Chapter Twenty-Eight
Janelle let me crash at her house Sunday night, not asking any questions, just trusting me when I said I’d royally fucked up. I tossed and turned on her sofa bed, trying to come up with a way to fix this situation.
Early Monday morning, my phone pinged, and I grabbed it quickly, hoping it was Cecily, only to find a text from my ex.
Saw you on Kali’s feed last night , Sam wrote. So cool you got to meet her! Hope all is well.
Immediately, I opened social media to see what Sam was talking about, and there was a photo of Kali, Jaqueline, and me lying together on a blanket under the stars in Chris’s backyard. She’d captioned it, “Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.”
Kali had publicly said I was her friend! The little queer teenager in me was freaking out. Of course Sam wrote me when she saw it. We’d gone to two Kali concerts together and listened to her albums on repeat.
I ignored the fact that I hadn’t heard from Sam in years, that she’d been horrible to me when we broke up, and that Cecily and Janelle forbade me from interacting with her since it always sent me into a downward spiral of self-loathing. Instead, I spent the next hour lying on Janelle’s sofa, secretly sending texts to Sam that got increasingly flirty and somehow ended in me agreeing to meet up with her for dinner Tuesday night in West Hollywood.
Telling Janelle I was taking myself out to a movie, I drove to meet up with my ex, feeling guilty that I was lying to my best friend and wondering if Sam would notice that I’d gained weight since we last hung out. Before I could turn around and back out, I was pulling into a spot right in front of the restaurant. I took it as a sign that Asphalta, the goddess of parking, wanted me to do this, even if everyone else in my life would think it was a horrible idea.
I texted Sam to say I’d arrived, and she responded that she was stuck in traffic, so I decided to wait in my car instead of awkwardly standing on the sidewalk. My phone pinged with a text from Drew, or Fry Guy as he was listed in my phone, and my heart dropped, like I’d been caught cheating. I pushed it aside, reminding myself that we were just friends.
Any plans tonight? he wrote. I’m going to make popcorn and watch a movie, wanna join? Catch up on what I’ve missed?
That sounds like fun, but I can’t.
Big plans with the wife and kids?
I paused, wondering how much to tell Drew, and decided honesty was the best policy. Actually, I’m meeting my ex-girlfriend for dinner. It might be a date? I don’t know.
I watched as the little text bubble popped up and down, up and down, my stomach lurching with it. After a full minute of no response, I started panicking.
Should I not have told you that? I wrote.
It’s fine. Friends tell each other these things, after all. I hope you have a good time.
They do , I agreed. Another night then? Maybe Friday?
I leave tomorrow for post-production voice-overs , he responded
I thought you weren’t leaving until Friday.
The team moved it up a couple days.
Shouldn’t you be packing or practicing your lines or something? I asked.
All packed. Lines learned long ago , he wrote as a text came through from Sam saying she’d finally arrived.
GTG now, but have fun on your trip , I told Drew.
Good luck , he responded . Don’t kill Chris while I’m gone.
No promises , I wrote, smiling as I silenced my phone. Maybe Drew and I could do this friend thing after all.
I stepped out of the car and rearranged my skirt, now wrinkled from sitting so long. I checked my lipstick in the side mirror and fluffed my hair. I’d always felt insecure around Sam, who was obsessed with “health” and had been a closeted professional athlete until she wrenched her knee, forcing her to quit sports. But things had been going well for me lately, despite the fight with Cecily. I’d truly gotten to a place of loving my body, even if some days I still didn’t like it. Which meant I was able to walk into the restaurant with more confidence than I’d felt in our whole relationship.
I tentatively approached a tall, lanky blonde standing with her back to me. It looked like Sam, but her hair had been dyed black when we dated, and she was a lot thinner now. “Sam?”
“Diana,” she greeted, turning around and reaching her hand out for mine. We shook hands, hers calloused as they’d always been, and the whole process felt weirdly formal, considering we’d dated for almost two years. “Sorry I’m late, traffic and all.”
“It’s okay,” I reassured Sam as she gave our name to the hostess.
“Are you hungry?” she asked when we sat down.
“I’m starving!” I admitted, opening the menu.
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that to your body,” Sam warned, very serious. “It’s bad for your digestion to get hungry. You should eat small meals all day.”
I wouldn’t be so hungry if you weren’t an hour late , I thought but decided to be nice and focus on reading the menu instead. A server came to take our drink order, and I requested a bourbon, neat.
“We don’t serve alcohol, but we have a delicious sugar-free lemonade with chia seeds,” the server recommended, like that was a proper substitute for whiskey.
Only in L.A. , I thought as I perused the “Thirst” part of the menu. The whole thing was green juices and infused waters, all of it organic, raw, grain-free, sugar-free, and vegan. My stomach growled in protest.
“I’ll try the lemonade,” I decided.
“I’ll have a turmeric-infused ginger juice,” Sam ordered. When the server walked away, she added, “I quit drinking a year ago—it’s so bad for your liver. They make the best detoxifying juices here. The food is amazing, too, all locally sourced. It’s gotten loads of write-ups on blogs and foodie websites. This really is the place to be seen right now.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” I said, remembering why I hated eating with Sam. I was pretty open-minded when it came to food, but this place was pushing my limits with entrees like “Relaxed”—locally sourced kelp noodles with a spirulina pesto—and desserts like “Abundant”—maca root macaroons that boasted zero grams of sugar.
We ordered our meals—her the avocado whipped mousse on quinoa cakes, me a peanut zucchini noodle dish—and then sat awkwardly in silence for a bit until I asked Sam what else was new in her life.
“I’m really into spinning these days,” she said excitedly.
“Ooh, like, in a circle?” I quipped. “My niblings and I love doing that.”
“No, like on a bike. At the gym.” She stared at me like she was trying to figure out if I’d been joking or not. I lived in L.A., and I knew Sam’s obsession with fitness, so of course I knew she meant indoor cycling. I just couldn’t take her seriously anymore.
“What kind of cardio are you into these days?” she continued.
“The kind that doesn’t make you get off the sofa,” I joked, and she looked at me with that old hint of judgment. Sam had never really gotten my sarcastic and often deprecating humor. She didn’t understand that I needed it to cope with her annoying interrogations into my diet and exercise regime. Even now, years later.
I tried changing the subject. “So how else do you spend your time, when you’re not, you know, spinning in circles?”
“Spinning has nothing to do with circles,” Sam said, annoyed.
“The wheels are circles,” I rebutted, and the look on Sam’s face showed she wasn’t as amused with me as I was with myself. Luckily our food saved us from having to continue this painful thread of a conversation.
My peanut zucchini noodles tasted surprisingly good considering it was basically a lightly dressed salad, but the portions were tiny, and I was still hungry once it was gone. I peered up and noticed Sam had only taken a few bites.
“Don’t like it?” I asked.
“Oh, no, it’s delicious,” she said. “It’s just really filling.”
My stomach and I both sat in hunger-induced incredulity as she asked the server for a to-go box for her tiny quinoa cakes.
“Can you excuse me for a second?” I said, then headed toward the bathroom.
As soon as I got in the stall, I texted Drew. My ex took me to a raw vegan restaurant and said she was full after five bites. Meanwhile I’m in the bathroom about to eat the toilet paper I’m so hungry!
That should be illegal! Fry Guy responded immediately. Pretend to be sick and leave!
I can’t! I wrote, even though I desperately wanted to. That would be so rude.
Not any ruder than taking someone to a raw vegan restaurant without warning! he replied. What’s the name of the place? I’ll call and say there’s an emergency.
It’s called “Appreciate.” *eye roll* But don’t do that. The “friend calling with an emergency” thing is too cliché.
It’s Appreciate?! Even I can’t eat at that place. It’s worse than I thought. You must be saved!
It’s too late for me. Save yourself! Go eat bacon and fries with cheese for those of us who can’t!
I will do it for you! he said.
Such a selfless martyr , I wrote. Okay, I’ve really gotta go back now or she’ll think this food is giving me the shits.
It probably will!
At least then I could go home , I wrote, washing my hands and leaving the restroom.
I made my way back to our table, where Sam was looking more thrilled to see me than I was to see her. “Did you see the inspirational messages on the doors of the stalls?”
I nodded, even though I had been too busy texting Drew to notice.
“I just love this place,” she continued. “I hear lots of celebrities come here, too!” She glowed, looking out the window, like Ellen and Portia would show up at any minute and invite her to sit at their table.
In that moment, sitting there starving at a restaurant she’d chosen, watching her gush over the possibility of seeing a celebrity, I felt grateful for the first time since our breakup that Sam had the strength to end it when I didn’t. She’d said I was abusive, unstable, and even insane. And sure, I had been, but she’d been, too. Sam just happened to be a more socially acceptable form of unhealthy. Together, we were fodder for each other’s insecurities. But where I had actively worked through my issues in the years since we parted, she seemed to have gotten even more obsessive.
“Would you like some dessert?” the server asked.
“Oh no, I’m way too full,” Sam insisted, patting her stomach.
“I’ll take two.” I pointed to the carob cake and the coconut milk ice cream. Sam looked at me with skepticism, but I didn’t care. I was over starving myself for anyone else’s comfort.
Halfway through my flourless chocolate cake—which was actually pretty good considering one of the listed ingredients was kale—a commotion outside got Sam’s attention.
“Someone famous must be here!” she said as people held up their cell phone cameras toward the entrance. “Told you this was a place to see and be seen.”
I didn’t look up, more interested in my coconut milk ice cream than celebrities, but Sam stared openly, craning her neck to get a better view. “OMG,” she said, “I think that’s Drew Williams.”
That made my head snap up from my dessert. Sure enough, there was Drew, smiling at a gawking passerby as he entered the restaurant holding a giant insulated bag in his hands. He said something to the hostess, looked around, and headed straight to our table. Without saying a word, he opened the bag, placed a tray of still-warm fries with cheese in front of me, turned around, and walked out.
“What just happened?” Sam asked as the whole restaurant stared at us.
“I have no idea,” I lied, picking up a cheesy chunk of fries.
“You’re not actually going to eat that, are you?” my ex asked incredulously.
“Every last molecule.” I smiled as I popped the fried cheesiness into my mouth.