Midday had brought an unexpected surge of customers to the Big Root.
The arrival of spring was beginning to be felt in the air, though winter's final breath still lingered in the streets. Windows fogged by kitchen steam revealed a vibrant sidewalk bustling with sun and movement: couples strolling, children eating ice cream, and customers entering the establishment looking for more than just hot food. They sought refuge. Flavor. Routine.
Tomás moved back and forth in the kitchen, his arms bare, sleeves rolled up, and forehead beaded with sweat. The heat from the griddle soaked him, but it no longer bothered him. He knew it. It was part of the job. Around him, the chaos had a rhythm, a secret order he had learned to follow: the sizzling of potatoes in oil, the sharp thud of the knife on the cutting board, the accelerated chant of orders that kept pouring in.
Don Giorgio was behind the griddle, as always, as if he were a natural extension of his body, but that morning something about his posture had been off from the start. Tomás had noticed it the moment he walked in: the slower movements, the muffled groans, the way he briefly leaned on the counter between one burger and another, as if he needed to buy time to breathe.
"Everything alright, Don Giorgio?" he asked during a fleeting break.
The old man shook his head and smiled, forcedly. "I'm old, boy. Bones aren't made of flesh and will anymore. They're made of unpaid bills and a crooked back."
The phrase, though said in a mocking tone, held a truth that hung in the air like grease at the bottom of a pan.
At three in the afternoon, when the surge hadn't ended and the skillets were still roaring over the fire, Giorgio finally dropped the spatula with a sigh. "I can't go on, Tomás," he said, with a tremor in his voice he didn't usually show. "My back is killing me."
Tomás stopped cutting potatoes and turned to him. "Then go home, Don Giorgio. I'll take care of it."
"What if something burns?"
"Nothing will burn. Trust me. I've been on the griddle before. And I know your system."
The old man looked at him, his eyes red from fatigue, but also with a sparkle that wasn't from pain, but from pride.
"You have steady hands, boy. And a good head."
He took off his apron with slow, almost ceremonial movements, as if he were shedding armor. He held it out to Tomás. "Take care of it as if it were your own. And don't let Alelí burn the bread," he added in a lower voice, almost like a secret.
Tomás nodded, receiving the apron with both hands. In that silent gesture, there was something that went beyond work: it was a vow of trust, a symbolic inheritance. For the first time, the Big Root would be entirely under his command.
Giorgio turned with effort, saluted Alelí with a tip of his cap, and disappeared through the back door, leaving behind an aroma of spices, sweat, and years of accumulated work.
Tomás stepped behind the griddle. The sound of the heat greeted him with a roar. He looked at the order panel, the endless line of tickets that kept printing. He took a deep breath. It was his turn to hold down the fort.
"Alelí, three 'Big Roots' with double fries and extra onion!" he shouted, his voice firm.
She gave a thumbs-up, saying nothing, but with a smile of relief.
Tomás moved quickly. He flipped burgers, sautéed onions, assembled plates, cleaned as he went. There was no rest, but he didn't need it either. In every movement, he felt he belonged there.
The clock moved relentlessly forward. Outside, the light began to fade, turning the world golden. Inside, the pace of work remained frantic, but no one stopped. There was a strange kind of joy in that tiredness, a sense of mastery, of belonging. Of deserving to be where he was.
When the last customer left, and the metal curtain came down with its usual harsh sound, Tomás stood for a few seconds alone in front of the griddle, his arms still tense and his hands red from the heat.
He leaned on the counter, exhaling slowly.
And then he thought of Don Giorgio.
"How did he endure so many years?" he wondered softly.
He didn't say it with pity. He said it with awe. With respect.
And with a new certainty:
that kitchen wasn't sustained by hands alone.
It was sustained by soul.
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The clock read 8:45 PM when Laura pulled down the metal curtain of the Big Root. The final click, dry and metallic, echoed inside the diner like a sound of closure. Finally, the day was over. Tomás was in the kitchen, tidying up the last utensils, his apron already stained with grease, onion, and some flour he didn't remember using.
Laura entered the establishment from the back door, where she had been on the phone with one of the suppliers. Her cheeks were still flushed from the night's chill. Her steps were slow, but there was a lightness in her shoulders that Tomás hadn't seen in weeks.
"Looks like we survived another day," she said, leaning against the doorway leading to the kitchen.
Tomás looked up and gave her a tired smile. "With more customers than usual… maybe it's spring."
"Or maybe…" Laura walked towards him, taking off her coat, "…it's because the numbers are finally starting to balance out. A little."
Tomás stared at her, tilting his head, as if trying to decipher if she was serious. "Really? Does that mean we're no longer in 'total emergency' mode?"
Laura laughed, a soft laugh that escaped her as if she wasn't quite allowed to enjoy it fully. "Not yet, but it feels like the rope is loosening from our necks for a few days."
Tomás put down the knife he was cleaning and rested his palms on the stainless steel counter. "Then that's exactly when your dad should start resting more."
"What?"
"He had to leave halfway through the shift today. He was clearly not well. He'll never say it, but it was obvious." Tomás paused, looking down before continuing. "If things keep improving, at least on the days I come to cover the shift, he should stay home."
Laura looked at him, crossing her arms tightly. "He won't want to."
"But he has to. If he gets truly sick… I don't even want to think about it."
"I'll talk to him," she finally said, with a more serious expression. "But you know how he is… he clings to that kitchen as if his life depends on it."
"Maybe…" Tomás looked at her with a knowing glance, "…because it does depend on it. But that doesn't mean he has to wear himself out completely. The restaurant can also go on without him carrying everything alone. You have Alelí. You have me."
Laura lowered her gaze slightly, as if those words touched her more than she thought. "Thank you, Tomás."
He shrugged, making light of the matter. "I'm here because I want to be. I like this place. I like working with you… even if sometimes you seem more like a boss than a colleague," he added with a smile.
She smiled too, tired but genuine. "That was almost a compliment."
"It was exactly a compliment."
Both laughed softly. The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Laura walked over to the counter and sat on one of the high stools, watching him finish drying the utensils.
"I don't know how you did it today. Covering the whole shift alone in the kitchen is… a lot. More than it seems."
"I ask myself the same thing," Tomás joked. "But I think it was the kind of day where you understand why it's worth enduring."
Laura looked at him intently. And without saying it, she felt he wasn't just talking about the restaurant. "I owe you a burger," she finally said. "I've seen how you handle this without complaining, and not everyone would."
"A burger isn't enough," Tomás replied, feigning indignation. "At least it should be fries with double sauce."
"Deal."
Both laughed once more. And for a few seconds, the Big Root felt warmer, more their own. As if their shared work had woven something between them that was no longer just professional, but personal. A real bond.
Tomás finished cleaning and hung up his apron. When he turned around, Laura was still sitting on the stool, looking at the floor.
"Everything alright?" he asked, approaching.
"Yes…" she said, looking up. "It's just that… for a moment, I thought all of this was going to get out of hand. And now, even if it's not perfect, I have the feeling it's going to be okay. And that's strange. Strange and beautiful."
Tomás nodded. "I also think it's going to be okay."
She smiled at him with a different kind of sweetness, and her eyes lingered on him for a second longer than necessary.
"Well," she finally said, standing up. "Come on, I'll walk you to the door."
"Aren't you going to stay and check the accounts as always?"
Laura shook her head, buttoning her coat. "Not today. Today I want to go home… with the feeling that the world isn't falling apart."
They walked out the back door together; the night was still a little cold, but the air was cleaner. Newer.
Spring finally seemed to be breaking through, slowly, amidst the rubble of winter.