Chapter Text
"So, what is this show called anyways?"
I ask my younger cousins, who are all huddled up in blankets in front of a couch and a TV screen. I can count myself lucky I managed to snag a whole armchair for myself. That isn't always the case during
post-Christmas-Dinner-TV-binge watching. The living room in my Aunt's house can fit around fifteen people in it and my family is testing these limits every year. I don't truly know how we always manage, but if we couldn't, I guess Aunt Mary would just rebuild and expand the house because I don't think anyone can imagine spending Christmas anywhere else. The fact that I haven't lived in USA for over 10 years and still spend my hard-earned money on plane tickets more than proves that.
"What?! Ain't no way you never heard of it. It's Hell's Kitchen! With Gordon Ramsay? How could you never hear of that, you own a frickin restaurant and Ramsay is like a god in the cooking world!" comes an aggravated response. That would be Terry, my youngest cousin who evidently has much more time to watch cooking shows without having a clue how to boil an egg.
"Give her a break, bro. Can't blame her when she lives under the rock most of the year." rolls her eyes Terry's older sister Jane.
"Well, aren't you two precious. Haven't got time to watch it anyhow. Don't bother visiting any time soon, seeing as you'll have very hard time finding me under all them rocks." I tease them as I stand and walk to the kitchen to grab some more snacks. I can't really feel insulted because compared to Boston suburbs, my small town in Ireland isn't all that big to be honest. Still, it is a place I hapilly call home and what's more, a place where love of my life resides. Harbour is a restaurant that isn't the best or the grandest of them all, but it is mine. It is a product of 6 years of sweat, tears and sheer god damned stubbornness and this year is all the more special because it finally seems that it just won't come crashing down as soon as I close my eyes.
"Heyy, Y/n?" breaks my train of thought Anna, my best friend and cousin in one. She is also a reason why I keep coming back to America. Not only did we practically grew up together here, but also stayed friends despite me moving to a whole new continent.
"Hey, was I spaced out again?"
"Eh, more like daydreamed out, really." she smirks. "At this rate, you'll have to start gathering signatures, so they can legally let you marry that place!"
"I have no idea what you're on about."
"Well, of course you don't. You can't hear anything over the constant Harbour, harbour, harbour that's going on and off in your head!"
"Okay, okay. Shut it you dork." I punch her in the shoulder playfully.
"No, but seriously now. You should loosen up a bit, you know? Have some fun for a moment, instead of just thinking about work everyday, all day.." she nudges me with a mischievous smile on her freckled face.
"I sense a trap somewhere in this, Anns." comes my reply.
"Whaat? What trap? No traps around here! Just a very relaxing night.. In a club.. with lots of pretty drinks and maybe even lotsofprettyguys-"
"Oh my god"
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And so I found myself in a club on New Year's Eve. A bit tipsier than I'd like, I admit.
"We- we are soo drunk."
"Bollox! The Drunk wouldn't recognize us, if we passed her on the street!" I trip over my own heels (which regret wearing just a tiny little bit) and have to grab a nearby wall to keep myself upright. "See? No Drunkin' around here, no, no.." and with that finish I end up sitting on the nearest stair.
"Girl! You're hammered to hell!" laughs Anna, who is only a bit better off than I am.
In the end, after Anns' unsucessful hunt for some boys, we decide to call it a day and crash at her place at graceful 1AM in the morning. A prime time for only the best ideas. So, as I'm trying not to fall asleep by the kitchen island, while Anna is preparing her midnight snack, one of these ideas strikes me.
"Hey, Anns. You think the cooking show the kids were watching on Christmas has like these- loong application forms, you have to like, tell them your whole life story?"
"What are you even talking about?" comes a tired question from my friend.
"Because it would be so funny if I, y'know, applied, and- and had no clue what it was about... y'know?" I'm lying across the barstools next to the kitchen island. With no answer from my friend, I begin to google 'hells kitchen apply' and wait for whatever pops up. Suprisingly, the first result is just what I needed, Hell's Kitchen Casting. I giggle to myself as I enter all the information requested.
"You doing okay down there?"
"They don't even want to know if I have tragic backstory or anything, laame." is my response to that, as I happily skip all the boring questions. "Cooking experience? What should I write, Annie?"
"You're gotta be kidding me. Are you actually filling in the application?" she goes round the island to look at my screen. "You're really doing, Jesus Christ."
"Come oon, it's not like they're gonna choose me, silly- Ohh, they're asking me if I have a partner! Oh my God, yes I do! His name is.. Har Bour. Together for? 6 years. He's the best."
"You're not a woman, you're a clown. An actual C.L.O.W.N. Clown." mumbles Anna, covering her face with her hands.
"As for the professional cooking experience, I don't know, about nine years now?" I pause for a second. "Wow, I'm getting old."
"You're thirty-one, stop moaning about it." disagrees my friend, who is half a year older than I am, and yet, with her cheery chocolate eyes and waist-long blonde hair, doesn't look a day over 25.
Slowly, but surely, we go through the whole application form together and mostly manage to stick to the facts and keep the fairytales to the minimum. The most troublesome question proves to be the one about current occupation in 'Experience and work' section.
"I mean, you cannot just write you have your own restaurant, when the price is your own new restaurant.." says Anna. "And Ramsay would eat you alive if he knew. He was be ruthless to some people who said they were experienced and then messed up the first service."
"But it-" I start, "and don't start with 'but it's Harbour, it's special' because, yeah I get it, but firstly, this is different and secondly, you already have Har fucking Bour as your boyfriend, so now you would just sound like someone with a very weird kink."
To that I have no argument, so 'sous chef' it is.
"Okay, I feel like I'm about to pass out. Let's just get this over with." I yawn and mindlessly press the 'Send' button.
"I can't believe you actually sent that." Anna stares at me incredulously.
"Come on, it'll probably bite me in the ass later, if ever." I wave her off and head towards the bedroom.