For all that he’s a sneering, preening, ginormous shit, Food-zilla surprises me right out of the gate. I’m ready to suppress a cringe at the inevitable “What up, fam,” and “It’s ya boy,” but instead he calmly says to his phone’s camera, ‘Food friends, greetings. I’m Food Beast and today I’m livestreaming from the hottest new spot for the health-conscious foodie; Slim Pickings.’
I smile as he angles the phone to include me… Oh god, is that how I look when I smile?!
‘Here with me is the co-owner of Slim Pickings, Sam,’ he says with a smile and a gentle wave of the hand towards me.
A moment of painful silence stretches into eternity as I stare at my wonky face.
Divya nudges me and I jump slightly but manage to pull myself together. ‘Sole owner, actually.’
‘Oh? I thought you owned the place with your boyfriend.’
I glare at him for a moment. ‘No, not anymore.’ There’s no need to share my whole story with the internet.
Divya, however, has other ideas. ‘In fact,’ she says, voice solemn as she steps into view and Food-zilla’s phone practically moves itself to let her beauty fill the screen, ‘her boyfriend dumped her by text on opening day and left her to run Slim Pickings all alone.’
Whhhhhhyyyyy?!
I prod her in the ribs, but she just gives me a sad smile and gently tilts that damn phone back to me. I do cringe this time, but then I see the hearts and cryfaces flooding the screen. Oh… you clever bitch!
‘Uh, yeah… He did. But I have you,’ I say, turning my apparently awful smile on her, And shouldn’t you be keeping a low profile, if you’re pretending to be off sick?
The phone turns back to Food-zilla as he runs a hand through his carefully maintained messy mop of hair like he’s using the phone as a mirror. ‘Oh damn, folks did you hear that? Slim Pickings isn’t just a seriously lit place to eat,’ oh, that’s nice, I guess, ‘it’s also a tragedy and a redemption tale! Our girl Sam and her best friend making this the hottest new joint in town, all while having been left high-and-dry by a douche of an ex-boyfriend.’
The reacts keep flooding the screen, along with so many comments praising me and threatening Brann that I can barely keep up. Other customers are watching now too, whispering to each other and looking at me with a strange mix of pity and admiration. Could this actually work out having been a good thing?
Blessed Divya takes the lead from there, showing the viewers around the diner, even showing them the kitchen, while I follow along dumbly. She keeps up a steady patter so well that even Food-zilla doesn’t interrupt her; this is her show now. She praises me often, bigs herself up a little too which is totally fair and remembers to name the diner and say its location repeatedly—something I hadn’t even considered.
By the time Food-zilla is done with his livestream my phone is blowing up with new followers and likes, my head is swimming, and Divya is practically glowing.
Food-zilla thanks me, and honestly seems almost human while doing it. Binfluencer gives me a small smile and a curt nod and the two of them finally leave. The other customers return to their meals, once more filling the diner with the buzz of conversation.
I give Divya a huge hug, squeeing an adorable squeak out of her.
‘Oh my God thank you!’ I blurt. ‘You were amazing, you’re a natural.’
She blushes and pushes me back enough to see my face, keeping her hands on my arms. ‘Let’s just say I have some experience in front of a camera.’ She winks and releases me, sashaying dramatically as she heads back to the kitchen. ‘But this place is all you, babes,’ she adds over her shoulder.
No, it’s us. I wouldn’t have made it this far without her.
***
Come on, I can do this.
It’s been five days: one more day and then we close for a day, and I can breathe. Because fuck me has it been a time! Things only got crazier after the livestream. From the very next day we were taking bookings because we didn’t have enough table space for walk-ins, and Divya extended her sick leave to stay by my side.
On Wednesday, the air frier immolated. A cool word for a very un-cool event.
On Thursday, the blender started screaming when in use, and we found rats in the chiller.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
On Friday, we had to close for a few hours so an exterminator could take care of the rats. They mean to show up before opening but, of course, they decided to show up like the Ghostbusters just before the lunch rush.
And throughout I’ve continued to worry about something: how healthy is this food, really?
The gluten-free breads have so many ingredients in them I got wrist-cramp trying to Google them all. The burgers have more random fats in them than the cheapest beef. The pre-made smoothie mixes I’d had to buy because chopping fruit was taking too long have more sugar in them than the fizzy drinks. And for all that this was supposed to be a health food diner, I still don’t know shit about health food.
Yet again I find myself cursing Brann’s very existence.
But the pastries are good, I think to myself as I pop the last of a Danish into my mouth on the way to the door. One more day and then I can breathe. I turn the sign and open the door, stepping back to let the one constant in my week into the diner.
‘Heya, kid.’
I smile at Dad-bod as he passes. ‘My name’s Sam,’ I say, mirroring the wink he gives me in passing.
‘Oh, I know. Sorry, calling youngsters “kid” is an occupational hazard of fatherhood.’
Dude, I’m only like ten years younger than you… I think.
But I just give him my best “no worries” smile and walk with him back to the smoothie bar to s on his Smoothie-of-the-Day. ‘Cherry and Cacao today, sound good?’
His face lights up and he plonks himself on a barstool. ‘Hell yeah it does! You’re like a health food goddess, ki- ah, Sam.’ He cringes a bit at the slip but I just grin at him and turn to start adding the prepared and portioned smoothie mix to the blender.
‘Not really, to be honest I just grabbed a selection of mixes and I’m calling a different one the Smoothie-of-the-Day each day.’
‘Don’t go letting everyone peek behind the curtain, Sam.’ He says behind me, his voice suddenly serious. ‘Your reputation is a big part of your success so far.’
I freeze, finger hovering over the “make way too much fucking noise” button on the damned blender. I turn back to Dad-bod, who’s staring at me intently.
I glance around the diner before saying, ‘I… I’m feeling out of my depth, honestly.’ I can’t seem to bring myself to look him in the eye.
Am I worried about disappointing him?!
He places a hand on mine for just a moment, long enough for the warm solidity of him wrapping my hand up to draw my eyes to his. He seems less sweaty every day.
‘You’ve got this, Sam. I don’t come here every day because of your sunny demeanour.’ He jolts for a moment and he’s right back to being that cute, nervous mess. ‘I mean, I do, but I also come here because your food is fantastic, and I feel so much better eating here instead of a burger place or something. You’re helping.’
I give him a bashful smile of my own and he leans back in his barstool, the synthetic leather squeaking.
‘Look, Sam, I know a lot of your customers right now are just trend seekers, looking to take part in the new hotness.’ He sighs, glancing out the window at the rain-soaked streets, his face scrunching at the temples where his curly hair is going the greyest. ‘But what you’re offering here is more valuable than just another social media trend. You’re doing something good.’
He seems so intense like this, with none of the usual man-child energy and nerves. I just watch him, staring at the lines in his tanned face that make him look so serious, despite how playful he usually is.
‘I…’ He turns back to me, looks me in the eye for just a moment, then glances away again as if afraid I’d judge him for the tears I see there. ‘I’m sick, Sam. I’ve got liver disease, the fatty kind. My liver’s all covered in fat deposits, making it harder for it to do its thing.’
I exhale slowly, afraid to move, like I’m alone in the woods with a wild deer.
‘Joan left us a year ago… left me and the kids. She didn’t even bother trying to get custody. I’ve been trying to do it all myself ever since, but now this? I swear I can feel it sometimes, too; like my liver’s overheating, spreading warmth across my body.’ He traces a hand over his belly and up his chest, then stops and looks back up at me, face somehow even more serious. ‘You are helping me beat this, Sam. You are helping me survive it. You are helping make sure my kids always have a dad.’
Fuck. I’m crying. And not the internet “I’m crying” bullshit, I’m actually crying. His hand moves slowly, wrapping mine up again, and he says with a bright smile, ‘So how about that smoothie?’
***
Once Dad-bod has finished his smoothie—leaving me with a racing mind and an obscene tip—I spend the rest of the day online, learning everything I can about health food. And about fatty liver disease.
The rain keeps away most of the customers, which makes my study easier but is probably not great for business.
Turns out I was right to worry; most of the stuff I’m serving is so full of junk that it’s actually worse than if I was just selling greasy cheeseburgers. I scroll through article after article on Ultra Processed Foods with mounting horror, and the amount of bizarre chemicals in the foods I’m selling is a serious issue. For every social post about the virtues of a given “superfood” there are a slew of blog posts warning of the product’s dangers. It seems the health food industry is moving faster than the process of verifying the stuff it’s churning out, and as much as some of it really is healthy, more yet seems to be snake oil… at best.
On the bright side, if Dad-bod keeps trying to keep eating healthy he should make a full recovery. But if he keeps eating here? Probably not.
So what I’m doing is good, but it’s also bad? My head is spinning as I close up for the day, thanking the last customer as I hold the door open for them. It’s enough that even the linger smell of pastries is making me nauseous.
I walk back to the kitchen, where Divya is cleaning up, and lean against a counter.
‘Hey, Divya?’
She turns to face me, a faint sheen of sweat only serving to make her even more beautiful.
‘What’s up, babes?’ She’s got that wrinkle of concern on her brow again, I guess I look as bad as I feel.
‘Is this all a scam?’ I ask, choking on the words. ‘Am… Am I a bad person?’
She steps up to me and wraps me up in toned arms and the smell of vanilla and cardamom.
‘Babes, no,’ she whispers as I lean in and press my face into her shoulder. ‘Why would you think that?!’
And so, I tell her. I keep talking until I’m babbling and shaking and literally crying on her shoulder.
‘Fuck. OK, we’re gonna fix this.’ She squeezes me, wrapping me up in her arms and her confidence.
And I know she’s right. We’re going to fix this.
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