The rich scents of basil and oregano practically throb in the air. A waitress weaves between tables with steaming plates of chicken parmesan. My eyes follow the woman's movements across the low-lit Italian restaurant like a mesmerized house cat watching a squirrel video.
I'm vaguely aware that I might be drooling.
When the divine chicken parm reaches its destination—the adorable elderly couple seated near the window—my empty gut lets out a loud, hollow noise that echoes above the ambient music. I clench my stomach to hush the sound.
Lexi aims a pitying glance at the sad-looking spring greens on my plate. “You sure you don’t want a bite?” She wiggles a forkful of cheesy, marinara-drenched pasta at me from the other side of our booth.
Oh, I’d make some sketchy life choices for a piece of cheese right about now...
The voice of reason barges into my parmesan fantasies like the cock-blocker she is. No, Iris. Cheese might give you a temporary dopamine hit but in the long run, you're only gonna look in the mirror and feel bad about yourself.
And heaven knows that my self-esteem has already taken a beating over the past few months.
I lost my marriage, my business and my sense of self all in the span of a few weeks. The last thing I need is yet another failure weighing me down.
Now, I’m 27, newly-divorced and determined to overhaul virtually everything in my life. My body, my finances, my health. I’m acutely aware that I won't get anywhere with this plan unless I'm willing to exercise a little discipline—and forego a little cheese—at this point.
Hence the diet. And the fixed budget. Both wonderful, mature adulting decisions.
Not so wonderful for dining out, though.
It takes everything in me to refuse Lexi's offer. I shake my head vigorously. "Oh, nah. I'm good with this." I stab my fork into the pile of limp spinach in front of me and shovel it into my mouth. "Mmm. Delicious."
My salad is not delicious. My salad tastes like dirt.
But I’m strong—and poor—so I’m sticking to my guns.
I haven’t seen much of my bestie over the past few weeks. We’ve both been busy with our own lives. Lexi's been struggling to balance her thriving bridal boutique with her bangin' hot sex life.
Me? I fill my days with testing out new business ideas, coming up with creative ways to dodge my creditors and trying to stretch every penny to keep the lights on at my beloved, little house.
So, when Lexi texted this morning, I jumped at the opportunity to catch up with her and her new husband, Cannon, over lunch. When the menus showed up and I ordered the small mixed green salad, my friends offered to suffer along with me in salad purgatory but that would have been selfish. It's not every day that we come to Gallo’s, the finest Italian eatery north of Chicago. I want them to enjoy their meal.
Even though watching them eat actual food—and love all over each other—is pure torture.
"Pass a taste of that spaghetti over here, Stormy.” Cannon juts his chin at his wife's meal and gives a billion-dollar grin.
Cartoon hearts shoot from Lexi’s eyes when she turns to her husband and feeds him the pasta. He bites the fork and growls. She giggles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen.
I feel so single right now.
In any case, I may be in a bad place right this minute but I have every intention of dusting myself off and getting back up. A new relationship is way, way down at the bottom of my list of life goals but I want all the other stuff. A thriving business, a comfortable home, a growing bank account, and most importantly, a strong healthy body that will make my ex eat his rotten heart out.
True—my ass hurts from all those squats and my house smells like steamed broccoli all the time. But it'll be worth it in the end.
Grabbing the salt shaker, I add a dash of sea salt to my salad and take another bite. Now, I'm eating salted dirt. Awesome.
My phone vibrates on the tabletop, and I glance down at the alert that my bank account is below my arbitrary warning amount. In other words, if I don’t make a deposit soon, my next couple bills will send me into the red. I shut my eyes in frustration.
Unfortunately, this has become my new normal. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been living month-to-month, struggling to figure out a reliable source of