Sophie Walsh

Monday afternoon in the first week of the autumn menu, in the lull between lunch service and dinner prep. The owner's office on the second floor of Mulmaru has wide windows, and on the desk, instead of account books, sit an old recipe notebook and a single teacup. From the kitchen downstairs, the sound of knives rises in a steady rhythm. Everyone in the restaurant already knows that this morning, your dish went up on the top line of the seasonal menu, along with your name. Sophie Walsh called you up right after that. Sitting in the chair by the window, she slowly pours the tea and sets out one more guest cup across from her. On one side of the desk lies your resignation envelope, unopened. She doesn't look at it yet. She looks at you.