that bordered on venomousness. Carmy could not discern if her tone of sharpness was due to his mentioning of Sydney, his daughter, or both…

Carmy turned to look at her. Over a decade ago, the thought of Claire in a backless dress smoking a cigarette would have been on his list of top five fantasies. 

It was funny how times changed. 

She continued to stare at the magnificent Chicago skyline. She continued to sniff in a way that made his assumption of her crying all the more evident. 

'What would Ms. Michelin Star say about her adoring husband alone with his ex?' Claire asked, in a voice that was trying hard to sound unaffected.

Carmy rolled his eyes. 

'She would think it was hilarious that an emergency room doctor has taken up smoking at this stage. She'd also want to know if anyone had weed.' Carmy snarked.

Claire whipped her head to stare at him for the first time since he ventured to join her on the roof. He met her gaze. 

"Cut the bullshit. I know she sent you out here to scold me. Just get to it so I can head home and drown my sorrows.' Clair spat at him. 

Carmy stared at her. He really took the time to look at her. She looked incredible. Truly. Somehow, it was as if age and time had tried her with the utmost kindness. And yet, staring into her eyes left him cold—colder than the night air ever could.

'What if she sent me out to check on you?' He inquired, cocking his head to the side. 'Because, honestly, I could give a fuck?' 

She snorted, putting out her cigarette with a drop and a scratching assist from her pointy heel. 

Her shoe suddenly caught her focus. The sniffing got louder. Carmy let out a swear under his breath. 

'You are completely clueless about how disturbed your little stunt looks to sane people.' Carmy said. 

She snorted a mocking snort that made the chill of discontent melt into a furnace of annoyance for Carmy. He had half a mind to go back inside, grab a flute of Dom and Sydney, and enjoy the rest of his night. 

'Is that what we are calling ourselves these days? Sane? Mr., I want my mommy, Mr. I can't shut the fuck up about my shitstorm of a family, and I work myself until I puke?' Her voice took on a mocking intonation as if she were talking to a child. 

That was always her MO. To mother him. To baby him. 

Carmy smirked, shaking his head and rocking on the balls of his feet. 

'So, what was the plan? My wife was going to see her ex-girlfriend, run into her arms and what, I was going to what? Buy us an ugly McMansion and live out some dream you've been holding onto since before my balls could drop?' he asked, his voice coated with derision. 

If he were not so annoyed with her petulance and immaturity, he would feel sorry for her. The look in her eyes betrayed a sense of loss. 

She stood silent, her lips drawn into a thin line.

'Right.' 

'Did you fuck her when we were together. All those years back. See…there were signs. She was always around. You couldn't stop talking about her. The late-night phone calls. Your little cooking sessions. Any idiot would have seen the signs.' She laughed a kind of awful laugh. 

Did it matter? 

'Well, you are alive and did not toss yourself off the roof. My job here is done.' Carmy said with the air of someone who poured the wrong milk into his morning cup of coffee. He spun on his heel, making his way back into the gala. 

'Whether you want to admit it or not, you were always in love with her. Just because you got married in the end does not make you the good guy.' She said firmly. 

He slammed the door. 

Dr. Patel scribbled in her leather-bound notebook fervently as Carmy took a breath. He ran his hair through his curls. 

"Dr. P., You are killing me with the silence." Carmy joked. 

Dr. Patel smiled her mysterious smile. 

"You know I'm never one to be too talkative. This is about you. However, I will ask you to put yourself in your ex-girlfriend's shoes," she said softly, adjusting her soft and elegant shawl. 

Carmy nodded. It wasn't fair. It was not right. However, it was years ago. They had lived between now and the screaming match ending Carmy and Claire's relationship. He is not going to pretend that he is the best boyfriend. He was not. Fucked over by grief, building The Bear and all that came with it. He did not have it in him to be what she needed. She was not what he wanted. 

What he wanted was Syd. He….

He always wanted Syd…

'You make me better at this…' 

Carmy shrugged. He looked down at his kitchen-worn hands. 'You're the Doc. You tell me." 

She shook her head. 

"Have you ever stopped to think that Claire was deeply hurt by how your relationship ended? You said she had never loved anyone the way she loved you." 

"Yeah, but we were kids." 

"Sure." Dr. Patel responded patiently, waving her hand with an elegant swish. "But you found what you were looking for in Sydney. You build this beautiful life and family. You have a successful business. You have what you want. Think about the love you feel for Sydney. How completely in adoration you are of her. Think of what it would feel like if she betrayed your trust." 

The mere mention made Carmy feel like someone had smacked him with the power of 1,000 suns. 

Oh. Right. 

"So, you're saying that Claire never got over me." 

"Correct. But that is not your problem. What do we always talk about?" She asked warmly. He closed his eyes for a spell, took a deep breath, and breathed out.

"You cannot fix everything. I am allowed to be happy." 

"Right. That's right, Carmen. You were a terrible boyfriend to her. She may never forgive you. You must be okay with that. You made mistakes." 

"But I do not want Sydney paying the price for those mistakes." 

"Did Sydney say she was paying the price? How did she react to her ex being there." 

Carmy sighed…

Sydney was not thrilled. She initially looked like she had seen someone with three heads. However, after two glasses of Dom, she gave a knockout speech, gladhand donors, and supporters, and led the party, starting with the electric slide. 

When Carmy finished recanting to Sydney about his encounter with Claire, Sydney sat up slowly, turning on the bedside lamp. Carmy stared at her. 

'She saw us.' 

'What do you mean.' 

'That summer. Fourth of July? At Nat's house. We weren't precisely flaunting our relationship. But we had that quickie in the upstairs bathroom. While everyone was-

Sydney's big, brown eyes looked far away. Carmy softly stroked her leg, which was splayed across his body. He sat up. 

'I thought I saw someone, but…anyway. We were young, right?' 

Dr. Patel nodded, scribbling more notes. 

"Do you think Syd feels guilty?" Dr. Patel asked directly. Part of what he loved about Dr. Patel was her ability to properly lead him to where he needed to go emotionally. 

"Sure. But I think a part of Syd will always feel like she and I crossed some lines before we were official." 

She nodded. "Would you look at that progress? So, what is your homework, Mr. Berzatto?" Carmy smiled. He checked the clock. They were out of time. 

"Yeah. Pick up my last subscription to Klonopin and allow Syd to feel like she's human." 

"Perfect, Mr. Berzatto. I'll see you next week." 

Chapter 11: Closing the Ex-File

The hum of Claire's midnight blue BMW 5 series on the streets of Wicker Park was the only noise that acted as a backdrop. It was Friday afternoon. She had a late shift and hoped to use her day consulting with her broker about the Streeterville two-bedroom condo her heart was set on. 

She was also hoping to avoid the continued chore of packing up what was left of her marriage into boxes and storing it until she and the soon-to-be former husband closed in on their new spots. However, the depths of her sorrow sunk to lower levels when she got a text message from a number she did not recognize, ' 773' one, to be exact. 

Hey! This is Syd A.B. I'm still trying to figure out what happened last weekend, but I'd like to discuss things. Can you meet me at Brew & Broom at 1 p.m. on Friday?  

Claire stared at her phone for what felt like an eternity. She had wrapped another graveyard shift and was walking through the dimly lit hospital corridor, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air with the faint, metallic tang of blood. She was bone-weary yet feeling rejuvenated after preventing a college student from flatlining….

Yet here she was, feeling like a resident again. 

Once again, a Berzatto was making her blood boil with rage. She wanted to appear above it all. Her mental synapsis had been hardwired never to concede a shred of vulnerability with Sydney Adamu…

Berzatto. 

So, she rushed a "Sure. See you then." Response and has regretted it ever since. She woke up this morning with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that had not taken hold since her medical school days. 

Claire had spent more time than she cared to admit on styling herself. She blew out her hair, got her nails done, and wore the Marino dark green wool sweater she had splurged on the last time she was in London. He paired it with her best-tailored black slacks and finished the look with diamond studs, her Burberry trench, and a Chanel quilted purse. 

Her makeup covered any traces of puffiness that long shifts and her newly found love of mid-afternoon wine splurges may leave. 

She was relieved to find a parking spot across from Brew & Bloom. 

"Here we go," she muttered as she pulled in and sighed deeply. She took one last look at herself in the rearview mirror. Her lipstick was holding up. 

Fuck this bitch. The devil on her shoulder uttered. 

 

There was a kind of effortless chicness to Sydney that Claire found both confounding and irritating. She never looked like life was a struggle. The circumstances that arose on this thing people called Earth were a humorous joke that landed with aplomb for Sydney Adamu….

-Berzatto. 

Claire had been waiting patiently for seven whole minutes, seated in a booth tucked out of sight and taking in the hipster oasis of this coffee shop. Hemp clothing and MacBook Pros were all the rage here. The acoustic music and dimly lit main room were barely full. It was midday, after all. The young, tattooed, friendly staff paid no mind to the brunette yuppie and her overpriced purse, who decided to take the last booth. 

When Claire's mind glazed over in frustration, debating whether she should shoot Sydney a text to inquire about her whereabouts, she noticed the waiter who had barely made eye contact when he handed her the menu engrossed in conversation with none other than Sydney Adamu – Berzatto, herself. 

She was outfitted in an all-denim ensemble—a tailored denim button-down that she had rolled up at the elbows and a pair of snug skinny jeans that accentuated two of her many modelesque attributes: her long legs. Her hair was in loose waves, framing her pretty, makeup-free face. 

Sydney handed her camel-colored coat to the waiter, who performed a mini-bow. 

Of course… this was her stomping grounds.

Claire watched her saunter over to the booth, her eyes bright and lively with friendlessness.

"Hi! I'm so sorry. The waiter is interviewing at my spot, so…How are you?" She took a seat in the opposite booth and placed her wallet and phone by the napkin dispenser on the other side of the table. This time, the phone was turned with its screen toward the table. Claire blinked and took a deep breath. She was expecting more animosity from Sydney…and yet, she was the picture of contentment. 

She hated her even more. 

"Oh, you know, busy with work. Thank God we are closed for lunch today. We are onboarding new waiters, lost one to grad school; we might have-"

"Mrs. Berzatto? Would you like anything from the menu? The boss said it's on the house." The young waiter had made his way to their table. In Claire's stewing anger, she had utterly missed the young man's presence in their midst. 

"Umm…." She gently took the laminated menu sheet from the young waiter's hands and gave in a once over. "Let's start wiiiith….the Croque Monsieur. Make the cheese Gruyere and hold the bechamel sauce. I'll take a latte with almond milk.  "  she said, smiling up at Claire once she was done. 

"Would you like anything?" She asked. 

"I'll take an Earl Grey," Claire said stiffly. 

The young waiter seemed oblivious to Claire's annoyance. He bounced off with a spring in his step. 

The bright smile on Sydney's face bore no signs of dimming at Claire's formal chilliness. 

Was it an act? Claire wondered. A mask crafted and hardened after years of working in the restaurant business? 

"So, how are you?" Sydney asked, leaning forward and crossing her bejeweled wrist on the table. Claire took a split-second glance longer than she intended to at Sydney's wrist. There was a charm bracelet that had the letters C, CJ, and L dangling, catching the light of the dim bulbed that glowed softly. A beaded bracelet that said Mommy, almost something like a craft project from a child…. 

'The last time I smoked, Sydney was in labor with Lily.' Carmy smiled kindly.

Claire's turquoise-colored eyes squinted with confusion. 

'Our daughter.' He clarified, leaning against the brick wall, taking in the fresh air. 

Right. 

"I've been better," Claire answered with a forced, closed-mouth smile. Sydney nodded slowly as if taking time to savor every tick and nerve in Claire's face. Her large, round eyes settled square in Claire's line of sight, sharpening from a friendly warmth to the fiery glare of an enemy. 

"I'm sure. So, I'm going to get straight to it. I am still determining your problem, but you have one. I'm a grown woman, and so are you. Because this-"

Her elegant fingers gestured between the two women.

"Is not sustainable. To be clear, if this continues, I will file a complaint with the board and have you removed. I need to be able to do the work of my community without worrying about my husband's ex-girlfriend harassing me at charitable foundation galas." 

Sydney's cadence of simmering menace was frightening. For a spell, an ugly silence befell them. 

"Did you fuck him?" Claire spat. 

After all these years. After that ungodly sweltering summer night at Natalie Berzatto's house. The sweet smell of hydrangeas perfuming the night air. 

The twinkling of the night sky, washed with stars, Claire knew she would expect to see him. He looked bronzed and tan, the glint of his golden-tinged curls a light in the summer evening light. 

Those large electric blue eyes, bright with laughter. However, the source of the laughter was her. Always her. Her long braids, her dark, smooth brown skin dewy with the humidity. They were laughing amongst each other by the pool. They had been attached to the hip all night. In that way of theirs. 

His eyes glowed when she threw her long neck back with a laugh. The way her fingers lingered on his forearm when she was telling a joke. The way he always placed his hand at the small of her back when they found their way back to each other. 

She tried to make conversation and had a hamburger that she did not finish. However, his eyes always landed back on her and how…

Happy, he looked at her. She had heard whispers. Natalie told Pete, who told a few people he should not have, that she was delighted her brother and her 'best friend' were sharing time. That Richie had been busting Carmy's balls about the fact that he found a purple bra shoved in Carmy's kitchen drawer during a rowdy poker night. 

They were not overt. Not sexual. But they were…languid, fluid. 

And that is how they would be when Claire made the mistake of deluding herself into thinking they would be respectful. They could not possibly…

'Uh yeeah…right there,

'You like it right there, babe…?'

'Fuck! Don't stop, hmm I'm gonna…'

She rounded the corner too fast before her ears could align with what she heard. She caught a glimpse: her head lying upon the vanity mirror in the bathroom, braids loose around her shoulders. Her arms wrapped around a rippling mass of back muscle, vigorously thrusting upward with the waves of desire. 

She ran as far as she could, running so fast that she found herself standing beside her car on the darkened street. What woke her out of the dark waters of her nightmare was the burst of fireworks. The gleam of the night sky against the spectacle of the fireworks shook her back into reality. She could feel the cold wetness of her own urine trickling down her leg. 

She found an old gym towel, wiped her legs, and peeled off her stained underwear. 

She made it home exhausted from the heaves of tears on her drive home. 

"I think you know the answer to that," Sydney said, her eyes gleaming with the shimmer of anger. 

"I'm glad we have that established," Claire said, trailing off as she saw the young waiter shuffling quickly to place their order on the table. 

"Here you are!" he chimed enthusiastically, piling up the various portions of their order on the table. 

"Tell the old man I said he's welcome to come to The Bear or The Block any time."  Sydney greeted brightly before the young waiter nodded enthusiastically and floated off. 

"Claire, Carmy, and I never slept together while you were together," Sydney said, her shoulders thrown back firmly. She was not going to budge. 

"And I know you know that because…" Sydney swallowed, chuckling incredulously, seemingly thinking herself too big for the nature of this conversation. 

Claire arched her left brow. 

"….you saw us that night." 

Claire's skin ran cold. The loudness of silence never made any sense until now. 

At this moment, sitting across from Sydney and holding this heartbreaking artifact of a life ago was stolen from her by the very woman who stole her the only man who ever stole her heart. 

"What about-" 

"We never. I would never-"

"I don't believe you!" Claire spat. "I've seen the way he looks, looked at you. The way you were together."

Sydney sighed deeply. They never get anywhere. She stood up, grabbing her belongings. She popped open her leather wallet and pulled two twenty-dollar bills, throwing them on top of her untouched eaten Croque Monsieur. 

She took a deep breath, her left hand splayed in frustration, her eyes wide with sorrow. 

"I'm sorry Carmy fell in love with me. I'm truly sorry, but I fell in love with him. I'm truly sorry you are still in love with him. But I refuse to be harassed for it all these years later. But your misery is not my problem, nor is it something I caused. You do not need an explanation. You need a therapist. Cut the stunts, or I will report you to the board. Your move." 

Claire felt the salt of tears dance in her throat as Sydney spun on her heel and strolled out of view. 

Claire booked a one-week stay at a wellness retreat in Salt Lake City the following day. 

Her breaking point? 

Seeing a Facebook reminder celebrating a post from a 'friend.' 

My partner in crime, my CDC, my love. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. #shesaidyes

They were in some European city…she remembers now. Copenhagen. They were cuddled up in a luxurious hotel bed. Her braids were pulled up in an elegant updo, and she tied it with a silk scarf. Her eyes and smile were bright, with Carmy's arms wrapped around her. He was smiling so wide; his eyes were squinty. He was shirtless. The glimmer of a red ruby on her finger….

Her heart shattered for the last time. She would never utter his name again after that day. 

Chapter 12: The Guy of Guys

 

"Cuzzo!" Richie blared as Carmy appeared in the sparse yet raucous backyard. Riche's spot was a two-bedroom, cozy apartment tucked in a rowhouse near Orleans. The apartment was all Richie: mob movie posters framed, White Sox paraphernalia, and teaming with dark, faux leather furniture. The only reprieve in his home of a bachelor pad was the pink and purple oasis that was his daughter's room.

Luckily, his landlord was kind enough to permit the staff of The Bear to have monthly 'Boys Nights' in the pseudo courtyard/backyard behind the red brick house.

The setup was always the same: two ice coolers overflowing with beer, the delicious smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke mixed with the savory scents of grilling meat. Lawn furniture was scattered around the little space on top of slightly overgrown grass. It was a beautiful late spring night, balmy, with the night sky delayed by the changing season and the sun still fighting for its territory in the sky.

"Cuz, what up?" Carmy asked, tilting his head. He wore his signature white shirt, gold chain, and jeans, with black and red Jordan 4s. In his tattooed hands, he held a glass casserole bowl carrying his routine contribution to these get-togethers: the set-piece dish.

Sydney's four-cheese macaroni and cheese. On holidays, Family dinners, you name it, everyone's eyes popped open with warm smiles as an accompaniment. It was the recipe passed down to her family for generations, and now it was a bonding set piece for her secondary family.

"Ahhh…shit. You got the mac!" Gary 'Sweeps' Woods exclaimed, his bright smile lighting up his face as Carmy approached the table by the grill and placed it down.

"Hey man, how's it goin'?" Carmy said warmly, greeting Sweeps with a familiar dap.

"Can't complain," Sweeps responded with a casual shrug. Carmy scanned the scene. Ebra and Manny were playing dominos at a two-person table. Pete was locked in an animated conversation with Angel. One person was missing…

"Where's Fak?" Carmy inquired, swirling his head as if expecting his long-time friend to appear out of thin air.

"Big homie is on a date." Sweeps responded with an air of surprise as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

Carmy lifted his eyebrows. He had known Fak since he was a kid. Despite their very different lifestyles, Carmy made it a point to check in and grab a nonalcoholic beer here and there.

Date?

"Huh."Carmy responded with a head nod.

'What are you replicants talkin' about?" Richie asked, walking over to where Carmy and Woods were standing.

"Did you know Fak was dating?" Carmy asked, his brow furrowed. He felt a hollowing in his stomach.

"Hell yeah, Cindy? I think her name is. She's a librarian. Elementary school." Richie rattled off, grabbing a plastic plate and slapping a hotdog on it. 'Oh, fuck yeah, Syd made the mac!'

"How…how did I not know about this?" Carmy scratched his forehead, feeling left out.

Richie and Sweeps exchanged a pointed look.

"I need to brush up on my Dominos; I'm gonna-" Sweeps sauntered off to join Ebra and Angel, leaving Carmy and Richie alone at the food table.

Carmy turned to look at Richie, who suddenly wanted to remove the lid on the macaroni and cheese and tuck in. Had he been that out of the loop? Sure, he was busy. He dealt with the restaurant, his kids, Sydney…, and their collective businesses. He was also dealing with interviews and the press, their philanthropy (they recently talked about starting their nonprofit for kids on the Southside who want to break into the culinary world), and….

Yeah, that's how it happens.

"Tell me I'm not that guy." Carmy said resigned, breathing out and running his hands through his curls.

Richie shrugged, scooping an inappropriately large portion of mac into his mouth.

"Oh, that's good. Boss lady has not lost her touch." He said through his full mouth.

'Richie." Carmy intoned with a little edge. Richie nodded, tilting his head from side to side as if that would help alleviate the large portion of food in his mouth.

"Honestly, of course, you've been that guy. It's not a bad thing-"

Carmy shook his head, bouncing on his heels.

'Yeah, but am I an asshole?' Carmy inquired, his large electric blue eyes washed with slight shame.

'Bear, you've always been an asshole.' Richie said with a smirk. Carmy playfully punched his arm, which engendered a laugh. He felt some relief wash over him.

'On the real, you are not that guy. You are the guy.' Richie said, taking another but smaller bite. Carmy smiled wryly, his eyes scanning the scene of joyous brotherhood before him. He shook his head.

'I don't know what the fuck that means.' He said, a lilt of laughter in his voice. Richie smirked, rolling his eyes.

'You know exactly what that means, motherfucker. You are Mr. Michelin. Chairman of the Board. You gotta a lot of shit to handle. 'Career is off the charts, everybody in the food world up your ass. Not to mention my precious rugrats. You're there for the godchildren. Better than your old man.' Richie stopped, arching an eyebrow, his periwinkle eyes fixed on his Carmy as if examining a piece of fish to assess its freshness.

'Yeah, but…"

'Carm. Are you less available? Sure. But you have responsibilities. You have staff and people counting on you. Not to mention, and no disrespect to Boss Lady-'

'Here we go!' Carmy said, dropping his head happily, shaking it. Richie being Richie.

Richie leaned down conspiratorially. 'I love Syd like a sister, but if I had a wife with those yams and went both ways, I'm not leaving home either.'

Carmy barked a laugh.

'How does that work, by the way? You two ever…' Richie trailed off, his face boyishly ebullient at the turn in conversation. Carmy shook his head.

'Nah.'

'Really? I figured-"

'It doesn't work like that, Richie. We are monogamous in all aspects.'

'Huh.' Richie nodded. 'I respected it. Old school.' Carmy shot Richie with a bemused look.

'What, you think Syd and I are just having threesomes on the reg?  Carmy asked. By the look on Richie's face, he seemed genuinely surprised by Carmy's revelation.

'I mean, that's what we all think.' Richie said. 'Y'know, with Syd being a part of the Rainbow Coalition and all, maybe…' He shrugged his shoulders, placing his plate on the table. 'Don't get me wrong, no judgment, but I figured that was one of the perks.'

'Nah. I'm straight. We are good.' Carmy said, rolling his eyes.

'Good. I don't need your sex shenanigans scaring my godchildren.' Richie said.

Carmy's mind suddenly drifted to a very uncomfortable incident last week.

Too late.

---

The house was finally quiet. The kids hosted a 'campfire ' party in the backyard. One of the downsides of Carmy and Sydney's career in fine dining manifested every time a playdate or sleepover arose: Parents always expected them to host.

'You host the best parties. ' Michelle Chang, mother of Lily's best friend, exclaimed after dropping her daughter off earlier that evening.

Many of their parenting responsibilities now involved Moana-themed birthday parties, skating soirees, and gourmet tea parties. Carmy and Sydney's skill for décor and plating made for great Instagram grids.

There was also another part of parenting that had become a little more…jarring for them to accept. They had a reputation of being the cool parents. While Carmy and Sydney enjoyed the occasional night out or dive bar concert, they were hardly one's idea of cutting edge. But through the eyes of preteens, most of whom had parents in white-collar careers in finance, law, and other yuppie-like professions, the openly affectionate, tatted pair were the height of cool.

Carmy had lost track of his conversations with Junior's friends about girls.

'It's all about communication, gentlemen. ' He would say with as much gravity and wisdom as one could muster with a group of boys watching the White Soxes and scarfing down homemade cookies.

There was even when one of Lily's friends quietly pulled Sydney aside after a group mommy-daughter outing after violin lessons.

'Mrs. Sydney, Lil told me you like girls, too. I think I do. And I hate wearing dresses. ' Sydney could only hug the little girl while tears streamed down her face.

'When you are ready to tell Mommy, let me know. For now, it will be our little secret.'

So, when the hush of the chaos of giggling girls and roughhousing boys settled in, it became very apparent to two exhausted and overly stimulated parents that, above all else…

They had not had sex in a little longer than usual. Ten days was far too long.

'Fuck! ' Carmy exclaimed loudly as Sydney sank on his member. Sydney's eyes opened with a mix of pleasure about how much his girth was stretching her out and horrified by how loud her husband was being while they had a house full of kids beyond their bedroom walls.

She clapped her hands, not on his muscled pecs as she was prone to do, but on his mouth.

His eyebrows furrowed with bemusement.

'Shhh… ' she whispered tenderly, finding her rhythm as her bucking picked pace. She trailed off, throwing her head back and biting her lip, enjoying his hands making their way up to her breasts.

'Right there…right there. ' She whispered in a forceful tone, her body finding its familiar zenith of pleasure. The delicious gumbo of how his eyes drank her in, his hips thrusting in response to her riding him, and the relief and joy of finally being able to make love after a busy spell of life getting in the way. However, before Sydney could allow her trust to remove her hands from her husband's mouth, a sharp exclaim and a 'whoops! ' He craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her little princess, hurriedly closing the door.

Both Carmy and Sydney froze in horror.

'Sorry for interrupting, but I'm pretty sure Leslie just got her period and is freaking out. ' Lily yelled from behind the door.

Carmy sat up urgently. This was going to be a long night.

The next day, after the kids were all picked up, after an incredibly awkward dinner on the part of Sydney and Carmy, Sydney had lost a game of 'rock, paper, and scissors.' It was her turn to talk with Lily about what Sydney feared would be an uncomfortable yet necessary chat. They had done 'birds and the bees'; they had dealt with Junior getting into his first fight after defending a girl in his math class from being called, upsettingly, a 'hoe' by a school bully.

How do you have the 'Hey kid, sorry you saw your father and me having sex' talk?

As she made her way down to Lilly's bedroom, a dull yet sharp pain shot through her heart. Times like these would be great for a mom.

Here goes…

 

Her daughter's room was the picture of an adolescent feminine aura. A sort that was so alien to the tomboyish and nerdy interests of Sydney's youth. With white furniture, purple décor, and posters of pop stars, rather than the hip hop and rock stars of the run of the millennium that Sydney idolized. The one thing that felt familiar was the bookcase in the corner of the room, teaming with classics.

Her pretty little princess was in an oversized 'The Beef' navy shirt, her hair tucked behind a silky purple bonnet. Her dark blonde eyebrows were furrowed, and a dog-eared copy of Pride & Prejudice obscured the bottom of her face. Sydney leaned in the doorway, her heart full at the sight.

'Take a picture, it will last longer, Mom.' Lily snarked, not missing a beat.

Sydney padded along the plush purple carpet and sat at the foot of her daughter's bed.

'I would, but you are growing so fast. By the time I take the picture, you might be in law school,' Sydney joked.

'Med school, Mom.' Lily closed her book, her Berzatto blue eyes bright.

Sydney chuckled softly, shook her head, and rubbed the back of her messy bun, which was tied with a handkerchief.

'Oh, med school now? What happened to my sequel to Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson?'  

Lilly rolled her eyes, a sly but familiar smirk curling around her cupid's bow.

'The System is corrupt. I can do more good by saving lives,' she said smoothly. Sydney nodded proudly.

'And when was this decided?' Sydney inquired, bemused.

Her preteen shrugged. 'Today.'

'Huh.' Sydney retorted. 'Well, I'm glad you got that figured out. What part are you up to, by the way?' Sydney tilted her chin toward the book lying on her daughter's lap.

'The part where she meets Darcy. What an ah…jerk.' Lily course corrected upon the arch in her mother's eyebrow. They would talk about the cursing problem another time.

Sydney folded her arms and tilted her chin down with a knowing look. 'You could say the same thing about your father back in the day.'

'Speaking of Dad and you..." Lily said with a tight smile, correctly suspecting the reason for Sydney's presence in her room.

Sydney nodded reluctantly. 'Sweetie, I'm so sorry. We are both open to talking about what you may or may not have-'

'Mom, honestly, it's cool. It was not great, but I'm not scarred for life, ' she said, her shoulders thrown back with a warm, reassuring smile. Sydney studied her little girl. She was not so little anymore. She climbed on the bed and crawled by her side, wrapping her arms around her. Lily sunk into her mom, resting her bonnet-clad head on her sternum.

'I want to make sure you are not racking up bills with an overpriced therapist because you caught your parents in a 'birds and the bees' situation.' She said, snuggling Lily close.

Lily giggled. 'Ew, gross for one. And two, I would charge it to Dad's Amex, anyway.' Lily snarked. Sydney laughed. She never stopped being taken aback by how sharp her youngest was.

'Good girl.' Sydney said, placing a loving kiss on her daughter's forehead.

'Besides, at least you and Dad still get it in. Leslie's parents sleep in separate rooms. Imagine getting your period and dealing with your parents' marriage falling apart. Dark.' Lily said, slightly muffled by her mother's playful squeeze.

'Hey, that's a little too much 'me' in you. This is not the end of this conversation.'

 

'How's my buttercup?' Carmy inquired, absentmindedly typing on his laptop as Sydney approached their bed. He was in his usual nighttime garb of basketball shorts and his signature gold chain. He seated on top of the covers, leaning against a fort of goose feather pillows.

He looked gorgeous…

They may be laying off for a couple of days. They did not need a repeat of sleepover night.

'She's handling it better than we expected.' Sydney sighed, tossing herself on the bed and draping a leg on her husband. He threw his arm over her, kissing her forehead as she snuggled.

'Or as well as we expected.You know, Lily.' He whispered with a smile. Her doe eyes drifted to the spreadsheet of budget forecasting Carmy was working on.

'Add 5k to the veggie budget.' Sydney said on autopilot. Some things always stayed the same. He used his free hand to adjust his as Sydney intertwined her hands with his tattooed hand. His fingers then read SOU for a 'state of urgency.' But after he proposed, he added 'S' for 'Sou,' memorializing the first job he gave her. She studied his handsome face, his eyes squinting.

'Carm-' She whispered.

They were doing that 'voodoo shit.'

For months, she had noticed him squinting at almost everything he read. He was in denial. It was time.

'Syd, for the last time, I need less screen time-'

'I'm saying it wouldn't hurt if you went to the eye doc-'

'Syd, I am asking you to say less for once.' He smiled warmly, his eyes warm with teasing affection. She looked up at him, shaking her head.

'Fine.'

'I'm already dealing with the very real deal that I may have scarred my daughter for life; I do not think I can deal with the idea I may need glasses, too.'

'Oh, don't worry.' Sydney intoned, rubbing her leg up and down Carmy's. 'Your daughter said she would charge the therapy bills to your Amex.' Carmy raised his eyebrows and shut his laptop. He placed the laptop on the bedside table and turned to squeeze Sydney's butt cheek to signal they should get under the covers.

They snuggled together, strategizing about how to have a joint and continued child-appropriate conversation about sex and the importance of consent.

At some point, Sydney drifted off to sleep in Carmy's arms.

He may sometimes not like being the guy. But he would rather be this guy.

Chapter 13: First Comes Love, Then Comes Bad Press, Then comes....

FLASHBACK

Sydney Adamu-Berzatto had a bone-weariness she had not experienced since she closed Sheridan . It was deep in her bones and her joints and had the danger of tapping into her spirit. The obnoxious but necessary honking blare of her alarm forced her to pry her tired eyes open. Another cold Chicago morning. She was lying on her side, her back toward her husband. She took a deep breath. Her consciousness knew what would happen next, as it always happened.

For the past few weeks, she felt nauseous and exhausted, but this week was kicking her ass.

He would roll over and throw an arm around her waist (if it was not there already), nuzzle her neck, and plead in that irresistible way of his for a lovely morning "pick me up" before heading to the shower and starting their day.

She was trying to keep up with the "cool wife seductress" vibe, would give him either an earth-shattering blowjob or spread her legs for him to plunge himself inside her and then sweetly kiss her by uttering a satiated "Damn, babe" or "Fuck, I love you so much."

It was consistent.

Like a lot of their newlywed life was.

The alarm went off, and she gently picked up her iPhone from the side table to turn it off—6:30 AM.

She could even count in her head how long it would take for his orgasms to arrive. She had all the tricks memorized. The lick of the protruding vein that weaved its way under his thick and girthy penis. She could count to ten, and the thick ropes of his excitement would pour down her throat.

Want him to come in a matter of minutes? Especially on a day when they needed to do double prep because of an unexpected shortage in staff – well, she got on top, peeled off whatever oversized T-shirt she wore to bed, and rode him while whispering dirty things in his ear. His body seized up, and he threw his head back into the pillow. His skin flushed a deep rogue.

She knew him in all the ways that mattered. She knew he had cut back on his morning cigarettes. When he felt great about a service the night before, he would stop at the local corner store for a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on their way to work. She knew he was a neat freak, a restless sleeper without sex. He loved to watch cooking shows and World War II documentaries in his downtime. That he loved Radiohead…

She knew when the restaurant was closed, he would run five miles and still go to Al-Anon meetings.

It was consistent.

The blueness of the light of dawn settled into their bedroom. She stared at her left hand…adorned with her ruby engagement ring and wedding band.

No such gesture of loving insatiability came this morning. She heard the unevenness of his breathing, which signaled that he was awake. Sydney felt the weight of him getting up from bed and listened to his choppy footsteps across the room.

She turned to lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, a dull headache forming at the base of her neck.

---

The hustle and bustle of the back of the house culminated in the familiar, almost symphony-like experience that was The Bear.

After years of hard work, rebuilding, and a change in status (both in the owners' relationship with each other and their legal relationship), the restaurant had settled into as close to a 'normal' fine dining work environment as possible.

They were constantly packed, profitable, and had won all the significant industry awards. Framed newspaper clippings, Michelin-star certificates, and James Beard awards adorn the sleek dining room. The staff has undergone several changes. With the exit of the beloved pastry chef, the young, once wide-eyed servers are now hardened veterans of overbookings and quick turnarounds. The pleasant front-of-the-house vibe was a fantastic accompaniment to the delicious food. The menu perfectly combines Italian American comfort food and fine dining cuisine.

However, the back of the house was still haunted by ghosts of the past. The beautiful choreography of talented chefs, line cooks, and dishwashers bore healed scars from wounds that still needed healing.

The departure of Marcus Brooks had changed the chemistry, removing the warmth and heart from the team. Eddie Liu, Marcus's replacement was lovely but had no interest in bar crawls or Sunday dinners at the Executive Chef and Chef de Cuisine's apartment. He had a family and a life and knew enough about the business to be cautious of the 'we are one big happy family' rumor that the culinary world loved to push on overworked and underpaid staff, which is saying something because The Bear made a point to pay more and provide benefits that most places did not.

Most nights, he was content to churn out tasty confectionary and exchange a few pleasantries with Woods, who he got along with the best. They talked about the weather, baseball, and…not much else.

The top of the food chain himself was…an enigma.

Short, stout, muscular, booming voice, with an  exacting mean, he could flip the line between sugar and ice.

The Chef de Cuisine was a willowy, elegant woman with smooth skin, large brown eyes, and a veneer of professionalism that escaped many of the restaurant's old mainstays. The pint-sized sous chef and the manager of the sandwich window were lovely, usually acting as a mature reprieve from the sometimes-childish antics of the younger staff.

The cock measuring and bickering between The Host and the Executive Chef was infuriating. The closed-door screaming matches between the Boss and his sister (also the General Manager of the joint) were migraine-inducing…

What did she see in him? This mature, elegant woman with formal training and glittering credentials married to what Eddie felt like was an overgrown child who had been overindulged because of his talent. On more than one occasion, he had witnessed him snap at a line cook for moving too slow, a server for breaking a glass, or a vendor for charging. A slew of creative profanity combinations would fly out of his mouth.

The only one to manage his rare but explosive bouts of anger – his Chef de Cuisine…and his wife.

One faithful night, in the dead of winter, the Chicago Bulls starting five dropped in without a reservation. That is when the full volcano of Carmen Berzatto's frightening temper unfurled itself onto the staff. Red face, screaming and heaving. Until he made the mistake of directing his ire toward his wife….

'Are you fucking kidding me with this, Syd!' He exclaimed, boiling with frustration, that three plates of lobster carbonara had gone dead. Her head, adorned with a silky, designer scarf, snapped upward. Her warm brown eyes darkened with anger as her lips formed in a tight line.

'Office, now!' she said forcefully, her ice-cold voice bouncing off the brightly lit kitchen.

The sous chef stepped in for them without missing a beat. However, the unmistakable sound of a vicious 'telling off,' courtesy of the Chef de Cuisine, was muffled but apparent to those in the kitchen.

Eddie felt both relief and pity for this talented young woman who had to manage the childish outburst at the top of the house.

It was also the day he knew he would start interviewing around. He was too old for this shit. Too old for working with kids.

It was also when his frustration boiled over to the point that he answered a call from a journalist writing a profile on Chicago's fine-dining star couple. The terms were simple: anonymously sourced from fellow chefs, vendors, and former employees and staff…

What resulted from a two-hour conversation of venting and frustration was molded into a 7,500-word expose in New York Magazine.

 

Inside the Royal Court of the Chicago's Fine Dining King & Queen

[EXCERPT]

…On the surface, the Berzattos appear to be a millennial fine-dining dream couple. A chic waterfront apartment (real estate records reveal that the pair are in the process of closing on a house in the suburbs), a perfectly curated Instagram feed, and professional prestige. However, sources who orbit the couple say all is not well Bearland.

To their detractors, the pair comes across as a striving, co-dependent, two-headed monster in love with the mythos of their own success.

'They are both incredibly talented and geniuses. However, the food scene needs to be more satisfied with their position as innovators. Still, they are just as competitive, demanding, and awards-obsessed as all the other big-name chefs that came before them.'

Rumors of screaming matches, overspending, and an early workplace culture of nepotism and favoritism have been the talk of the street since the family's reworking of its old working-class Italian beef mainstay into a fine-dining juggernaut.

Former servers and staff paint a picture of a hot and cold kitchen.

'When it's good, and all the systems are humming, it feels like you are atop the mountain. When it's bad, it can drive you to drink.'

 

The "bad," as former staff described it, are the long hours, the obsession with minutia, industry praise, and VIP guests. However, the source of the discontent is often directed at one person.

'It's Carmen. Sydney is a glorified babysitter.' A former server who spoke to me anonymously shared tiredly.

By all accounts, Sydney 'Syd' Adamu—Berzatto is the level-headed balm of maturity within the couple. A Culinary Institute of America (CIA) star student, she paid her dues in fine-dining cathedrals like Avec and Aliena before opening her own catering business, Sheridan Road . Reviews were glowing, but a lack of business savvy and the harshness of an overflooded market led to the solo endeavor closing before it had a chance to find its footing…

Enter Carmen Berzatto…

The culinary wonder boy, the hometown kid done good who had been the scion of the Berzatto restaurant dynasty, had made his mark retaining stars in the big city after the tragic suicide of his older brother, Michael, 'Mikey' Berzatto. Despite his bad boy good looks and rugged blue-collar charm, he is a product of Chicago's posh suburbs. The youngest child of the famed The Beefland of Chicago dynasty, he was always destined for greatness, according to a former classmate. Despite being a quiet, reserved child, teachers noted his veracious creative chops and eye for the arts.

It's a love story only Chicago could produce. A beautiful, classically trained chef from the Southside and a cocksure, tatted up fine dining rockstar. Those who have been in their orbit describe an almost symbiotic, electrifying sexual chemistry that heats both in and out of the kitchen…

When their whirlwind romance began is anyone's guess. The couple in previous interviews maintain that it started well after the rough and tumble start of The Bear's revamp. However, rumors have often circulated that the couple's timeline may have started as far back as Adamu-Berzatto's time at the CIA.

'I find it a coincidence that she just magically happens to be there when this hot new restaurant hits the scene. It does not add up. Look, she's always been talented. But the girl is ambitious. He gives her industry access and bona fides, and she gives him cover to get away with being an asshole.' A former colleague of Berzatto revealed over a sushi lunch.

Some have speculated that the seasoned and veteran chef narrowed his sights on a PR win—a young African American rising star in the food scene who worships him. Some who have been in the couple's presence at industry dinners say their dynamic is pure love.

'They have amazing chemistry. They finished each other's sentences and shared food from each other's plates.' However, some see a more sinister dynamic afoot.

'He married his biggest fangirl.'

[END]

---

The article punctured the balloon of the blissful cocoon of newlywed bliss. It had been a few days since the article hit newsstands and the front page of the magazine's website. The publication that always had a foot in the inside baseball of the culinary world. Sentences from the piece stalked around her like the stench of rotting fish in a dumpster…

'His biggest fangirl….'

Was that what people thought of her? Her peers? Former colleagues? She had worked so hard to prove herself. Long hours, sacrifice, and physical toll on her joints. All for a big, splashy, and biting profile to paint her as some dick-sprung fangirl who enabled her husband's worst behavior. She felt shaky, a chill running through her body as she sat in Tina's brightly lit kitchen, her eyes red with tears.

'Mama, you gotta know this piece is a hit job.' Tina said softly, placing a sumptuous spread of arroz con pollo y frijoles before her. They had the day off. The restaurant was closed. Thank God. She did not have it in her to face her staff again. She felt the stares, the looks…

It did not help that their pastry chef had quit.

They probably didn't want to be part of the 'Syd & Carm' show anymore …a bitter voice whispered in Sydney's head.

The first night the article hit, their brain trust gathered at Nat's house. While Carmy raged furiously, Natalie, Pete, and their publicist were spinning ideas to combat the article. He had not been particularly bothered by the petty gossip from competitors. He had been livid about the innuendo littered in the article that Sydney was something of a foodie groupie who lucked out.

She sat in quiet sorrow, fighting tears as her husband went to bat for her honor on a conference call. The good news is the article did not address the toxic discourse of social media.

 

'I just-'

However, being in Natalie and Pete's sprawling home with Carmy…

It reinforced some of the article's worst and most hurtful observations. What did she build? All her own? What did she have that was not a favor, an investment in a totem to the Berzatto family? In that moment of professional embarrassment, she did not meet with just her lawyer, publicist, or business partner.

No.

She was in the kitchen of her sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and husband. Their publicist was even Pete's former college roommate.

 

Sydney adjusted her braids out of her face, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her Anthropology sweater. The food smelled delicious, but she could not bring herself to bite. She had been nauseous and jittery lately.

'What, Mija ?' Tina asked gently as she took Sydney's left hand and stroked it softly across the faux wood kitchen table. Tina's kind face was lined with compassion and grace.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be soothed by the fragrance of Tina's cooking and the floral scent that always permeated her and David's cozy apartment.

Her father had been supportive, yet a glint in his eye during Facetime this morning betrayed his support of her career, and life choices always came with conditions. He loved Carmy but did not want her to "get lost in his life." At least, that was what he used to say. For once, he made a point not to say it.

'Do you think what some of that article had to say was true?' Sydney asked, her voice shaky with uncertainty. She pried her eyes open, fogged with tears that would not stop flowing. The outline of Tina's face was blurred.

Tina's big, dark eyes could never hide a lie. It was what she loved and sometimes hated about herself.

'Mama…' She started and stopped, closing her mouth as if deliberating hard about what to say next. 'That article was bullshit. Plain and simple.'

A wave of relief and comfort washed over Sydney.

'But I say this with love; you gotta take care of yourself as well as you take care of Jeff.' She said firmly, her eyebrows raised. They looked hard at each other.

'I see you. I watch you. And I know he loves you, but you are essential. You are just as talented, if not more. I do not want to see you dimming your light to make him feel like a man. That's not your job. Those kids, they are a lot. I love them and would kill for them, but you cannot let him dictate-'

Before Tina could finish her thought, she felt her body revolt—weeks of exhaustion and weariness. Maybe the long hours were catching up. The coppery taste of her vomit rolled up her esophagus. With her mother-bear instincts, Tina scrambled to grab the black garbage can in the corner of the room and place it before her surrogate daughter.

She vomited everything in her stomach. The yogurt parfait and granola she had this morning before walking over. Her body rocked with the heaves of vomit. This was the third time since the article. Tina raced to the sink to fill a cheap, giftshop grade cup adorned with the Puerto Rican flag with water.

'How long have you been vomiting like this?' Tina asked with an unreadable expression on her face.

Sydney avoided eye contact and slumped in her chair. She was so tired. Her mind walked through a rolodex of memories. It had been about a month since she had felt this weight of heaviness. The article made it worse.

'A few weeks.'

Tina nodded; her lips pursed.

'I know what you are going to say, Tina.' Sydney smiled weakly, taking another sip of the lukewarm water to ease the burn in her throat.

Tina smiled, shaking her head, as if to signal Sydney was off the mark.

'Mama, either you are the best-looking stressed woman I've ever seen, or you have a Berzatto bun in the oven. Because you have that glow.'

A stunned silence fell over the kitchen. Sydney's mouth hung open.

Buying a pregnancy test suddenly supplanted 'Tell Carmy He Needs Real Therapy' as the number one item on her to-do list. 

Fuck

Chapter 14: ....then comes love and understanding.

We need to talk.

Those dreaded words. The feared words that anyone in a relationship feared. Carmy had gotten better, or at least he thought he was getting better.

He had cut back on smoking (or at least, he was trying.) He took vacations (okay, he took one vacation a year. Did the honeymoon count?) He had chilled out a bit. However, the roar of the bear that lived within him. The rotten, no good, very bad Berzatto genes got the better of him. He had been a ball of tension and annoyance since that article came out. The newlywed bliss of steamy nights and playful workdays evaporated. Sydney was walking on eggshells around him. What made this period of tension even worse? She was distant.

Her demeanor at work could never be confused for being casual. She always maintained that warm yet professional façade. However, they were off. Awkward bouts of communication during service, snippy remarks about how the herbs were tweezed or her forgoing her usual plastic container of icy Coca Cola had made Carmy feel jittery. He found himself taking refuge at least once a day in the tiny, dumpster filled courtyard behind the restaurant, sneaking a cigarette or two more than he should.

The article impacted her in ways he could not anticipate, and it made his heart ache.

So, when he received a text message saying those dreaded four words, he felt the slice of pepperoni pizza he scarfed down from a nearby pizzeria lurch around his insides.

He woke up to her staring blankly at the ceiling this morning.

“I think I’m going to take the day off.” She said softly. She avoided eye contact with him.

We need to talk.

 

As Carmy made his way off the L and toward the gleaming building that held he and Sydney’s marital apartment, he felt his body give way to a jittery energy he had not felt enrapture his nerves in years. By the time he made his way through the gleaming lobby, past Raul, the friendly doorman/receptionist who oversaw the coming and goings of residents and visitors, he could hear his heart beating in his chest.

Once he made it into the silvery coolness of the elevator, he closed his eyes and allowed the chimes of the elevator’s journey to their apartment act as a semi-soothing soundtrack to what he hoped was not a disastrous end to his evening.

 

They moved into this apartment after he proposed. Bright, overlooking the water with high ceilings and shiny amenities. They finally untethered themselves from their respective apartments and took the first steps toward building a life together. Despite the light wood, stainless steel appliances and Danish-like chicness, Sydney had made the apartment a home. Her love of color, artwork and décor offset Carmy’s minimalist instincts.

Carmy turned the key to their 9A apartment to find it as it always was: neat, cozy and inviting. Their place deliciously fragrant with whatever flowers he picked up from the farmer's market, tucked in colorful vases that lined the long foyer. He toed his tired feet out of his Birkenstocks, left them by the door and made his way to the common area half expecting Sydney to be experimenting in their bright kitchen. But there was no such vision. No such playful, but sexy offering of her long legs poking out from one of his shirts or her long, neat braids dancing around her pretty face. Instead, the lights were dim, with the television watching their plush, burnt orange couch. The screen was showing a black and white movie he did not recognize. He whipped around to face the open concept kitchen to see cartons of Chinese takeout sitting on the counter.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his Dickies. He pulled it out to be greeted with a new text from her.

“In the bathroom. 😊”

There was a smile emoji. It could not be all that bad?

Right?

He dropped his backpack, removed his coat and made his way to the bathroom, awaiting the dreaded conclusion of those dreaded words…

We need to talk.

 

 

“Hi.” He greeted skittishly, pushing open the bathroom door. Sydney was sitting in a sumptuous bubble bath, the white foam  obscuring her body from neck, down. Along the vanity sat thick candles, providing a warm glow that bounced off the white tile of the place. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on a bath pillow. She looked peaceful. But his greeting was not met with a dazzling smile or a 'come hither' come on.

It was met with a weary sigh.

“Hi.” She greeted softly, her eyes still closed. He walked toward the tub and kneeled next to her.

There were times when he could not believe his luck. He drank in the beauty that was her face. High cheek bones, shapely and defined lips. Her smooth, dark complexion glowing from the wetness of her bath and the candlelight. Her mane of braids was piled into a high bun on her head. She looked almost regal. She turned her head, slowly and opened her eyes. He stoked her damp cheek with his hand.

Her dark eyes looked sad and defeated.

Here they go.

“So…” He breathed out, holding eye contact with her, his brows lifted as if to say, ‘Bring it On.’

She sighed again, breaking eye contact and staring at the ceiling. Her voice broke through the comfortable silence.

“So.” She responded gently, wrapping her elegant hands around his wrist as he continued to stroke her cheek. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lift her out of the tub, dry her soft skin and wrap his arms around her. He wanted their lips to touch like it always did in moments like this and for them to lose themselves to their insatiable attraction and burning desire for one another.

The bedroom was the one room in the house they never seemed to have trouble in. Many an argument or disagreement could be solved with a well timed massage or a cooking session that evolved into a make out session…

Like horny teenagers, they would fondle each other, their tongues doing a sensual dance before he would throw her over his shoulder and joyfully make their way…

Into the bedroom.

However, that option would not be available.

“Did I stress you out? You smell like cigarettes.” Sydney intoned gently, sitting up and leaning closer to her husband’s face, stroking his cheek. He placed a kiss on the inside of her palm, inhaling the delicious aroma of her bubble bath. He took her hand, staring at the ruby in her engagement ring.

“Just a little.” His voice cracked.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean-“

“Don’t apologize. We have a lot to talk about.”

She leaned back, blinking back tears.

“I have a lot to talk about.” She replied with a little more force in her voice.

They stared at each other again. Blue meeting Brown. He could sense it. The vomiting, the resistance to non-essential touch. He had his suspicion. One he had voiced Richie. He did not trust Nat to not tell Sydney.

“Let her tell you on her own time.” Richie wisely offered.

Carmy and Syd talked about it. They had talked about it as a future aspiration. Not an immediate one. The thought made him feel unmoored.

So, he gave her the floor.

“It’s your ship now, captain.” He intoned lovingly, calling back to one of the many landmarks of their relationship.

She took a deep breath and tilted her head back further into the bath pillow, as if to catch the tears before they fell. Her voice was shaky and laced with a nervousness that he normally associated with a younger, less self-assured version of herself. The version that left the takeout option on. The version that balked at his less than glowing assessments of her cook.

“I feel like I’m…like I’m losing myself in this.”  He felt like he had been punched in the gut. He took a shaky deep breath and fought hard with his instincts to dissuade her from her fears, from what was a cut that would not heal.

“I’m listening.” He whispered softly. Tears streamed down her face.

“I love you. I want this to work. But if this is going to work. I need something of my own, Carm. I feel like-“

She stopped, wiping her tears away, bubbles from the bath dotted on her gleaming face.

“I want you to know this is not about the article. It did not help, but…I need to figure out who I am outside of being your CDC. Your wife, your everything. I don’t think it’s healthy how much time and energy and space in my life I carve out for you, or the restaurant or your family. And…”

She breathed out deeply, puffing out her cheeks as the tears flowed with abandoned.

…Carm, I’m not ready to be a mother. There are things I want…and I know we talked about it but…”

The heaves came fast. Her body shook with agony and sorrow. He stripped out of his shirt and pants, getting into the bath and holding her. The water was lukewarm.

---

“Babe, you know I support you. I love you. I want you to be happy. I’m sorry.”

They made their way out of the tub, into bed. She lay on his bare chest, the tears long gone. They talked or rather she talked. He listened. Without interruption to her express her exhaustion, her feelings of isolation, how stifling being Mrs. Carmen Berzatto could be.

He offered concessions.

That he would look for a therapist. That he would work on his anger. That they would prioritize spending time away from the restaurant and from each other. That physical intimacy could not take the place of all other forms of intimacy.

“Does this mean you don’t want-“

“No. I still want them. Just not right now. Not until…Not until I open my own spot.” He stroked her arm, staring at the ceiling as the moon’s light danced on her skin.

---

They were one of three couples. There was a younger couple sitting right across from them. Her head lay on his shoulder.

“Sydney Adamu?” The nurse called.

They stood up.

“Sydney Adamu-Berzatto.” Sydney corrected warmly, with a tight smile on her face. The nurse nodded.

“I’m sorry ma’am. Right this way.” They exchanged a final, meaningful look. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, placing a kiss on her forehead before escorting her into the doctor’s office.

“I love you.” She whispered, just for him.

“I love you too, Syd.”

Chapter 15: Finding Sydney

The afternoon thunderstorms cleared. Sydney softly pattered outside, barefoot onto the wraparound porch, swinging the creaking front door open. Her senses were immediately drenched in the humidity of the bayou's embrace. The skies were battling, fighting the ominous dark clouds with sunbeams peeking through. Her eyes fell on the relaxed form of her Grandaunt Millie in her reliable rocking chair. Her dark olive skin shimmered with the mist of the Louisiana heat. She wore her signature overalls with a white shirt, and her dark, thick mane of silvery black hair was pulled in a messy ponytail.

In her left hand was her lit, unfiltered cigarette. On the rickety side table, her signature homemade lemonade in a glass pitcher sat next to two tall glasses. As Sydney took a seat in the periwinkle blue chair right next to her Grandaunt, she caught a whiff of the potent sharpness of the moonshine. Of course, she spiked the lemonade.  

"Ya' know, I don't know much, but I gotta say, I'm a little shocked how well you movin' around, baby." Grandaunt Millie drawled before taking another hit of her cigarette. Her deep, sonorous voice tinged with a touch of bemusement.

Sydney smirked. "Granmè, you know the procedure does not work like that anymore.

Grandaunt Millie cast her piercing eyes on her grandniece, her bushy eyebrows practically disappearing into her widow's peak.

"Oh, vraiment?"

Sydney turned to face her with a playful smile, the two sharing a knowing glance.

It had been three days. Three days of peace and quiet.

No expo, no orders. No vendors.

No Carmy.

She broke their staring contest. The thought of him drew her eyes to the ruby ring fixed to her finger…

"Something about Landry women and those white boys with pretty eyes." Grandaunt Millie said in a joking voice. Sydney felt the creeping dread of "the talk." The raison d'être for her being in Louisiana.

Her Grandaunt and Uncle James acted as her balm for the past few days. They cooked while giving her space. The old lady even went as far as taking out Sydney's braids, washing and combing out her thick coils, and sealing her hair in her special concoction, which she kept in an old lard tin can. The soothing tingle of mint and something else, peppermint, felt great against her scalp. Which, with Grandaunt's deft hands, was greased and attended to with care.  

For the first time in as long as she could remember, her days were spent away from a kitchen.

"Go on and sit down, baby," Uncle James would say softly, his almond-shaped eyes wide with love. She could not remember the last time she had not spent time experimenting, cooking, and obsessing over food and recipes. She woke up late and took walks around the sumptuous farm, taking in the fragrance of magnolia trees and azaleas. The active sound of the bayou acted as a reprieve from the constant noise and organized chaos of her life.

I was thinking chaos…but thoughtful.

"So, we are doing this." Sydney nodded, moving her curls off her shoulders. The sun had won its war against the clouds, and the heat was becoming stifling.

Grandaunt Millie put her cigarette out on the table and refilled her glass. She took a long sip and smacked her lips with comical intention.

"Girl, we ain't doing nothing. You show up here after I ain't seen your narrow butt in how long? I ain't got to do anything but love you." The creeping dread subsided. She had not realized she was holding her breath. She played with the hem of the soft sunflower yellow sundress she found in the boudoir. No one was sure who it belonged to, but the lavender smell stirred memories of Sundays in the park, her mother's soft skin…

She found herself retreating into the softness of the cotton and how flattering the dress was on her figure. It made her feel good. Like she was walking with a hug.

"Do you think I'm lost, Granmè?" Sydney asked, avoiding eye contact, continuing to fiddle with the hem of the yellow dress. Sydney could feel the rumble of tears rolling through the clouds of her mind. Like the thunderstorm that passed, Grandaunt Millie reached over to her hand and grabbed her hand, which was the sun she needed to clear her sky.

"Cherie, look at me…look." Sydney met those technicolor hazel eyes. They reflected a fierce pride. "Love is a hell of an addiction. It makes ya do something stupid shit. You love that boy. Ain't nothing wrong with that. I've seen the way he looks at you. It ain't easy being a brown skin girl in this world. It ain't easy getting lost in a man makin' you feel so good, down to your toes. Makes you feel like a woman. Touches your soul when he makes love to you. You chase, and you chase the high of that, but baby, you gotta remember yourself in the haze. You think you the first woman to be drunk of love and good lovin'?" She tilted her head, her face cracking into a radiant smile. Sydney chuckled softly, continuing to win her fight against tears.

Sydney walked up, around the table, and sat like a little girl, kneeling before her and laying her head against her denim-clad lap. She was worried; for a second, the porch had a leak. The wetness she felt on her forehead was the tears from her Grandaunt's eyes. She looked up, and they held a gaze. A gaze that said so much.

"Syd, you always have a home here. Know that. " Her gravelly voice trembled from emotion.

"I know. "

"Just promise me when you decide to have little ones, you bring their little mutt asses down 'round here. Let 'em ' know their roots. " She softly grabbed Sydney's chin, and Sydney nodded as the clouds of her emotions produced soft, thick tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Roots. Her roots.

---

She would spend two weeks in Louisiana. She would help Uncle James in the rice fields and drive his pickup truck into town to pick up groceries for dinner. She would even journey to a local bar and have a glass of bourbon every other night.

I'm going down to Millie and James's for a while. Just to get my head right.

She remembers his vivid cobalt eyes, wide with fear.

'This isn't that…I just need to reassess. ' They were having Sunday dinner. Braciole. He broke eye contact, playing with the food remnants on his plate. She took a big gulp of wine from her glass.

'Tell the staff I have some family stuff to attend to.'

After she landed in Louisiana, she sent him a text.

Off the grid for the trip. I love you. I just need this.

She kept her promise. On the night before her return flight, she cooked dinner.

She allowed the smells, sights, and sounds to replenish her once-thirsty spirit. Her heart soared when the gumbo roux thickened with a rich assortment of sausage, chicken, and shrimp. The golden crust of the buttery and spongy cornbread bronzing in the oven in the Landry cast iron pan took her back to summers in her childhood. When she was all legs, limbs, and eyes, standing on a little step stool and studying the older women cook up a storm.

Sydney smiled as she pulled off the potlid on the delectable collards, stewing in the tasty and fatty ham hocks.

She felt joy when Grandaunt Millie and Uncle James tucked into their dinner, healing something deep in her. Something that could not be fixed by a Michelin star or a glowing review. It was the joy of love. The love she had for cooking. Her back ached; her t-shirt was soaked with the sweat of the thick molasses of the night air by the time she was done. As she chopped, sliced, stirred and plated, there was no small black notebook or the rolodex of her schooling to act as a buffer.

She splashed rock salt and melted butter and dispensed it by measuring. She experimented with herbs and searched through the cabinets and the old refrigerator to buttress her building love.

"Girl, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you settin' us up to be mouton pou touye. " Grandaunt Millie said heartily, her grave voice laced with laughter as she dropped her dessert spoon. The bread pudding with whiskey sauce may have been the show's star.

Her heart soared.

She went to bed that night and slept like a log.

 

When she woke up to prepare for her departure, she saw herself in the long mirror across from the bed. Her skin was glowing and smooth. She may have gained a few pounds. She took some time to unravel the protective braids she plaited before sleeping. She sat up, taking herself in. The shapely lips, smooth expanses of her cheekbones, prominent, round eyes, and the beautiful halo of dark onyx girls as her fingers slide through her moisturized tight coils.

She sat there. Staring at herself. This was her. She was alive.

She could always come back to the Landry farm.

The Lord knows she will be taking the Landry farm back with her.

---

Two weeks later

She took another spin around the empty space. Cranking her neck, she took in the high ceilings and open floor space. The vacancy amplified the echo of her footsteps. She was going to create her own space—in her image—in the image of the women that flowed in the bloodline of her memories and those whom she never got to meet. She would build brick by brick, dish by dish…

She wanted the little girl who used to run in the rice paddies and sit on her dad's shoulders at Mardi Gras to come alive.

'Is this the new thing? ' She spun around to see her dad's face spread in a warm smile—a smile that took her back to the vomit-soaked, nerve-rattling night of The Bear's Friends & Family.

'No. This is my thing. ' She responded resolutely, returning a smile. She closed the gap between them and pulled him into a hug.

Chapter 16: Sydney Goes Solo

Sydney’s mind had gone blank. She was short-circuiting…she was sure of it. What would fix it? What would get her going?

Oh, right, money.

What else?

Her relationship with money had always been…strained. She grew up a kid who never wanted anything, at least not that she had realized until she got to the Culinary Institute of America.

The cozy, two-bedroom apartment in a pre-war building, with its high ceilings, rich wood finishings, and large windows, had been her refuge. In her youth, she tutored kids for extra pocket change, often blowing her little nest egg on expensive cookbooks and coffee table tomes with glossy photography of haute cuisine.

Her years at the CIA were haunted by long hours busing tables and pulling shifts at American Bounty Restaurant in Hyde Park. Her body ached, and she often burned the candle at both ends, but her bank account and less than 30% credit utilization rate on her Chase credit card gave her some breathing room.

The actual infliction points in her relationship to dead presidents’ folks called currency came when Sheridan Road failed…

Sleepless nights, demon-like creditors, and debt haunted her psyche with a persistence that she never quite shook. The one time she indulged in high fashion, reckless spending and indulgence had backfired.

It took her years to build a financial cushion, let alone acquire a financial portfolio (stocks, a stake in her business partner and husband’s restaurant, paid appearances…, etc.), to feel like she could breathe.

Yet here she was, taking another risk…

$250,000USD…

The figure mocked her. She bit her lip and took a deep sigh. She would sleep on it. She had worked her nimble Michelin star fingers to the bone to earn this money. No one, but her money. 

Maybe.

Give it more time.

---

MONTHS LATER…

“You are doing it again,” Carmy uttered as he tied his dress shoes. It was a freezing November night. Sydney snapped out of her spiral of anxiety as her eyes met her own in the stylishly distressed mirror that stood in her bedroom. Tonight was the night. After months of concept plans, menu curation, and a mortgage more significant than she would care to think about…The Block was almost at the finish line.

She took in her reflection. She could still feel the heat of her credit card from buying the leather strapless, bustier midi-dress courtesy of Bottega Veneta that hugged her frame. She had done her makeup and hair, with her dark coils free of their routine braids and slicked into a low bun. She wore cheap faux gold hoop earrings she had purchased at Aldo.

High-Low, right?

“What am I doing?” she responded absentmindedly as her husband wrapped his strong arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. The warmth of his body and his piercing gaze reflected at her still did not assuage the nervousness that danced around her nerves. Her hands, on autopilot, rested on his expansive hands.

He nestled his face into her neck and sighed deeply.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Carmy whispered gently, his breath caressing her neck.

Sydney closed her eyes and leaned into him.

“I’m thinking I still cannot understand why I am doing this?” She said flatly. Years of living, working, and existing in the warm orifices of their relationship’s intimacy gifted each of them with sensing when the other person was in distress. They were each other’s safe harbor.

For the first time in a long time,

Since Sheridan…

“Syd, this isn’t Sheridan…” He whispered. Her eyes popped open and met his in the mirror. The electric blue orbs bore into her soul. She had nowhere to run.

She took a deep breath as she faced the creeping dread. “Explain to me why this is not Sheridan?” she asked hesitancy soaking her voice. He smiled a loving smile when her voice cracked.

He unwrapped his arms from her waist and spun her around. She took him in, the coifed hair, his face smooth from a recent shave. Her fingers traveled up his arms to the glittering gold chain around his neck, playing with it absentmindedly.

“Because….” He started drawing a breath. His eyes softened, and his voice became tender. She could feel the uneasiness melt slightly. There was something comforting about the fact that even in the depths of her despair, or nights when she was soaked in grease stench, days when her immune system cursed her with a terrible cold that left her stuffy and gross with phlegm and a brutalizing cough, he still stared at her with the openness and love of a man who thought her to be an eight-world wonder.

“…you are older, wiser, and a lot more business savvy. Because you have the respect of our staff, the industry, and your peers…”

“Because I’m ‘Carmy’s hot wife.’ She interjected bitterly. Ever so often, the ‘Article That Shall Not Be Named’ haunted her from the abyss.

He tilted his head and set his jaw. “I know who you are.”

She stopped playing with his chain and made eye contact. “Oh yeah?” She responded, her face breaking out into a resigned smile.

He turned her back around to the mirror, resuming their previous stance with her facing the mirror and him resting his chin on her shoulder. His face spread into a bright smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You are the most excellent chef…” His voice took on a faux-breathy high pitch, imitating her unforgettable assessment of him the first time they met.

Sydney could not contain her giggles.

 “Fuck off!” She giggled, attempting to break out from his embrace, but he held her in place.

“…no, seriously, you are the best chef I know. Creative, talented…” he ran his hands up and down the smooth expanse of the leather of her dress. “…and ‘The Block’ will be the best restaurant in the country.”

“You’re just saying that so you can get some ass later tonight.” She smirked playfully. He smiled that closed-mouth smile, shaking his head.

“Hey, don’t talk shit about my wife.” He said with mocking scorn, giving her rear a light double tap, his head jerking toward the bedroom door as if to indicate they needed to get going.

“Don’t forget ‘your hot wife.’”

---

“I can NOT tell you how obsessed I am with African wine, Syd. This is so amazing!” Carmy was very aware of how amazing the boozy wife of a real estate fortune thought African wine was. She typically ordered it when she came to The Bear…with her boy toy. Half of her age.

Carmy and Sydney were stuck in the corner of the sumptuous main floor of The Block’s dining room. 100 of the cities, movers and shakers, plus luminaries of the Chicago culinary scene, swanned across the dimly lit room to preview the food and wine list for The Block. This was the destination before The Block’s ‘Friends & Family’ night in three weeks. But before that, this was toast to the hard work.

Sydney was wearing her placid, ‘Front of the House’ smile as one of her leading investors told about loving helicopter rides around Victoria Falls.

‘I’m sorry, can I interrupt you beautiful ladies for a second?’ Carmy interjected. He wrapped an arm around his wife’s slender waist and pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek. The smell of a full-bodied red wine radiated out of the woman’s bronzed pores. ‘Our favorite executive chef is needed in the kitchen.’ He said, staring at Sydney pointedly.

“I have to say, you two make such a darling couple .” She slurred the word darling so hard, under the hum of soft jazz playing from the speakers and conversation around them, that Carmy almost thought she said ‘daring.’

Or did she…

He nodded politely.

“Thank you for that, Blythe.” Sydney smiled, her eyes connecting with Carmy and widening in a way that signaled she understood the moment.

“Of course! I just love how well, brave you kids are these days.” There it was…

Brave.

“We will be right back,” Carmy interjected again, guiding Sydney away so fast that she almost teetered on her golden strappy stilettos.

They made their way around the crowd, nodding and smiling until they reached the back of the house.  

They made their way through the double chestnut wood doors and past the two rows of line cooks and Tina, who would be The Block’s temporary CDC until Sydney could hire one.

“Everything okay, Jeffs?” Tina inquired as they briskly walked past the gleaming cooking stations and toward the back door to the courtyard.

“Everything is fine!” They chimed, forcing down giggles before they got acquainted with the brisk November night air.

“Oh my god! It’s freezing balls…” Sydney shrieked, hopping from one foot to the other in what Carmy only slightly resembled a cog dance. He sniggered, shaking his head as he slid out of his blazer and placed it on his wife’s delicate shoulders.

“Thanks, babe.” Sydney closed in to kiss him when a voice broke them out of their soon-to-be romantic interlude.

“Shouldn’t you be inside shaking your cup?” Richie’s grin lights up the velvety night sky. He was his crystal blue eyes, alight with a twinkling spark that always met Carmy and Sydney these days.

Sydney snuggled into Carmy’s chest, pouring on the public display of affection to agitate Richie.

“I think our cup is overflowing.” Carmy snarked. The sharpness of the winter night gave the skin on his face a tightness. Richie rummaged around in the pockets of his dress pants as Sydney and Carmy walked over like some Frankenstein love monster held together by their unbreakable snuggle.

As they sat at the table where Richie sat, Sydney popping a squat on Carmy’s lap, the elegant draped outdoor string lights lit up. Carmy’s eye caught the side of Sydney’s sleek profile, a little too enamored with the elegance of her cheekbones to turn his head to see who had done it.

‘Good looking out, T.” Richie smirked, leaning back and tossing the pack of Parliament on the table. “I hope you are not thinking of pouching Tina from us,” Richie said, leaning forward to take a cigarette. He made eyes with Carmy. Carmy shook his head and let out a small chuckle. Sydney swung around with an expression of playful accusation – her eyebrows raised, her mouth open as her manicured hands tented around her collarbone.

“Never say never.” Sydney intoned, moving to lean away from him and, surprisingly, grab a cigarette from Richie’s carton in the center of the table.

“Ah!” Carmy exclaimed impishly, slightly popping his knee under Sydney’s shapely rear.

“Uh oh, Boss Lady’s is fuckin’ punching balls.” Richie joked, leaning into hand Carmy a cigarette, his eyes squinted with laughter.

“Yeah, okay,” Carmy responded jokingly, as Sydney knowingly dug through Carmy’s suit jacket pocket and dispensed with a stainless-steel lighter. She raised her hand, dangling the lighter and arching her eyebrow to Carmy.

The smile vanished from his face. The last time he had snuck around for a cigarette, he was in the doghouse for three days. Coincidently, Sydney made it a point to traverse around their apartment with the most minuscule boy shorts he had seen in his entire life.

“Ohhhhh!!!” Richie instigated. “Uh oh!”

Sydney whipped her head around, laughing uproariously.

“Oh, I’ll let it go tonight. We are celebrating.”

Carmy’s angst dissipated as fast as the white cloud of cold air that blew out of his nose, and he sniggered at Sydney’s exclamation.

Sydney put the unfiltered cigarette to her lip and cupped a hand to the cigarette to light it. But before his bloodstream ran hot due to how sexy it found the sight of Sydney sitting in his lap with his blazer draped around his shoulder and burning one out, she lifted her wool-draped arm into the air as if it were a champagne flute.

“Gentlemen, what should we toast to?” Sydney asked in a faux, sonorous voice as if taking on the vibe of a Roman town crier.”

“To you being your own boss,” Richie said, with that overturning note of contemplative wisdom in his voice. That was the thing with Richie. You never knew when the better of him would set in. Lately, it has become often. Which is what made this night even more poignant. For all the eventful ness of Carmy’s life over the past few years, moving back to Chicago, opening The Bear while saying goodbye to the Beef…

To find a brother in Richie.

…most of all, falling in love with Syd. There were times he wanted to pinch himself. Could this be real? Did he live a life this…fulfilling?

Was the family dinner at The Bear overflowing with Mikey’s pasta or Sydney’s short, braised ribs?

He and Natalie could now visit Mikey’s grave on his birthday.

To wake up to the most beautiful woman in the world every day.

Sydney was not just starting a new restaurant; this was a new time for them. He had known nothing but innovation and burst of creativity with her. Cozy nights in his apartment, experimenting with recipes. Long, languid summer weekends of lovemaking in her apartment. Or movie nights and a diner run with Emmanuel third wheeling.

All the while, he had found not just the perfect CDC but his soulmate in every way. Would it feel the same without her by his side? Her resolute voice calling out orders on expo? But in all that time, he had watched his wife bloom into a self-assured Maestra of his kitchen.

But none of that mattered. As Sydney’s face glowed in the golden flush of the string lights, Carmy leaned forward, lighting Sydney’s cigarette. They maintained eye contact as she took a pull and let the smoke embark on a journey through her throat, nose, and then mouth.

“To Sydney being her own boss.” He said, his heart swelling with love. Her large, glimmering eyes assured with pride. He took the cigarette from her fingers softly and leaned back, pulling it and enjoying the sweet taste of Sydney’s lip gloss on the cigarette.

“See, that shit-“ Richie motioned with his hand, holding the cigarette, the glowing ember cutting through the night air back and forth. “That’s the shit no one’s gonna miss.”

“Fuck off!” They both exclaimed playfully. They each smoked another cigarette, enjoying the night air.

---

A year later, they would have another smoking session, just the three.

A James Beard nomination for The Block sure called for one.

Chapter 17: There Goes The Neighborhood

"Where do you want this?" Carmy asked Sydney, who was sitting on the brand-new leather ottoman that would be going in their den. Carmy, strength notwithstanding, needed a break from all the lifting and shifting of new furniture and placed the ottoman by the wall right outside the foyer.

They finally did it. They unpacked the last of their boxes and settled into their home.

"Our forever home."

They had spent weeks shopping, unboxing, and directing movers, painters, and plumbers around the five-bedroom Georgian home. The neighborhood was quiet, close enough to both of their respective restaurants but far enough so they could have that elusive thing they were now beginning to entertain—work-life balance. It also had a poignant piece of Carmy's heart. It was his old childhood neighborhood.

Sydney was doing yoga twice a week at a studio not too far from The Block. Carmy had finally worked his way down to a couple of cigarettes a week, and they both found enough money to hire a few more chefs to start their days in the late morning and end most of their nights before the last call for service. They were moving toward something that closely resembled….normalcy. The house, finally being fully furnished and decorated, made it seem real. They were really doing this.

Next week, they would join Pete and Natalie for a long weekend on Lake Michigan.

Sydney looked away from the elaborate spreadsheet she was using to manage the project 'Get Our Literal House in Order' and saw her husband holding.

His long fingers held up a very expensive silk and lace thong that was supposed to be part of a nice surprise tonight. The surprise involved a bubble bath in their new giant whirlpool, some chilled champagne, and furry handcuffs.

Fuck. She forgot to order the handcuffs…

His eyes were aglow. A damp curl, drenched from the sweat that glossed his peachy skin, was hanging in his eyes. His pink lips displayed a sexy smirk…

Sydney rolled her eyes and placed the laptop down beside her. She crossed her long legs and shrugged playfully.

"Party favor." She teased, at the shrug of her shoulder, the tight, red tank top strap slinking off her shoulder with immaculate timing. The beautiful warm May day with its sun, clear skies, and birds chirping from the open windows had fostered a playful and witty rapport between the two chefs. Amid moving and unboxing the final remnants of their old lives, they had been teasing each other all day.

There was the 'not on purpose' purposeful brush of her backside against Carmy as she moved to reach for a box cutter.

Carmy was making something of a show about lifting heavy pieces of furniture and assembling their bookcase by himself.

They had been well behaved…

But as Sydney smiled deviously and let her husband scoop her into his strong arms and up the staircase of her new home.

---

"Uhhyeah….yeah…yeah!"

Sydney's shrills of pleasure got louder and provided Carmy with the symphony he needed to complete his masterpiece, which was his wife's second orgasm.

Carmy's thick, pink tongue circled her fluttering, drenched womanhood, giving her engorged clit a brief respite. Her fingers trapped his curls, her shapely hips undulating with the madness of pleasure of his mouth and fingers, bringing her to nirvana. He made a production of slurping the remnants of her spastic and explosive second combustion. He kissed her inner thigh.

Her tank top was now a messy pseudo-cumber band of sorts, rolled down from her shoulders and breasts. Her underwear and shorts never made it into the bedroom door with them. She was splayed like a spatchcock chicken, her dark, thick, dense curls stuck to her forehead with the sweat sourced from her pleasure.

"Mmm…you taste so good, babe." He grunted, his eyes dark with longing. She looked down at him, and a shiver ran down her spine at the look of manic longing. His voice was serrated in a way that made her crazy. He maintained eye contact with her as he lowered his lips, glossy with her essence, back to her core.

Her eyes rolled back into her head. Her mind wanted to watch him take her to another orgasm, but her synapsis would not allow for it. Not when he was gently, slowly, and tenderly French kissing her throbbing clit. His warm, wet mouth sucked while his tongue lightly stroked her.

Her back arched off the soft, high-thread-count duvet. Heat built up at the base of her spine, a tsunami of heat in the pit of her stomach, and fireworks between her legs connected to her husband's mouth.

"Right there! Right there…. don't stop, fuck, fuck I'm gonna…"

Her lids clamped shut as her legs wanted to, but the smooth yet muscled expanse of her husband's shoulders held her legs open and her hips down as her mouth fell open. The thunderbolt of pleasure was so powerful that she leaned forward, thrusting herself toward his mouth. Her head fell back, and a delirious smile spread across her damp face.

---

Her fourth orgasm would come as their bodies were entangled. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, with her left hand gripping his left buttcheck. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his muscular frame inhabiting all her space like a barnacle to the sea floor.

Their kisses were sloppy, filled with tongue and sucking. Once he kissed his way up her supple body and, lowered himself, and entered her, they barely came up for air. His needy groans, guttural with a slight whine, did not let up.

Nor did the slow, arduous, and delicious pace of his strokes. There was no space or time between them. She always loved how girthy he was. Thick and veiny. Like he was. When they met, the bulging veins scraped against her silky walls, creating the most heavenly friction. He broke their suction-like kiss to grab her chin.

She bit her lip, contracting around him teasingly.

His mouth fell open as a growl left his throat. As his strokes got harder with the snap of his hips, he had a devilish grin, and she grinned back as if to challenge him not to lose his way before she found hers, again.

"Fuck!" Carmy said through gritted teeth. Sydney giggled and wrapped her legs around his waist, using her yoga skills to flip them over. She rode him just the way he loved – hard, fast, with her shapely breast bouncing in his face.

 

 

"Damn, that was fucking amazing," Carmy said airily. The first words they uttered since their lovemaking came to a climatic finish. Sydney was draped over her husband, her head on his broad chest, her cheek to his right pectoral.

"Mmm." That is all she could say. Her brain was mush. Something about the sex they had in this house was different. Maybe they were different, more relaxed. Better hours and more time away from work were actually good?

 

Lately, she would cum so hard she almost blacked out.

But the doorbell ringing broke them out of their bubble…

---

The Smiths were the perfect kind of couple—really. She was tall, blonde, and beautiful in the way that Ralph Lauren ads made you understand a woman should be. He was handsome, square-jawed, with bright green eyes and a blinding smile. They had three adorable children and had lived in their renovated Victorian home for about four years. They loved the neighborhood.

Their new next-door neighbors were…. OK.

A mixed-race couple who worked odd hours. They were not like all the other couples. It was not a race thing. Never that! It's just that most of the men in the neighborhood were in private equity or law. They were different. Rather than suits and dresses, they wore ripped jeans and expensive sneakers.

Mrs. Smith, a stay-at-home mom, tried to see what they were about. This was not the neighborhood where people got into each other's business, not counting the old lady across the street, but she heard they were big shots in the food scene. A simple Google search let her know they were the proprietors of the hottest restaurants in the city. The husband, stocky, muscled, and with so many tattoos, looked like a second skin. She once made eye contact with him while he checked the mail, and she was drinking a martini after Pilates.

He had the most intense, ocean-blue eyes that petrified her.  

Intense, she told her girlfriends over a wine night.

The wife was yet reserved. What was that about?

She kept her eyes and ears peeling.

She would overhear from her study window, which faced their adjacent bedroom window, noises…

Screams…

Yelps….

A banging against what sounded like the door…

 

He never raised his voice.

This would happen in the middle of the day sometimes.

She had to do something.

---

This was different from the neighborhood Officer O'Malley would typically come out to. This new-aged, fancy bullshit was not his style. Some Resse Witherspoon -type called him to say she suspected the lady next door had been getting the snot kicked out of her.

He usually handled 'punks beating on women' beat. He was good at de-escalating.

So, upon ringing the doorbell, he was surprised to see the honors of the shirtless man with messy blonde curls, a glimmering gold chain, and shorts. Standing right over his broad, muscled shoulder was a pretty woman with large eyes, thick, afro-like hair, and draped in an oversized navy shirt with his favorite former sandwich shop logo stamped on it.

Mrs. Smith's cheeks blushed with a vengeance. A simple look at them and their blissed-out, dazed expressions made it clear that the source of the noise was not abusive; it was… coital.

Suffice to say, the only words Sydney Adamu-Berzatto would utter to Mrs. Smith would be:

"I never knew getting my back blown out was a crime. I'll try to cum quieter next time. She sneered derisively, her husband huffing out a slightly embarrassed chuckle."

The door was promptly slammed in her and the Officer's face.

Suffice it to say, she never made a reservation at a Berzatto-owned property for as long as she could remember.

Chapter 18: Chads & Trixies

“How about something frothy and light? You are in, and out in 48 hours? Jazmin proposed, her glasses glowing with the reflection of her laptop. Sydney was facetiming her publicist. Jazmin was heaven-sent. A fellow daughter of a large mid-Western city, (Detroit), professionally accomplished and head over heels in love with a curly-haired short king.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘light?” Sydney chuckled, spreading generous amounts of hair mouse through her dense mane of tight coils.

It was a gloomy Friday afternoon, with the sky opening and closing its reserve of well-needed rain every few minutes. The scorching last week of July had finally given way to the relief of summer rain. Thick droplets poured down, the air thick with humidity. However, the punishing nature of the summer did not slow down business for either The Bear or in Sydney’s case, The Block. If anything, every night, Sydney found herself self-overseeing an expo brimming with orders and an influx of tourists dying to try the hottest restaurant in town.

The Block had become a haven for Birthday party dinners, anniversaries, and hipster foodies who wanted to bask in the cool afterglow of a hip and retro eatery that did not have any of the cliché tropes of other “millennial core” spots. If The Bear was high-scale haute cuisine with heart and Italian sauce pulsing through its vibe, The Block was its jazzy, ‘Black-as-hell’ little sister, brimming with Miles Davis and Nas-infused playlists. In other words, it was very Sydney.

The success of her place had not just bolstered her confidence, it had done wonders for her professional profile. She was inundated with magazine profiles, guest spots on The Food Network, and endorsement opportunities. It also meant she had outgrown the “joined at the hip, power couple” persona that had helped make her and Carmy stars of the high-end culinary scene. As their marriage, cozy home life, and successful restaurants had given way to more free time, they had more time to be considered for their well-being, and more monetary success meant more staff. More staff meant more time for themselves and with themselves.

More time to consider who they were…for the first time, outside the kitchen. Outside all things ‘Berzatto.’ It meant a handful of sojourns to Louisiana to visit Sydney’s family. It means spending a romantic weekend in Copenhagen, visiting Noma, and revisiting Carmy’s old haunts.

It also meant for the first time in Sydney’s life the 12-hour shifts that dominated her 20s and the first years of her 30s were no longer a cudgel she could be burdened by. It meant falling in love with literature, visiting museums, and even more startling…

It meant considering who she was outside of work. Who was Sydney Adamu with more autonomy, free time, and most, startlingly, more money?

She finally was living a life she had always dreamed of. It meant she loved therapy, as embarrassing as it was, yoga was now her salvation and it meant after the disastrous hit-piece of an article that misrepresented her marriage to Carmy, she through the recommendations of other Black women entrepreneurs she had met through the Chicago culinary scene and patroned The Block, she had sought her own professional representation. Her business manager, lawyer, and now publicist were all women of color. Her own tribe.

With the uncleaving of their professional and business lives, a strange and powerful thing happened; their partnership grew stronger and more durable.

Carmy and Sydney were the happiest they had ever been. Cozy nights in, hand-in-hand promenades through farmers’ markets and eating their way through Chicago.

It also meant the most intense and seductive lovemaking she had ever experienced. Her heart had found a way to grow even bigger with adoration for her husband.

On a faithful May evening, with the sky twinkling with stars, and their burgeoning garden fragrant with hydrangeas and lilies, a cozy cuddle by their firepit and one too many glasses had led them up the oak steps and to the luxurious confines of their bed.

What Sydney in her blissful bubble of domestic nirvana had not remembered was there was a week’s worth of untaken Yaz in their medicine cabinet.

---

The sweaty, and romantic evening will culminate with her husband's deliciously weighty body collapsing on her, his husky groans and strained muscles giving way to her final and determinate la petite mort…

A month later, after brain fog, a familiar jitteriness, and unmoored hormones, two sharp lines sealed that Sydney Adamu-Berzatto would be expecting.

---

As she flittered around her bedroom, tossing cosmetics, and a worn copy of ‘ The Vanishing Half’ into her duffle bag, Jazmin continued to list potential media possibilities that all sounded great but exhausting.

Sydney walked back to her vanity, where her phone was perched against her vat of eco-styler. She took a deep breath and rolled up the soft sleeves of Camry’s forest green sweater that she had stolen.

“…I could try to swing a spread in Vogue, I have a connect to-“

“Jaz?”

“Girl, you have not done a spread since-“

“Jaz!” Sydney intoned, bemused. Jazmin’s full lips pursed, her dark eyebrows arching as if to say, ‘Girl, this better be good.’

Sydney closed her eyes, turned to her side, and revealed the smooth, and now rather visible bump that she had been concealing from her loved ones, save a handful of people for the last two months.

A piercing scream filled the room.

“I’m going to be an auntie!” Jazmin shrieked with enthusiasm that made Sydney’s throat feel heavy with the impending threat of tears. Her eyes watered with affection.

“So, let’s keep the traveling light for-“

“Yo! You good?” Antony, Jazmin’s husband yelled off-camera.

“Yeah babe, just work stuff!” She yelled back, rolling her eyes.

“So, when were you gonna say something, Miss Mama!” Jazmin’s dark eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses.”

Sydney shook her head, her body relaxing as her hand did the self-soothing exercise of rubbing her stomach whenever she was safely away from the watchful eye of her staff.

“Well, my Dad knows. My folks down in Louisiana know. After this weekend, Nat and Pete will know. We are going to announce it the final night on the lake.” Sydney said, smiling wistfully. There was something she loved about only select people knowing about ‘their little bean’ as she and Carmy called their soon-to-be bundle of joy. However, her schedule, commitments, and body were going to change, and her first trimester would be in the rearview mirror before she could blink.

She hoped to keep the secret a little longer, prolonging the shared looks, the gratuitous midday visits to The Block Carmy would make to deliver her tea, a soft kiss, and strokes to her little one in the privacy of her office.

Telling Jazmin suddenly made this more than just a little secret. It made it more…real. A wave of nerves washed over her. The security of her little secret had delayed any concern that her life would change. She had been too focused on keeping healthy and eating right.

But what would this mean for her career?

It’s not a thought she wanted to encounter. She could still run her restaurant. Was still a silent partner in The Bear. She could do it all. Why not? Women, did it all the time? Didn’t they?

 

‘I’m so excited’, Carmy said one night, his large hand cupping Sydney’s burgeoning bump through a vintage Janet Jackson concert merch t-shirt Sydney inherited from her mother. She stroked his silky curls, as his head gently rested against her stomach. He rolled her shirt up, placing a lingering kiss on her navel. She smirked at him. The wonder that danced around his electric blue eyes made her heart soft.

 

That was how she wanted to experience this. Soft, quiet, and loving. Would her pregnancy stay that way?

“So, what’s the angle, publicly? How do you want to play this? Announcement, socials?” Jazmin inquired, immediately pivoting back to business.

Sydney shrugged her shoulders, placing her hands on her hips and twisting her lips. She had time. For now, she would continue to stay in her bubble.

“I…don’t’ know. Let’s get this trip out the way and I’ll get back to you.”

“Remind me again where your sister-in-law’s house is?” Jazmin said, fluttering her manicured fingers as if shooing away the cloud of professional maneuvering that would be required for Sydney in the coming months.

“Lake Michigan.”

“Not really your scene.”

“Yeah, but I love Nat. And Pete. They’ve always been good to me, and I can’t keep turning down this invite. I’m about to have her brother’s baby.” Sydney joked as she continued to fuss with her hair. The vitamins were making her hair grow like sprouts. She would need another trip to Kima…

“Okay, and we love Nat, she’s dope but like, I’ve seen ‘Get Out.’ Jazmin said with a playful shrug.

Sydney chortled, rolling her eyes.

“I can trust and verify the Berzattos have made no attempts to steal my brain, having said that-“

“…going into the woods with white people-“

“It’s not the woods! It’s on the water, albeit in proximity to the woods-“

“Honey, please tell me you are not going to be the only Black person there?” Jazmin leaned comically into the camera lens.

Sydney sighed deeply. Then, a split-second stroke of inspiration hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Syd?” Jazmin inquired as if she could read her mind. “You’d better not!”

Sydney had loads of frequent flyer points due to her constant media appearances, all thanks to Jaz. It’s the least she could do.

A few taps in her JetBlue app landed her two tickets from JFK to O’Hare.

“Syd!”

“I expect to see you bright and early. I’ll have a car to pick you up from O’Hare to Nat’s place. She always said they had enough bedrooms if I wanted to invite friends. My treat.” She smiled brightly at Jazmin’s aghast expression. Sydney tilted her head mockingly.

“I’m raising my rate!” Jazmin joked, guffawing with disbelief.

“You are owed a raise anyway. Also, tell Antony to pack his Sperries. I bought him a ticket, too.”

---

Carmy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the rented Range Rover. The rain continued to drizzle softly as he and Syd continued their journey to Nat and Pete’s vacation spot. It was a smooth and peaceful ride, with Sydney slipping into slumber as soon as his ‘Roadtrip Playlist’ hit Springsteen’s Highway Patrol , which is to say about a minute into their journey. He took a glance at his sleeping beauty, her pretty face at peace. Their bundle of joy was obscured by a sweater she stole from him but looked better on her. Her mane of tight, onyx coils framed her face. There was a glow about her. There was always a glow about her, but pregnancy had made something about her even more radiant.

He cut his eyes back to the road before he could get lost in the majesty of her long, shapely legs on display due to her white cutoff jean shorts. Her Ked-clad feet were at rest on the dashboard and kept his peripheral vision, happy.

Lake Michigan was not really his thing. He and Sydney had wanderlust that often involved cities on the coasts, European metropolises, and sojourns more recently to her family’s scenic rice farm in the south. They were even planning for an anniversary trip in Senegal. Or at least, they had been until he had come home one night to Sydney’s gummy smile and the soft revelation that they were expecting.

A father…

In his dizziest daydreams, ones that often involved a pair of large, brown eyes and smooth, dark thighs, being a father was a fantasy that felt so out of reach at some point. His mind always gets cast back to that sweltering summer day.

Hello, Hi. I’m Sydney….

A smile danced on his lips as he made the final turn toward his sister and brother-in-law's getaway.

He took a glance at her again as Stevie Wonder began to croon about a woman knocking him off his feet. Her nose twitched as if she could sense, in her sleep, his blue eyes traveling a quick jaunt over her restful being. It was moments like this – quiet and stolen that reinforced his boundless love for his wife.

Did she know how much joy, peace, and love she infected him with? How happy she made him? He made a point to show her.

Now, with their little one on the way, he would do anything to safeguard their happiness.

---

Which made the lingering of Blake’s grey eyes on Sydney’s legs put Carmy’s teeth on edge. They had arrived at the picturesque beach house Pete and Nat purchased with ease. He was in a good mood. A great mood in fact and was looking forward to reconnecting not just with his sister, and even Pete, but with Jazmin and Antony. He was glad Sydney had invited them along. The few times they had been in Chicago had always been a great time. Antony was a sports columnist and Carmy enjoyed chopping it up with the guy. He also was thankful to Jazmin for her support of Sydney’s career aspirations as well as for being a good friend to his wife.

After the turmoil of their early days of marriage, he was happy to see her build her own nest outside of the stifling circle of Berzatto associates that dominated much of their lives.

His sister’s friend and her husband may have been a mystery to him, but he knew the kind Nat hung around in college. Tony career types whose idea of fun involved golf and stock market talk. Patagonia vests and well, for fuck’s sake she married Pete.

Who he liked now, but still.

Or to put it bluntly, as Richie crassly, one night when they were grilling out at his place: “There’s white people, and then there are the motherfuckers Nat hangs with.”

The kind of people who patronised restaurants he worked in…

He had become enough of a normie where he could no longer deny a weekend at a nice beach house was not the worst thing in the world. However, he was not enough of a jerkoff to mix it with the parade of ‘Chads and Trixies’ that came with this sort of thing.

And Blake, the tall, frat-boy handsome asshole who was married to Lottie, Natalie’s college roommate at UChicago was exactly the kind of guy who put his teeth on edge.

The self-satisfied smirk, the rugby shirt, and the floppy douchy haircut were signaling all Carmy’s worst fears about this trip. After he caught the bastard’s eyes lingering a little too long on his Syd, he greeted him with an aggressive handshake.

“Whoa, do you lift?” Blake said, with a slight grimace as he pulled his hand away, mockingly shaking it as if he were wading off an injury.

“Bro, it’s all those flour bags he lifts.” Pete intoned, bringing Carmy in for a warm hug. Carmy gave Pete a friendly pat on the back.

“Good to see you, bro.” Pete chimed brightly.

“Yeah, you are too,” Carmy said tersely. He could feel Sydney’s gaze on him as he made it down the line, exchanging a hug with a visibly stressed-out Nat and a polite head nod to Lottie.

“Why don’t I give Syd the tour?” Nat said, with false cheer, hooking her arm to Sydney and dragging her into the entry of the house, interrupting any awkward silences that would set in. Carmy continued to keep his piercing gaze on Blake. A flicker of recognition washed over the asshole’s face enough to not let his gaze follow Sydney into the house, but to return to Carmy’s.

“Let’s get your stuff from the trunk?” Pete asked with his very needed unawareness of the tension that was building between the two men.

“Yeah, let’s,” Blake said, tossing his floppy hair while Carmy kept his eyes on the punk.

This weekend was going to be fucking interesting....

Chapter 19: Like Father, Like Son

Carmen “Junior” Berzatto could see his reflection through the thick, glass barrier that separated the reception area of the principal’s office suite into the man’s office. He looked, ungenerously like he got his shit rocked. His wavy coils were messy, his pale knuckles were red with angry bruises. The ringing in his head did not seem to quiet, despite the ice-cold pack of peas the lunch lady handed him to ease the black eye developing, already tight with a numbing pain.

Through the glass he could not only see his reflection, but in stark relief the image of his parents - diametric opposites in body language. His father was reserved, his large hand obscuring the bottom half of his face, his Greco-Roman-like profile betraying no sense of unease or fury. His mother, often a picture of warmth and glowing energy, was a picture of sharp rage. Her eyes, large, brown and transparent portraits into her kind soul were ablaze with anger. Given the way her elegant face was wound up, her thick brows so high, they were in danger of disappearing into her braids.

His grey and distinguished principal, often the picture of midwestern amiability or, what the students of Lincoln called “Dad Energy” had given way to a crouched, chastised slouch.

Sydney Adamu-Berzatto rarely got mad, but when she did the reverberation of one of her high pitch rants could humble world leaders and crumble empires.

A chill ran up Junior’s spine.

Just wait until we get home.

---

“No TV, no video games, you are so grounded, I swear on all things Julia Childs, you’re lucky we could swing you only a week of I.S.S and missing a baseball game!”

They were in Dad’s car. Mom was too angry to drive back to The Block and was determined for some reason to ride back in Dad’s car back home, with Junior. As they rounded a turn onto the highway, Junior almost imagined through his good eye (the bag of peas was lukewarm at this point, but the added pressure was alleviating the pain) that his dad winked at him.

“Mom, I’m so sorry-“

“Save the sorry. And you better get those arms of yours ready, because you are going to be busting your beige behind on dishes in The Block this weekend. Best! Believe that!” She spat; her leather jacket-clad arms folded. Her bracelets clinging with every shift she made in the car seat. 

The rest of the ride, the walk up the porch steps, through the living room and into the kitchen bore the soundtrack of Mom’s mutterings, inventing varied and creative ways that Junior would be on punishment for the rest of his life.

As his dad hung his car keys on the nailed bronzed ladle that held the rest of the family's keys. This lecture would be another “funny-in-the-future for the grandkids” sort of story that would enrapture the future romantic partners of Junior and Lily being consumed with awe about how tight-knit the Adamu-Berzatto clan, both biological or through friendship, were. Still are.

 

Carmen studied the wound-up frame of his wife as she paced across the kitchen. He fought to keep a bemused smile off his face. The last time he had seen her this tightly wound, he remembered concurring with the idea that Richie deserved to get stabbed in the ass.

Speaking of asses…

It was bad enough, Carmy was obsessed with his wife. Beyond his children and his love of cooking, there was one other passion he could never quite exorcise from his heart.

Even after nearly two decades, two award-winning restaurants, two beautiful, genius kids…

The two cheeks that made up his wife’s posterior would be his favorite work of art. Plump, rotund and curving into sumptuous thighs and the narrowest waist he’d ever seen on a woman, her voice merely acted as-

“Carm! Hello! Do you agree?” Sydney paused on her heel, her long elegant wool-draped arms flinging around with irritation, her generous stack of thin, gold bangles clinking around with fervor.

“Hpm? Agree with?” He trailed off. Sydney rolled her eyes and tilted her chin down, walking closer to the kitchen island. He loved it when she was wound up. It was so hot. 

“Military school.” She said, with a quirked eyebrow, her voice oozing with snark.

Carmy smirked, nodding quickly. “Very funny.”

“I had to get your attention. You were like, on fucking planet Mars.” she said, breathing deeply, trying her self-soothing technique.

His synapses fired, landing on a particularly memorable moment….

It was the last day of a trip to Lake Michigan. Nearly 16 years ago…

Carmy walked languidly around the kitchen island, walking up to Sydney and brushing her long, thin braids away from her face. Her eyes widened as his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Babe-“

“Mmmm…” He snuggled his face in the crux of her neck, taking a whiff of the familiar sweetness of powder, cocoa butter and that perfume he loved so much.

“Baby? What are you doing.” She said, her voice uneven with surprise and a tinge of tenderness. Her shoulders fell and her breathing became more considered.

“You smell amazing.”

“Uh, thanks. But what punish-“

“Remember that time, at Nat’s place on the Lake?”

---

“So, what’s it like? The other dark meat?” Blake chuckled, the glint of his beer bottle catching the corner of Carmy’s eye.

It had been leading up to this. The snide remark about “woke” when Sydney politely asks that the word “retard” not be used to describe a junior analyst at Blake’s firm. It started with Carmy catching Blake staring at his wife, the mother of his future child’s ass, when she leaned over to grab a water bottle from the cooler after a swim. It built up when during a late night where everyone sans Sydney and Carmy were sloshing around in booze and the uncomfortable topic of politics came up, with each person but Blake confirming their place on the ‘Center-Left’ political spectrum.

Natalie, Pete and Jazmin donated to the Democratic National Committee and went to fundraisers.

Sydney was a socialist with a love of La Cornue cookery. (Capitalism had perks.)

Carmy and Antony were Bernie-Bro progressives.

Lottie was an ‘independent.’

Blake, on the other hand was a “Libertarian."

'I don’t really care for THAT guy. Too much tax and spending. He’s not a real finance guy anyway.’

 

 

But what really sent Carmy into his “no good blood as hot as ragu, Donna-raised” Berzatto" temper was the next sentence that came out of the smug bastard’s mouth.

“I hear they are amazing at head.”

Carmy was not sure when it happened. When he calmly placed his plate of Swedish meatballs down on the patio rail. He could not remember when his right fist curled into a ball and he swung with gusto, landing square in Blake’s face.

The first time, he had not put together the way the smug bastard’s head bounced back like he was a crash test dummy in a commercial accident. He had not cognitively registered that he gave him two rapid body blows that would land the smug bastard in the hospital with bruised ribs, a broken nose and two missing front teeth.

Nothing would register until his darling wife did the only thing, she could think to do to snap him out of his haze of primal violence was screaming the secret they fought the whole weekend to keep under wraps.

“WE ARE PREGNANT!”

---

Junior stared open mouth at his father. His bruised eye was watery and had blurred half of his sight, but out of his good eye, the familiar face of his father; the large, owl-like eyes, the aquiline nose, the thin pink lips and the coiffed sandy curls, delicately greying on the sideburns was the picture of warmth and love.

“Why are you telling me this?” Junior inquired, fighting between shock and amazement. His parents were always his heroes. Emotionally intelligent, funny and just, well, flat-out cooler than most of his friend’s parents.

His father took a deep breath and smiled, his dimples popping in his reddened cheeks.

“Son, you were announced to your family in the middle of a fight. It is destiny that you would kick the asses of some homophobic punks picking on your cousin Eva.” There was a familiar glint of mischief in his Dad’s eye. The kind that would appear when Uncle Richie would accidentally let a lewd joke slip at Sunday Dinner.

Junior smiled a tight smile, back trying not to irritate his bad eye.

He really was Carmen fucking Berzatto, Jr.

Chapter 20: My Big Fat, High Italian Baptism

"Remind me again, why is this not a CP that Donna will be at the baptism?" Natalie Berzatto intoned. Sydney Adamu-Berzatto was standing in the doorway of her and Carmy's den.

Her husband was in usual homebody mode – grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and his permanent gold chain. He was lounging in the chintzy loveseat. However, what would typically set Sydney's libido ablaze instead melted her heart because Junior was cradled in his firm, muscular arms. If not for her and Natalie's ritual "pre-Berzatto family event" Facetime, she would have resolved why 'Goodfellas' was inappropriate for father-son bonding content.

'Carm, babe,' she said, breathing deeply to contain her annoyance the last time she came home from The Block to see Carmy watching 'Rounders' while trying to burb Junior.

'I'm helping our son curate good fucking taste. It's a classic!'

He insisted on all the earnestness he would deploy when discussing changing the season's menu.

"Because I told him I was putting in my piercings if he kept his cool around Donna,"

Sydney said with a smirk. Natalie's brows furrowed with confusion. The dim light of her living room gave her Berzatto blue eyes a twinkle of realization and disgust.

"Ew, dude, embargo!" Natalie shot back, deploying the safe word to save her from having to hear about her sister-in-law's (and, by extension, her brother's) overactive sex life.

"Sorry," Sydney replied sheepishly, walking away toward the doorway and up the stairs toward her and Carmy's bedroom.

"So, the plan is clear, get through this-"

"-block and tackle if Donna is anywhere near Carm-"

"-and don't forget the Brownies." Sydney finished before she reached the threshold of the bedroom.

Tomorrow will be smooth… Right?

 

---

"Carm!" Sydney yelled. They were keeping pace on what would be, or at least what they hoped would be a chill family affair. Carmy, in the sunny master bathroom – his face smeared with shaving cream heard his wife exclaim. A small smile crept on his lips, as evident from his reflection in their vanity mirror. He sighed deeply, placing his razor blade on the bathroom counter and shuffling toward Junior's bedroom.

 

When he opened the door to their only son's bedroom, Syd was a picture of radiance. Her long, boho braids were fresh, tinted with caramel highlights, and styled half-up, half-down. Her shapely figure was tastefully on display in a linen A-line dress. However, the heavenly, almost biblically scenic image of his wife and son, backlit by the morning rays permeating the large windows, was undercut by the creamy splotch of spit up and his little guy's wet yet happy round face. Carmy raced over to pick Junior out of Sydney's arms as she wordlessly flounced out of the room to change her dress.

He'd buy her another one.

Junior babbled, his hands flopping happily at being the center of his parent's world. Carmy cradled his little boy to his chest and softly kissed his loose, chestnut waves. His large, deep eyes were wide with joy.

However, the peace and tranquility of him enjoying his baby-lotioned-infused bundle of joy was interrupted by the familiar hum of a car. He walked over to the bay window and peered down to see the black Porche Cayenne that belonged to his sister. As Junior began to smush his two meaty hands on his father's cheeks, playing with the remnants of shaving cream left from his uncompleted shave, Carmy titled his head back to stare at the sky-blue walls and the cloud decals he and Sydney had spent a cozy winter morning a little over a year ago sticking on the ceiling.

 

'I can't wait to have our little bean have the childhood I didn't,' he whispered softly, staring at his pregnant wife in awe.

She continued to stare at the ceiling, trying to fight the tears escaping her eyes… The idea of their little bubble of joy being punctured by the bullshit of his past was all too real.

Sydney, Natalie, and, to a lesser extent, Richie all went out of their way during weddings, birthdays, and baptisms to fence Donna away from Carmy and mitigate any ugly repeats of the holiday's past. It was a routine; Carmy pretended not to notice.

Sydney spoke FaceTime with Natalie in hushed tones on nights (like last night) or lulls of chatter where the three of them were clearly strategizing on how to keep glasses of wine out of Donna's hands. He pretended like he did not see or know it.

However, he would show his gratitude by whipping up dinner for Natalie and Pete or giving Sydney a backrub after a long evening of being the ultimate Berzatto family whisperer. She could cajole and make Cicero laugh, be the sister Richie never had, and do what no woman who bore the last name Berzatto could do – make Donna decenter herself and her ego when the old gang got together. She also respected his wishes to limit his interaction with her and Junior. However, the deep sigh he let lose was his body and his guilt catching up with the fact that sooner or later, he would have to stare down Donna and stop leaving it to his loved ones to block and tackle when it came to all things Donna.

Carmy could hear the security system chime, signaling that someone had entered his home. He adjusted Junior onto his hip and strolled out of the bedroom down the stairs while looking at his sister's head as she entered the doorway of his house. She was dressed in a grey sweatsuit, her face made-up and contoured. Her blond waves were locked away in large purple curlers.

"Yo!" He greeted a little too loudly, the mischievous minor bro instinct flooding to the surface. He smiled as Junior shrieked joyfully at his aunt, slightly jumping with surprise and mild irritation.

"Jesus' fuck, Carm!" Natalie placed her cell phone on the mahogany hallway stand. "

Watch your language." He shot back jokingly and tilted his head toward Junior in his arm. Natalie rolled her eyes.

"Will you bring my nephew down the steps and stop being a dick?"

Natalie said with mock confectionary in her voice as she fluttered her fingers with a big smile up at Junior, who was waving furiously back at his aunt. Before Carmy could bring his left hand up to flip off his sister, Sydney's soft footsteps shifted his focus.

"Natalie, ugh! Thank God you are here. I need your help." Carmy's eyebrows shot up, giving his robe-clad wife a look of inquiry. They shared a look as Syd walked over and placed a soft kiss on their little one's head.

"I just need help with shoes."

Carmy's eyes narrowed, but they would talk about it on their way to the church.

Huh.

"On it!" Natalie intoned, opening the door to go back to her car.

"Sug, our bedroom is this way," Carmy said, bemused, his eyes shining with mockery.

"Dude, I keep extra pairs of Manolos in my car. Now, I have some things for you all, so please put this away," she said, waving a Trader Joe's bag he had not noticed.

Maybe he'd be able to squeeze a snack in….

---

"How late?" Natalie intoned, her mouth hanging open. It was all a rouse. Sydney knew precisely what shoes she would be wearing. She had a trusty pair of Stuart Weizman's that would be kind to her feet after a long day of her nephew's Baptism. Like all Berzatto family baptisms, the cumulation would not be a quaint living room mixer with dry wine and canapes. The post-church ceremony would be a banquet hall with 200 members of a sprawling family, thick with the smoke of cigars, the floral sweetness of parfums, and the sumptuous trays of Italian-American cuisine.

Sydney stared into her sister-in-law's eyes, breathing deeply. If her husband's eyes were portals to her own undoing, from the tearfulness that swam under his lids when he cradled Junior for the first time to the first night they made love, Natalie's eyes could loosen her tongue to the truth.

"Fuck! I went to pee; I checked my phone-"Her voice got stuck in her throat.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since her last period.

That would place it in a far enough window removed from when she would. When he would. When they went on a Napa Valley' Mommy & Daddy' trip and the night before they flew back to Chicago… They had a little too much wine, and then Syd had pulled the blunt from her bra as she slid out of her romper and undressed for him.

One thing leads to another…

'Fuck!' Carmy intoned, red-faced, sputtering hips as Sydney started showing off, rolling her hips as the softness of her buttcheeks against his firm thighs changed from a percussive bounce to a sensual roll. Her head was thrown back, her thick curls sticking to her back as a hot lick of heat rolled from the bowls of her womb to the tip of his girth. As she contracted around him, she leaned over him, stroking his cheek with her left hand, her ring gliding across the stubble of his cheek to her right hand, running through his sweaty curls. They locked their eyes; she bit her lower lip as his mouth fell open, his eyes rolling in the back of his head-

"Syd!"

"What?"

"Focus, please!"

"No need, I definitely am."

 

Carmy unpacked the Trader Joe's bag while Junior played with his blocks on the high table. Some fancy as fuck teas, matcha, which they definitely were running out of and- Today is a cheat day.

If he was going to load up on pasta, what would a Brownie or two hurt?

---

"Donna!" Sydney exclaimed a little too loudly. However, something rather peculiar happened. Her ball of tension, which she called a husband, was lately more like an overweight gerbil on a wheel, in motion but steady. However, the complete lack of a reaction was beyond taking a sip of water and placing a protective arm around the back of her chair as if they were having movie night on the sofa. Sydney smoothed out her floral halter dress and tried to gauge Carmy's profile for any side of anxiousness. Nothing.

'Hi Carmy.' Donna said, her voice was a little shaky. With good reason, the last time they had been in the same room was right after Sydney had given birth to Junior, and she stopped by the house. Suffice to say the visit was cut short when Donna made an unfortunate observation:

'His hair is more like Carmy's than I thought. Who knew?'

 

Donna ended up in an Uber home in 15 minutes flat.

 

"Hi, Ma," Carmy said, finding solace in rubbing Sydney's bare shoulder.

Sydney stared at her man, almost mouth agape at his calmness. Sydney turned up her face at her mother-in-law, taking the woman in. Courtesy of Nat, the fresh blowout and brocade skirt suit were gleaming under the dim banquet room chandeliers.

Her thin lips, rouged with red lipstick, pursed as her dark eyes watered. Her son stayed calm. There was no reaction, no friction—just a picture of debonair bliss. His hair was elegantly tousled, and his white dress shirt was crisp and tailored to his chiseled physique.

No reaction.

Nothing. Just calm.

Donna would walk away, and that calm would continue.

Seated at a table with some of Pete's amiable collection of striving family members, bragging about which kid was going to Cornell, Ann Arbor, or Duke. Pete's smiley aunt with a stiff forehead that broadcasted a Botox addiction was happily chirping about the investment property she was interested in buying in Florida when Carmy leaned over and whispered the filthiest thing she had heard him say since, well, the last time they had sex.

"I want to eat your pussy in and out." He whispered. Sydney made the mistake of sipping her second glass of Pinot Noir when he did it. She fought everything to not spit out her sip. In doing so, she attracted funny looks from Pete's relatives while her husband leaned back, brushing his fingers along her shoulders as his arm rested on the back of her chair. She swallowed her sip and made eye contact with him. His blue eyes were stormy with need.

Something about his lips in the dim lights and the room's warmth heated her blood. The bolt of longing that shot through her groin made her forget her suspicion, which had been clawing at her from the time they got out of the car and into the church earlier. While she had fidgeted nervously in the pews, Carmy placed a steady hand on her knee. When they held their nephew over the water basin as the priest scooped holy water, cementing their roles as Michael Jr.'s godparents, he locked eyes with her and winked playfully, endearing a smile and for Sydney to realize she needed to breathe. On a day when she thought she would be handling Donna away from Carmy, Carmy had calmed and eased her.

 

However, the spark of lust that normally overtook Sydney's senses – the ones that involved her giving him head in her office the night The Block won its first Michelin star evaporated quickly. Because by the time Carmy was whispering in a hazy trance about wanting to 'fuck her with her heels on,' she realized Carmy had probably gotten into the brownies when she and Natalie were fretting about her condition.

---

For the second time today, Natalie was locked in a closet (this time a coat closet) outside the banquet hall, staring at her sister-in-law as she paced back and forth.

"Well, at least we know why he was so calm." Natalie snarked.

Even in her state of distress, Sydney halted, cocking her head as her face hardened. She would fight anyone over her Carmy.

Even her best friend and his sister.

"He helped me calm down today," Sydney said with a wry smile, her voice sharp, implying, "Watch it!"

Natalie caught the hint and nodded in silent acknowledgment. She was moving on. Before Sydney could continue to worry about how many brownies and how long Carmy's high would be, the familiar face of Richie peered in the coat room. They all froze. Richie turned on his heel and turned back around as if looking for cameras to let him know he was being "Punk'd."

"I'm going to step back out if this is a Donna thing."

"It's not a Donna thing, or..." Natalie cautiously trailing off, her eyes fixed on Sydney, trying to read with bestie telepathy how much they would be sharing with Richie. The sound of fast footsteps became louder, unveiling a flushed Pete. Never had an interruption from Pete been more welcome. Sydney could have blurted out, 'My husband is high as a kite, and I'm pregnant.'

"Hey guys,

"Honey, is this the best time for-"

"Donna and Carmy went out for a cigarette. I tried to stop it, but…"

Sydney was not sure when her conscious left her body. She could not sense when she lost contact with gravity and the slam of long weeks, her Food & Wine cover story about to come out, and throwing herself fully back into work… Her vision blackened, and her body fell into the velvety hug of a faint.

 

Pete and Richie caught her before she hit the ground.

"Shit. She's gonna kill him when she remembers he's smoking again."

"Shut up, Pete."

---

Those were definitely weed brownies. Carmy thought. He should have grabbed a coat. He could have avoided this. He reached into the pockets of his dress pants to pull a box of American Spirits. He definitely was going to be in the extra bedroom for a week. What the hell. He might as well sneak a smoke.

"Can you give me a light?" Donna asked quietly, flipping her long blond bang out of her face.

Carmy sighed deeply. The fog of the night's chill filled his face.

To Be Continued…