This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,95
Coast Pharmaceuticals, and she is wearing a suit dress that shows off her perfectly toned calves. She doesn’t have a drop of sweat on her but still dabs delicately at her face with a thin blotting paper before touching up her powder and relining her pouty lips.
Ugh, why do I even try.
So maybe I’m not in the most confident mood when I stop into the first office, an obstetric practice.
“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter is a middle-aged white woman wearing a floral blouse with a matching cardigan, and she eyes me warily, maybe like I’m a bit young to be looking for a baby doctor.
“Hi, I’m Jocelyn Wu from A-Plus Chinese Garden,” I say, rattling off the script that Will and I developed with as much conviction as I can muster. “We’ve just expanded our restaurant to include a catering menu, and I wanted to bring some sample dishes over to give you a sense of what we offer. We deliver every day of the week and have low-sodium, gluten-free, and low-carb options.”
I put the bag on her counter, and she eyes it like it might be laced with anthrax.
“What’s the catch?” she asks bluntly.
“Um, there’s no catch.”
“So you just go around giving free food? How do I know I’m not going to get food poisoning?”
I blink. If you think about it, I guess it’s surprising that no one’s ever asked this before?
“Well.” It’s a real head scratcher. Does this woman turn down the little bites of bourbon chicken on toothpicks they hand out in the Sangertown Food Court, too? More importantly, if someone believes in conspiracy theories, is there really anything you can say that will convince them otherwise? “Our restaurant is approved by the New York State Department of Health.”
“What’s in there again?”
“Some dumplings, egg rolls, fried rice, chicken with broccoli. And some cold cucumber salad, perfect for the hot weather.”
The woman’s nose wrinkles and her mouth twists into an honest-to-goodness scowl. “Chinese, then,” she complains.
I’m ready to bolt but a younger woman wearing scrubs comes in. “Hi, Linda. I’m ready for the next chart.” Her eyes go immediately to the bag on the counter. “What’s this? Smells good.”
“It’s some sorta oriental food,” Linda says, her tone still heavy with suspicion. “Apparently they cater now. She brought some samples.”
“Well, that’s lovely,” says the younger woman. “Thank you very much.”
I make a hasty exit.
The Latinx woman at the front desk of the next office I go to is a little more excited to get our package, and the office manager at the gastroenterologist’s is so thrilled that he books a lunch next week. And yet, on the way back to the restaurant, I can’t get rid of the sour feeling in my stomach. I can’t stop seeing the disgust in Linda’s face.
I know it’s stupid, and I know I shouldn’t take it personally. It’s quite literally a matter of taste. But Linda’s stank eye seemed bigger than that.
Back at the restaurant, it’s the lunch rush, and my mom is scrambling in the kitchen, so even though I want to peek out front to see what Will meant by his “see you soon,” I stay behind and work the deep fryer until the lunch specials finally taper off. By then my clothes are spattered with oil and my hair is matted with sweat, and my mom shoos me upstairs to take a shower.
When I come back down, Will has started to work with Alan already. They’re huddled up in a booth but barely glance at me when I push through the kitchen doors. They’re too busy staring at a trio of men who are huddled by the main entrance.
The three men are all blond. Two of them look to be in their forties and the third a little younger. They all have stocky builds and noses that are so similar I assume they’re related.
One of the older men with a little more gray in his hair has his phone out and is taking pictures. Wide angle shots, held at waist level. The other one, I realize as my heart races, has a tape measure half-hidden by a beefy hand.
“Can I help you?” I ask. My voice sounds too loud for my ears. Too hard. Out of the corner of my eye I see Will start and turn toward me, but I can’t turn away from these men. I don’t want to give them any kind of opening.
The youngest blond saunters over to me first, left hand