CHAPTER 13
Samara stared at Dana, who was staring back at her as if she had something to say but wasn’t saying it.
“Okay. I’ll start at the other end of the table,” Candace said and walked around to take everyone else’s orders first.
“You’re worried I won’t be able to find something to eat here?” Samara asked.
“No, I know you can find food here, but I’ve been the one responsible for feeding you for the past few days, and I know you won’t want the potato skins that are just halves of baked potatoes because you don’t eat cheese, bacon, or sour cream.
Candace would have some green onions she can toss on them, at least, but I can guarantee she didn’t pick them up at the farmer’s market this morning, and they’re probably not organic. ”
“I can adapt,” she replied and grabbed at the menu held back by the napkin holder, trying to prove a point.
“Excuse me. Are you Samara Barber?”
Samara looked up and saw two women standing there. One of them had her phone ready in her hand.
“I am, but I’m just having dinner and drinks with some friends. Another time, maybe?”
“Oh,” one of the women said. “Right. Sorry.”
Then, they both walked away.
“Damn, Samara. You could have at least taken a picture with them,” Dana said.
“I took three pictures outside before I came in here, and another five in the lobby of my hotel before I was able to leave there. I took probably about twenty yesterday; some of those were on set. If I hopped into every selfie someone wanted to take with me when I’m just out trying to live my life, I’d never get to live that life, Dana.
I’m here to celebrate you getting a part and to try to be a little – I don’t know – social.
I need to be able to do those things, too. ”
Dana didn’t say anything in response to that, so Samara looked back down at the menu, where there was, as Dana had correctly guessed, nothing that she could eat.
She didn’t see a veggie burger option, no vegan cheese or mayo, and not many vegetables at all, unless she counted those green onions that Dana had been joking about.
Samara put the menu back and looked away from Dana, trying not to draw attention to the fact that she couldn’t eat here after all.
“Nothing?” Dana asked.
“Okay. Yes, you were right,” she replied. “I’ll eat later.”
Dana stood up then and said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“The kitchen. Candace, can I check out your kitchen?”
“Um… Why?”
“To find Samara something she can eat. She’s a picky vegan.”
“Hey!” Samara exclaimed.
“Okay. But can you be careful? Not sure I’m insured for this.”
“Promise,” Dana replied.
Samara watched as she disappeared through the kitchen doors, and she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.
Everyone around her was either ordering food, or they were deep in conversation with each other.
The only remaining two people she even knew here were Bryce and Sophie, but they were at the other end of the table, talking about the movie.
Samara stood and excused herself, disappearing to wash her hands in the bathroom, which was nicer than she’d expected.
“What are you doing here?” she asked herself in the mirror. “You don’t even know all these people, and Dana thinks you’re a stuck-up, picky eater who won’t take pictures with strangers.”
She dried her hands, gathered herself, and walked back out, knowing she couldn’t hide there forever.
Seeing that Candace was busy laughing at something at the table, though, she decided to peer in through the window to see if she could make out what Dana was doing back there. Samara saw her mixing something in a bowl, and the kitchen looked empty, so she walked in.
“Hey. What are you doing back here?” she asked.
“Making you food.”
“Dana, you’re not working right now. You don’t have to make me food. I’ll order something for myself later.”
“It’s fine. Turns out, they had soy milk.”
“So?”
“So, I’m making you vegan mayo for the burger I’m about to make.”
“What burger? They don’t have veggie burgers on the menu.”
“No, but I sent the cook to the store across the street, where they sell them. They usually have at least one box, so, hopefully, he’ll come back with a black-bean burger for you in a minute.
I’ve got the bun toasted already. The lettuce looks fresh enough, and so do the tomatoes.
Will you eat them if you don’t know where they came from? Probably the same store.”
Samara watched as Dana whisked soy milk with oil in a big bowl.
“Yes, I’ll eat it.”
“And you won’t complain?” Dana asked.
“No,” she replied with a small laugh. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“It’s fine. I grew out of an egg allergy, but when I was little, I couldn’t eat eggs in anything, so my mom was always making things special for me or telling me not to eat the cake at someone’s birthday party.”
“You grew out of it?” Samara asked, walking up to the counter Dana was standing behind. “And a hairnet? Really?” She laughed.
“Yes. I’m not getting hair in your food. I wouldn’t even want to know what happens then.”
Samara laughed again.
“And yes, you can grow out of allergies sometimes, or they get more manageable. I don’t just eat eggs for breakfast, but I can eat them in things now. My point is that I know it can be hard to find food places without having to make special requests.”
Watching Dana try to make her something special just because had Samara feeling more than just lust for the woman who was whisking for her, waiting on someone else to bring back a black-bean burger.
Samara smiled softly and couldn’t help but stare as Dana stopped whisking, set the bowl down, and brushed a little vegan mayo onto the top bun.
“More?” Dana asked her.
“Yes, please,” she replied.
Dana added some to the bottom bun as well and placed the lettuce and tomato on top just as the back door opened and a man walked in, carrying a box that Samara recognized.
“Whoa!” he said, stopping by Dana. “You’re–”
“Yeah. Hi,” Samara replied.
“Did you get it?” Dana asked him.
“Yeah, last box in the freezer.” He held up the box for her to see. “Want me to cook one up for you?”
“Yeah, with sweet potato fries,” Dana requested. “And can you just make two of everything? I dressed her burger already, but the same stuff on mine is fine.”
“No problem,” the cook replied.
Dana wiped her hands on a rag and asked, “Want to go back out there while he finishes up?”
“Is there another option?” Samara asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Can we maybe just stay back here for a minute or go out back if there is an out back?”
“Everything okay?” Dana asked.
“Yeah, it’s just a lot.”
Dana nodded and held out her hand for her to take.
Samara looked down at it and knew it was just so that Dana could take her wherever they were going, but there was something else in it for her.
She took it, and Dana walked her back behind the main part of the kitchen and toward the dry storage room, which had two old bar stools sitting there, along with shelves and shelves of alcohol and ingredients that didn’t require refrigeration.
“Are these chairs safe?” she asked.
Dana flopped down on one, and when it didn’t break, she nodded.
“Ever the risk-taker.” Samara laughed.
Dana stood and sat down on the one next to it.
“They’re probably just torn or something, but safe.”
Samara wiped at the now-empty chair and sat down.
“So, what did you mean by things being a lot?”
“Bryce said you’d be here with your sister, and she was bringing Sophie. I thought maybe Paige might be here, too, but there are more people than I anticipated.”
“Ah,” Dana said. “I didn’t know that, either. Maisie and Lainey used to date a while ago, and after they broke up, they stayed best friends, so Maisie is more like my sister than just a regular friend, you know?”
“That’s nice,” Samara said.
“And she and India kind of come as a package deal these days,” Dana added.
“Does that bother you or something?”
“No, I like India for Maisie, but with Lainey and Paige being engaged, and Maisie and India always around, I’m–”
“The fifth wheel,” Samara guessed.
“Yes,” Dana replied.
“Who are the others to you?”
“Friends. Tangential, mostly, but Logan and Rory used to work here, so I know them well enough, I guess. You know Bryce and Sophie.”
“Sophie a little less so. Bryce and I have spent time together for pre-production, but not much. Honestly, out of all of them, I know you the best.”
“I would’ve invited you, by the way,” Dana said. “I just didn’t think you’d want to come.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t seem like your scene; a local pub with no vegan options,” Dana said with a smirk.
“I think you just proved that they have some vegan options.”
Dana chuckled a little and said, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“You didn’t have to make me vegan mayo, you know? I would’ve settled for ketchup or mustard.”
“They don’t have your mustard brand here, and I didn’t know if you’d want just good old American ketchup.”
Samara turned a little toward her on the stool and said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dana replied.
“I don’t really tell anyone this, Dana. I don’t want the world to know, okay?”
Dana turned more serious then and replied, “Okay.”
Samara took a deep breath and said, “I’m really trusting you here, and I don’t know that I should be, so–”
“Samara, I won’t say anything about you to anyone if you don’t want me to. I promise.”
Samara cleared her throat and decided to risk it because Dana appeared to be a genuine person.
“I have mild OCD, and I am also on the spectrum.”
“Spectrum? The au–”
“The autism spectrum, yes,” Samara confirmed.
“The very high-functioning kind. I didn’t know about it until a few years ago.
Getting diagnosed as an adult woman is not easy.
They thought it was just the OCD for a while, but the OCD manifests when I’m stressed, mostly, and I have ways to manage it.
Food is the one thing I really struggle with.
I’m trying, but sometimes, I can’t get a handle on it. That’s why you got several lists.”
Dana nodded and asked, “Why didn’t you just say so? I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time. I mean, not that I expect you to tell me that stuff when we’re strangers, but–”
“A few people know. That’s it. The autism is newer, but they thought the temperature thing was the OCD until I met the right doctor who figured out that it’s part of my autism.
She said she has a patient who can tell you the number of letters in any word in any language, even the ones he doesn’t speak.
She told me that it’s very rare, but she read a paper on how some people have the ability to know what temperature it is in any room they’re in at any given time, or even outside.
I guess I’m one of them, and it applies to food, too.
I prefer my coffee at a specific temperature, but it’s more than just a preference.
It genuinely bothers me when it’s not right, to the point where I might not want to talk to another person for several minutes.
Or, if the room is the wrong temperature when I walk in, I have to find a way to process and deal with it because I have to put my game face on and go to work.
I’ve always been this way, and I never really understood why until she told me.
I’m insistent about those things because I know if they’re right, I won’t have to work as hard to get through the day.
If they’re wrong, though, I have to use up all of my energy just keeping myself together, so I end up twice as exhausted or worse. ”
“I don’t know what to say. I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have–”
“It’s okay,” Samara replied. “Like I said, I don’t tell people. I don’t want everyone to know.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like a lot to tell them.”
“You just told me.”
“Yes, and that took a lot. I don’t know; I don’t want you to think I’m just being a bitch anymore.
I am vegan on top of everything else. That’s for health reasons and because I like the food, but it makes things like my OCD and autism a little harder because I’m already a picky eater.
You throw in being vegan and in the South on top of that, and finding food at the right temperature is difficult, to say the least.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Dana said.
“And you won’t say anything to anyone?”
“No,” Dana replied. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Needing to have at least six bottles of my water to feel comfortable isn’t wrong? I prefer exactly six, but sometimes, they come in packs of twelve, so I have to divide by two in my head. And if I only have six, I try not to drink one until I can get another. It’s a whole thing.”
“No, I don’t think it’s wrong,” Dana said, shaking her head.
“What about needing the car to be seventy degrees no matter the temperature outside?”
“Why would that be wrong?” Dana asked.
“Hey, Dana?”
“Yeah?” Dana yelled back to the guy in the kitchen.
“Your food’s ready,” he said.
“Do you want to eat in here, or out there?” Dana asked.
“Out there is fine, but thank you for asking,” Samara replied, smiling at her.
“Good. My drink is out there, and it’s really fucking good, so I’d like to finish it,” Dana said, standing up. “Hey, did you drive here?”
“No, Bryce picked me up. Why?”
“When you’re ready to go, just let me know. I’m only having one drink, so I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Samara replied.
“I’ll do my best to get my car to seventy for you,” Dana said, offering a wink. “But it’s old, and I don’t have anything that tells me what the temperature is.”
“You’d have me,” Samara said, standing up.
“Oh, right. And not to make light or anything, but you could probably make good money taking bets that you know the exact temperature in the room.”
Samara laughed and said, “Probably. But I’ve got a lot of money already.”
Dana squinted at her.
“Go ahead. Ask,” Samara said.
“What temperature is it in here?”
“Sixty-eight,” she replied.
Dana turned then and looked around for the thermostat, which was right behind her head.
“You saw it, didn’t you?”
Samara laughed and said, “Yes.”
Dana shook her head, and they left the dry storage room. Dana grabbed their plates in the kitchen, and they headed out to the bar, where it looked like two more people had joined in their absence.
“That’s Enid and Caroline. They’re cool. I’ll introduce you, okay?” Dana said.
“Thank you,” Samara replied.