A Fridgeful of Cake

I get off the restaurant floor and take a breather. The day is coming to an end and I am pretty sure I have served my last table. But you never know. Some group of twenty can come in and make me work overtime.

Nassim comes in, taking off his apron. “Hey my shift is up. Could I transfer you my last table? It’s just a girl by herself in booth 3.”

“Sure, no problem. She got her food?”

“Yeah, just a piece of chocolate cake.”

“Just chocolate cake, eh? My kind of girl.”

“Not too bad-looking either.”

I guess I should check on her. I take the opportunity to circulate the restaurant floor in case any of my tables need my service. As I go from one table to the next, I make my way closer to the chocolate cake lady. I can barely see her head stick out from her booth, her luscious black hair absorbing the lights, my eyes, and my curiosity. With every step closer, the beauty of her face becomes just if not more consuming.

“Hi, I’ll be taking over from your previous waiter. Everything alright here?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I nod and start making my way.

“Actually,” – she gives off a little laugh with her shoulders pinched forward and her head back – “do you serve milk?”

“Yes we do.”

“Oh great, then I’ll have a glass of milk please.”

Chocolate cake and a glass of milk, by herself, in a grill and bar restaurant – not what I tend to think a girl looking like her would do on a Friday night. Questions and temptations abound in my mind as I prepare her glass. She waits with her hands on her lap as she sees me make my way with the milk. Her gratitude is undeniably sincere. Is she into me or does she really like milk? Maybe she is from somewhere foreign where milk is a rarity. Or I guess she is the kind of person who does not take even the littlest things for granted. I also wonder if I have seen her before. There is definitely an air of familiarity to her.

Now a quarter to 11:00, all my guests have paid and are leaving. All but her. Her cake is done and her glass is empty. Yet she is staying, busying herself on her phone. I start cleaning the tables and once again come to her.

“All finished here?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She pays for her cake and milk – a bill I have rarely given out before.

“Just to let you know, you can stay but we’re closing in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“By the way, this might sound random, but do I know you?”

She drops her guard and tilts towards me with a smile, elbows down and hands flat on the table.

“I don’t know, do you?”

“Do you go to McGill?”

“No, Concordia. But you look familiar. What’s your name?”

“Jacob, yours?”

“Victoria.”

“Alright Victoria, I’m going to finish up here, but let me know if you figure it out.”

I bring the last dinnerware to the dishwasher and thank him for the day, tidy up, and begin placing the sugar packets on every table for the breakfast service the following morning. I catch her glancing at me every once in a while as I do so.

All my closing chores are done. I take a deep breath and prepare my mind to play it cool. I walk towards her slower than the other times, both hands in my apron pockets as if I had on a leather jacket, my eyebrows raised: “So?”

“I don’t know.” A permanent smile on her face. Her chin down with her eyes up to me.

“Well, should we talk a little more to figure it out together?”

She giggles like a teenager nervously waiting in line for a rollercoaster. Her eyes mere slits. Not once does she break eye contact.

“Hmm, I don’t know. What would we talk about though?”

“We can try to trace back our steps.” I am concentrating all my effort to appear effortless, keeping my cool, calmly uttering these words through a slight grin. I hope she does not notice the sporadic shake at its edges. Judging by her body language, I grow confident that anything I say would land with approval.

She nods with the same childish smile and starts putting her stuff away.

I punch out and say farewell to the chef and bartender for the night.

Now strangers untied by any impending transaction, we are both a little looser, and our agreement to still be in each other’s presence at this hour brings us closer. We walk around the area and try to make small talk with limited success. We both have one thing in mind, yet civility and decorum urge us to try and convince ourselves otherwise. Maintaining a conversation is difficult for the both of us. Luckily our bodies are in rhythm. We know we have not met before. Our instant chemistry has tricked us into believing so. Nonetheless, it has served as a good excuse to get this exchange rolling. We resort to playful banter and some attempts to learn each other’s background.

Before long, we make our way to the subway and stand before a transit map.

“So where are you getting off?” I ask her.

She points at her station and returns my question. Without hesitation, I put my finger where she has just pointed.

We get to her apartment and she gives me a tour. When we reach her bedroom, I immediately go for a kiss.

We put to rest what had taken a hold of our minds and lie for a while afterwards in her bed. With lazy, gentle voices, we begin to share who we truly are.

I learn that she studies psychology and does graphic design on the side. Interesting. We also share similar tastes in music. We like different shows, but 100% compatibility is never a good sign. I begin to regret having gone so quickly with her; usually, the sooner you go to the bedroom, the sooner the relationship ends. The more I speak with her, the more I do not want this to be the case. My mouth is dry.

“I’d like to get myself a glass of water. Is that alright?”

“You can get anything you like. There’s a cold pitcher in the fridge.”

I get up and can now more accurately assess my surroundings. How neat can a place get? The white walls are spotless. The furniture and plants look strategically placed. This girl has achieved maximum minimalism. There are some pictures of her on the walls. The younger she looks in them, the more her face is round. Cute. Not used to seeing someone have so many pictures of themselves though. What did I come to get in the kitchen, again? Oh yes, water.

I open the fridge and search through a sea of chocolate cakes for the water pitcher. I pour myself a glass and one for Victoria. I put the pitcher back and it dawns on me that what is in front of me is unusual. A refrigerator full of store-bought chocolate cakes. One is nearly finished but there must be a dozen more, sealed in their original plastic. In the door, milk cartons. I check the drawers under the shelf to see if anything else is there. Something red maybe. An apple. Or something green. But no – nothing.

She probably has a big party coming up. But what about the almost fully eaten cake? So what, she got a head start. A major head start. What about the individual milk cartons? When was the last time you saw milk cartons distributed at a party for grownups? She had cake at the restaurant. So maybe she just likes cake a lot. What is the big deal? It is a little weird. But she does not eat like this; she looks completely healthy. More than healthy. Beautiful, actually.

I try to reason it out but the more I do, the more I have questions and my mind takes on a veil of judgement and confusion. I consider leaving, but she seems really nice and I would regret it. And besides, I do not know for certain what the cake is about. So I go back to her and try to act normal. It is no use though. As soon as I walk in the room, I can tell by her face that she senses something different in me.

“So you saw the cakes.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be weird the rest of the night now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay. Well goodnight then.”

“Wait, now it’s a mystery to me. You can’t expect me to open up a fridge like that and not wonder.”

“Well alright then. If you must know then I’ll tell you. It’s just all I eat – chocolate cake and milk. I found that I must consume around 1800 calories for maintenance. So I figured, one piece of that chocolate cake is 500 calories, and one milk carton is 100 calories. If I have that as a combo three times a day, then I’m good.”

The math seemed right, but my eyebrows could not help but form a frown.

“What about the chocolate cake you ordered today?”

“Well if you must know everything about my diet now, today was my cheat day.”

“I see.”

“It’s weird, eh? I can be a little obsessive about it.”

“No no” – Pause – “So what do you think you will do with your degree?”

I change the conversation to rid my mind of the cake quandary. Luckily she goes with it and we are able to end the night as strangers still fond of each other.

The following morning, we exchange numbers and go about our lives as the day prior, now with a new acquaintance. We get together a few times, but rarely out for dinner. When we do, I cannot help but feel a little strange when she immediately asks for the dessert menu. She is a girl I can see myself liking a lot, but ultimately I am unable to get past her eating habits.

Years go by and on one evening getting home from work, a woman approaches me on the bus. She gives me an affectionate tap on the shoulder so we must have been close enough. She calls me by my name. I think she has mistaken me for someone else but the odds of another Jacob looking just like me are unlikely. I have a hard time looking at her in the eye. Her stringy black hair, skeletal face, and scaly skin avert my gaze. Her kind smile only makes me feel worse, both for her and the fact that I do not recognize her.

Her next words terrify me: “Jacob. It’s me, Victoria.”