Just One Taste

by C. J. Birch

  Panic. Extreme panic was the only thing that went through Hayley’s mind at that moment. “By myself?”

  “We’re not that busy now. We don’t pick up until about seven thirty. That should give you time to at least have a poke around in the kitchen and get the lay of the land. By then someone will be in to review the menu with you. The only hard part is picking up the lingo.”

  “The lingo?”

  Lauren smirked. “Greta had a thing about fifties diners, so everything has a name. Like bossy in a bowl is beef stew, and frog sticks is French fries, or two dots and a dash is two eggs and a strip of bacon.” At the look of horror on Hayley’s face she added, “Ramiro didn’t mention anything about that, did he?”

  Hayley shook her head. No, he certainly hadn’t. And now she was being thrown into the meat grinder. She’d be lucky to make it to lunch still employed. A cold, dead terror settled in the pit of her stomach, replacing the emptiness that had been there a minute before. How was she going to figure out how to cook if she also had to figure out what the hell they were ordering?

  Lauren placed a steady hand on Hayley’s wrist. “You need some coffee. Everything’s better after coffee.”

  All Hayley could do was nod. Coffee was a good idea. Coffee would help. She needed to focus on one thing at a time.

  Lauren squeezed her arm and turned to fetch some mugs. “How do you take it?”

  “Just black is fine.” She watched Lauren work, her movements efficient. They spoke of years of doing the same thing. She didn’t look much older than Hayley, maybe early thirties. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, small wisps that were too short to fit curled into the collar of her uniform.

  “Here you go.” Hayley dropped her gaze to the darkness in her cup. It matched her mood at that moment. Her excitement had given over to the nervousness she’d felt earlier. She watched Lauren load hers up with two creamers.

  “How long have you worked here?” Hayley asked.

  Lauren threw her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Geez… Fourteen years?” Then she frowned into her coffee. “God, I’m old.”

  They sat that way for the next few minutes, sipping their coffees and watching the city wake up. The only street traffic at this time were the streetcar and delivery trucks. It was bliss.

  “This is my favourite time of day.” Lauren inhaled the steam from her coffee deeply before taking a sip. “Right before we open, when it’s just minimal staff, before the deliveries and the first rush of the day.” She rested her elbows on the counter. “Kind of like the calm before the storm.”

  Hayley nodded. “I used to work in a grocery store, and my favourite was inventory day. Every once in a while, when we were closed for a holiday or something, a couple of us would come in and count everything. I always liked it better without customers.”

  Lauren laughed, deep and throaty. “The world would be a better place without them. But…” She raised her arms to indicate the diner. “My life revolves around making them happy. So for a few short minutes every day I get to pretend they don’t exist.”

  “Mmm.” Hayley sipped her coffee. It was good. She usually didn’t like brewed coffee, but this had a nutty aftertaste that was rich and smooth. “This is really good.”

  “Thanks. Greta passed on the secret of how to make brewed coffee taste like coffee instead of burnt battery acid. So what did you do at this grocery store?”

  “Everything. You name a position, I’ve done it. I guess except janitor, but I can clean up an olive-oil spill better than anyone.”

  Lauren’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked an incoming text. “Okay. Ezra said he’ll be here in an hour, which is a record for him. That man takes longer to get ready than a prom queen.” She dropped her phone back into her pocket and watched Hayley with a strange mix of scepticism and compassion. “You’re nervous.”

  Hayley nodded. “Wouldn’t you be? I always get nervous my first day of any job.” And while that was true, Hayley hoped Lauren never learned the real reason her nerves were a bundle of hot wires. She had no fucking clue what she was doing.

  “I’m sorry Ramiro isn’t here to show you around, but you’ll do fine. Ramiro wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t have faith that you could do the job.”

  Hayley stared into deep-brown eyes, and all she saw was kindness. But that kindness and compassion might not last once Lauren realized Hayley had lied on her resume.

  Lauren looked up at the clock above the door, breaking the moment. “We’ve got a few minutes before the first delivery arrives. We get our doughnuts and pastries in first and then our breads. Make sure you use up the day-olds first, unless they feel really stale.”

  Hayley finished her coffee and stood. “Can I take your mug to the kitchen?” she asked.

  Lauren drained hers and passed it over. “Just place them in the sink closest to the dishwasher. We have someone come in around eight to do the dishes.”

  Hayley nodded. She felt like she was heading toward the firing squad.

  * * *

  Alone in the kitchen Hayley set to work figuring out where everything was. Lauren had given her a list of the menu and the corresponding lingo next to it. She reviewed it quickly and then stuck it to the board near the griddle.

  Then she decided the next best thing was to cook herself breakfast. Even if she was no longer hungry, she would be later, and it was the fastest way to get familiar with the kitchen.

  Hayley wasn’t a bad cook. With both her parents working the hours of small-business owners her whole life, she’d become self-sufficient. By the time she was ten she could make homemade lasagna. Hayley knew she could do the work, but that wasn’t the issue. She was worried about the amount of people she’d have to cook for.

  She pulled a bowl of eggs from the fridge, grabbed a loaf of bread from the bread bin, and turned toward the griddle. It had four knobs, but none of them looked like an on switch.

  “Shit.” She knelt and took a look underneath, hoping for something familiar. Her mom had one of those small griddles that you plugged into the wall, but Hayley had never used a commercial griddle before. She looked out the window. Lauren was busy setting out napkin dispensers in the booths. If she asked how to turn it on, assuming Lauren knew, she’d be found out for sure.

  Maybe she could call her dad. But he’d still be asleep right now. She pulled out her phone to check the time and realized she had all the answers sitting in her hand. “Duh. Google.” She found the answer on reddit within a few seconds. She needed to turn on the pilot valve for each burner with a flat-head screwdriver. As if proving she was on the right track, a greasy screwdriver sat in a red-plastic cup duct-taped to the wall next to the phone.

  Once she had the griddle turned on and heating, she set about collecting the rest of her ingredients. She’d make egg in the hole, something her mom used to cook for her when she was feeling sick. That’s what she needed—a little comfort food. And she better make it good because who knew when she was going to eat again. There was a very real chance she wouldn’t have a job by the end of the day.

  The trick to good egg in the hole was mixing garlic into the butter you used for the toast. She also liked to use a bit of dill on the egg. She found garlic in a bowl on the spice shelf, grabbed some fresh dill from the fridge, and set to work mincing the garlic and folding it into some soft butter. She buttered two pieces of bread and cut two holes out of the middle.

  Next she spread a little butter on the griddle and slapped on both pieces of bread, swirling them around to soak up the melted butter. She cracked two eggs in the centre of each piece and picked some fresh sprigs of dill, sprinkling them on the yellow yolk.

  The front door chimed, and a skinny man with the curliest long hair Hayley had ever seen walked through the door carrying three boxes of pastries. “I’ve still got three pies in the van.” He set the boxes down on the counter next to the register. “Tessa wanted to know if you’ll try her new cherry pie tomorrow. She’s
also got a banana and chocolate pie with graham crust.” He leaned toward Lauren, who was sorting through the boxes. “It is to fucking die for, Lauren. To die for.”

  Lauren’s eyes sparked and she grinned. “With that kind of recommendation, Kaleed, I’ll try both.”

  Kaleed’s nose went in the air. “What is that awesome smell?”

  “That’s our new line cook’s breakfast, I’d guess.”

  “Whatever she’s making smells fucking fantastic.”

  “I’ll let her know. Thanks, Kaleed.”

  Lauren poked her head into the kitchen. “What’re you making?”

  “Egg in the hole. You want one?”

  Lauren walked over to the griddle just as Hayley flipped first one, then the other. “No thanks. I really can’t take food in the morning. But it smells great.”

  “Thanks.” Hayley flipped her breakfast onto a plate.

  “Forks are in the front. You can eat it at the counter.”

  As soon as Hayley sat down, the door chimed again, and in walked a sculpted blond man. That was the only way to describe him. He looked like he’d been chiselled out of stone. He was gorgeous, and by the way he sauntered in, he knew it.

  Lauren looked up from a crossword puzzle she’d been working on. “Hey, Ezra. Thanks for coming in.” She pointed her pen Hayley’s way. “This is Hayley, our new line cook. Hayley, this is Ezra. He’s going to show you around today.”

  Hayley waved her fork at him, swallowed her food, and said, “Hi.” She’d never been so happy to see anyone.

  He gave a quick salute in their direction. “You ruin my kitchen yet?”

  “I tried, but it’s harder than it looks,” said Hayley and cut into her second egg in the hole.

  Ezra took a minute, watching her eat. Hayley assumed he’d decided it was a valid answer because he took a seat next to her, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Hayley wiped hers on a napkin before shaking his. “You too.”

  Lauren set a mug of coffee down in front of him. “You’ve got half the time to prep, so I suggest you take that to go.”

  “As long as she’s better than the last guy, we’ve got nothing to worry about.” He picked up his coffee and headed toward the kitchen. “You coming?” he asked Hayley.

  She grabbed her plate and followed him back.

  “Where’s your hairnet?”

  Hayley groaned as she placed her dishes in the sink near the dishwasher. This was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Seven

  Hayley collapsed on her bed face-first and stayed that way for several minutes. It was a little after five p.m. She’d been on her feet for over twelve hours. The nicest thing she could say about the day is that she’d survived.

  Ezra probably thought she was a simpleton. She hadn’t remembered a single order because most of it sounded like gibberish. Even with the items on a list next to the griddle, she kept having to ask Ezra what the hell the servers were yelling at her. And it only got worse when they started writing it down. Each server had their own shorthand for taking orders, and she couldn’t read anyone’s writing. Lauren had continued to shout her orders through the window. Each time, Ezra grumbled under his breath, getting moodier as the day wore on.

  She’d burned three orders, had three returned, and almost set the place on fire once. When Ezra told her to show up at five the next morning, she couldn’t be more surprised. As the day went on, Hayley had this growing sense of dread that one more mistake would be the one that got her fired.

  But she hadn’t. Hayley turned over and stared at her ceiling. Below, she could hear someone’s TV blasting Jeopardy. The guy was yelling the answers at the top of his lungs, every one of them wrong. Each time they were wrong, he’d shout at Alex Trebek to get a fucking clue.

  Today her room smelled like burnt rubber, like someone had left something on the radiator and it had melted. She should feel disheartened and sad, but a big grin spread across her face. She’d found a place to live close to work that was cheap. And even though she had to share a washroom with four strange men and listen to all their strange habits, she had her own space. She’d found a job and made it through the first day, and the best part? She got a percentage of the tips and ate for free while working. That would keep her going until she got paid in two weeks. If she saved everything, she might have enough to pay her rent at the end of the week. Next week would be harder, but she could worry about that when it got here. Ed, the manager, had told her he didn’t extend credit, but she had a feeling she could sweet-talk him into an extension.

  But more surprising was the fact that when she wasn’t terrified of screwing up someone’s order or getting fired, she’d enjoyed herself. The only other thing in her life she’d enjoyed as much was baking with her nana when she was little.

  She was surviving on her own. And that was more important than her sense of accomplishment or a full stomach.

  After showering the grease off, Hayley snuggled in with a bag of liquorice—a splurge from the 7-Eleven down the street for getting (and keeping) the job—and a book.

  She already missed her evenings with Jo and Kalini. They’d had an easy-going system that had slowly become a routine. Most nights they’d find themselves in front of some bad reality show, a plate of whatever Hayley had made everyone for dinner in hand and a good amount of sarcasm to share.

  It would take her a while to find a new routine. And it wasn’t like she’d never see them again. Once she started making more money, she could afford to build a social life. That thought made up for the fact that she’d felt like a bit of a recluse since she moved to the city.

  She cracked the book open and slipped her bookmark farther back to mark how much she’d allow herself to read that night. She popped a piece of liquorice into her mouth and settled in for the evening.

  * * *

  Lauren watched the iced coffee ebb and flow with each movement of the subway car. Someone had spilled their drink, and it had taken up residence in the indentation of one of the blue priority seats. The ice danced back and forth, oblivious to the fact that it was no longer needed.

  She watched a man in windbreaker pants and a red pleather jacket hold an entire conversation with his Pomeranian. Every few words the dog would lick his face and nip at his beard.

  She watched a lone grape roll its way from one side of the car, hit the edge, then roll the other way. Several people had almost stepped on it as they entered the train, but it had swerved out of the way at the last second every time.

  Lauren loved the people-watching the subway provided. It was almost better than her rooftop oasis, but not quite. The subway was sometimes crowded or too hot, or someone she didn’t want to talk to would sit next to her and start up a conversation. She preferred zoning out with her music, keeping to herself, and observing. It was where she did her best thinking.

  Today she found herself thinking of their new hire. Ezra had complained that first day, but he always complained about new hires. She hadn’t burned down the place. That’s what he’d said, which was high praise from Ezra.

  Lauren took this route every Monday to visit her dad, who’d moved to the east end. They’d looked for a one-bedroom closer to Lauren after her mom died, but the west end was more expensive. At the time Lauren was less concerned about the travel time because the east end had more green space. But her father hadn’t left his apartment in over a year, unless it was to visit the doctor’s. This was starting to worry Lauren. It wasn’t so bad when he still worked, but now that he was retired, he had no excuse to leave. It hadn’t happened all at once either. When he retired, he still had his poker nights, but then his friend Bill had a stroke, and then Jim and his wife moved to Florida. After that the poker nights fell apart, as did Friday nights at the Firkin for darts and a couple of beers. It wasn’t good for him to lose his social life like that.

  Lauren wondered if she should stop bringing him groceries every week. That would force him to get out. But he would probably order in
delivery every night. She’d find more pizza or Chinese containers in the fridge than she already did. She preferred to give him the option of having something to eat that wasn’t full of empty calories, even if he didn’t always make the right decision.

  The truth was, and she would never admit this to anyone, she was getting tired of giving up her one day off to make the trip over to see her dad. She loved visiting with him, but over the past year it had become a chore, something she had to do instead of wanted to. If she didn’t show up to look after him, he’d just let his place and his health fall to waste. Her mom would never forgive her if she let that happen.

  She unlocked the door and pushed inside. Several days’ worth of mail were sitting under the mail slot. She stooped to pick up the bundle and went into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Can you grab me a Coke?” he asked from his chair in the family room.

  She placed the grocery bag on the counter and began unpacking the premade meals she’d cooked last night and this morning. “I didn’t buy you any Coke. You should be drinking water or milk.”

  “Milk’s for babies. There’s a can in the fridge.”

  She opened the fridge and found two cans of Coke next to a pizza box sitting on several Pyrex containers from last week. She pulled out one and opened it. The broccoli and fish she’d made him last weekend was wilted and slimy.

  “Dad.” She stormed into the living room. Her dad was in his chair, a P.D. James soft-cover over the arm and an empty can of Coke on the side table. Hollywood Squares was playing softly on the TV for background noise. “Why do I even bother making you this food if you’re just going to let it go bad? This stuff isn’t cheap, you know.”

  “I don’t know, honey, but I’ve told you about a million times I don’t need a nursemaid.” He was wearing a dark-blue sweater that did a good job of hiding his belly. Every time she saw him, she’d swear he was getting bigger. It didn’t matter how many calorie-conscious meals she brought over for him; he still found a way to stuff his face with junk. His hair, what was left of it, needed a cut. The white strands curled at the ends, obscuring the top of his sweater collar. His skin, which had once been a rich, deep brown, had faded to a pasty white, with sunspots sprinkling the tops of his hands and forearms.