#118: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - Madison Food Bloom

#118: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - Madison Food Bloom
Julian Kauer

I hadn't planned on listening to the conversation. I'd gone into the living room to check a pending email, but the sound from the kitchen reached me before I even sat down. Violet had put the phone on speaker — a common habit when she was distracted. Maybe she didn’t even realize she did it anymore.

I walked closer, stopping at the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen, and just listened.

"So you’re taking care of yourself?" she asked, with that subtle concern in her voice that I could recognize from a mile away.

That tone wasn’t disguised as jealousy or over-the-top worry. It was pure affection. A kind of bond that endures time and distance. On the other end of the line, Luigi laughed.

"I don’t have a choice. If I try to order pancetta, your aunt Vera looks at me like I just crashed a sacred ritual."

I smiled to myself. I could picture the scene. Aunt Vera might have been small, but her stare was sharp as a blade. I was scared of her as a kid, even though she never did anything besides give me dirty looks.

"She loves you. And you just need to focus on taking good care of yourself now. But with a healthier heart this time, okay?"

"I promise. Everyone’s spoiling me. Your aunts, even the neighbors. I think I’ve never eaten so much homemade gluten-free bread in my life. It's terrible, by the way"

Violet’s laughter came light and easy. I found myself breathing deeper just from hearing it. That full, carefree sound had been rare in recent days.

"I’m glad. Really," she said, with a sweetness that still disarmed me whenever she let it show. "It was a hell of a scare."

"It was. But listen, Violet... I’ve accepted that you and Julian are together. Took me a while, but I did."

I hadn’t expected to hear that — not like that, so directly.

"Thank you. I know it was hard for you. But it means a lot."

"Just promise me you’ll be happy, okay? And don’t forget about us here."

"Never. Now go rest, Dad. Kiss Aunt Vera for me."

When she hung up, I knew it was time to walk in. I didn’t want her to think I was spying — even if, in a way, I was.

"I’m glad he’s recovered well," I said, stepping into the kitchen.

She turned, visibly surprised, but didn’t get defensive.

"I was in the next room," I explained, raising my hands like someone saying "harmless." "And you put it on speaker."

She laughed, looking down, maybe a little embarrassed.

"Oh. Yeah, I did. I like hearing people’s voices when I’m far from them. Makes it feel like they’re here."

I walked up to her, took the tea mug from her hand in an automatic, almost intimate gesture, took a sip, and handed it back.

"I get that. And I’m glad he is behaving."

She relaxed again against the counter.

"He is. Aunt Vera lets me know when he tries to order pizza or heavy food in secret. She’s become like a CIA agent for nutrition."

I laughed. I pictured the perfect disguise: a floral apron and eyes that didn’t forgive any excess sodium or fat.

"Relentless."

"Totally."

She looked at me with that curious sparkle that appeared when she was restless — and lately, she was almost always like that.

"So? What’s the plan for the day?"

I raised an eyebrow dramatically.

"Same as the last two days: rest."

"Julian!" she groaned, crossing her arms. "We’re going to go crazy if we keep this up. I need to do something, even if it’s cleaning windows with a Q-tip."

I laughed, already expecting this impatience.

"Calm down, little tornado. I’ve got this."

I went back to the laptop I’d left open on the living room table and turned the screen toward her with a dramatic gesture. Her expression changed as soon as her eyes landed on the banner.

Madison Food Bloom – Contemporary Gastronomy Festival.

The image of the chalet, surrounded by orange-leaved trees, was enchanting. There were details about the event: workshops, tasting stands, panels with young award-winning chefs — everything she loved.

"What’s this?" she asked, not blinking.

"A festival in Madison. Happens every year. Up-and-coming chefs, creative dishes, fermentation workshops, desserts, pairing with artisanal coffee and wine… and the chalet is near Lake Mendota. Beautiful and romantic. I nailed it."

She blinked slowly.

"This sounds… expensive."

"It is." I shrugged. "But we deserve it."

"Julian..." she narrowed her eyes. "Where’d you get the money for this?"

I smiled, looking away like I was weighing whether or not to reveal something.

"I have my investments."

"Since when?"

"Since before I met you. You just never asked."

She looked at me suspiciously, pretending she was still sizing me up, and eventually smiled.

"Okay. I’ll pretend I don’t want to know. But you know we’re going to feel rich pretending it’s normal to visit fancy and overpriced food stands, right?"

"Absolutely. And it’s going to be amazing."

"We’ll take photos pretending we care about the terroir of the cheeses."

"And comment on the aromatic notes of craft beer like sommeliers."

I reached my hand out to her. When she took it, I pulled her closer. Her body felt lighter than I remembered. She laughed, settling beside me before smelling my shirt. She did that without even noticing — and without knowing I did the same to her just to lock in her scent one more time.

"Thank you. Really. You thought of everything."

"I just thought you needed a break. Something light. Something for us. A weekend without the pressure of the restaurant, without depression and melancholy eating away your beautiful neurons."

She sighed and rested her face on my chest.

"I love when you pull me out of the chaos."

I hugged her tighter, soaking in that light, homely scent. There was cinnamon… and something else. Must’ve been what I liked, orange blossom.

"Going broke is worth it if it means your happiness."

She pulled back a little, raising an eyebrow.

"You’re joking, right?"

"Maybe," I replied with a cheeky grin. "Maybe not."

She looked at me like she was trying to figure me out but just ended up laughing.

"If we go broke, you’re going to have to make gourmet breakfast treats to sell in the square."

"I’m in. As long as you’re in the booth with me."

She raised her eyebrows.

"You on the griddle and me handling the customers? Grilled cheese combos and all?"

"You handling the customers, managing the business, running social media, and convincing everyone my cheese bread is better than their grandma’s."

She kissed me on the cheek, laughing.

"It’s a deal, chef."

I held her a little tighter for a moment, wishing that moment could last. That Madison would come soon. That the trip would lighten us up. That the world outside would wait a little while we remembered how simple — and how good — it could be just to be together.