I choke on the soft pretzel we’re taste-testing.
The thing is, it’s Penn who’s supposed to be trying the full menu with me today. He’s the one who insists we can do better—who suggests we partner with local chefs and rotate special offerings.I’ve told him, repeatedly, that it’s a good idea, but far too complicated for a place that’s already facing unsteady financials.
Not to mention too much of a long game for my circumstances.
Penn insisted I eat through the current menu before I make any decisions. I insisted he do it with me. But after two calls from a woman named Doris who requires immediate assistance in the form of a tall man who can change her bathroom lightbulb, Penn has abandoned me in my time of need. Physical and otherwise.
I check my phone, hoping for a text from him. An ETA, a promise that he’ll arrive soon, a PowerPoint presentation explaining why he did what he did at the boathouse, and if he’s done that before, and if he’s like that with other women. Perhaps he could also reveal when he got so kind and insightful. Alas. Nothing.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “A pretzel is a pretzel.”
Theo jots my riveting review into a small notebook. “Next up: nachos.”
They look like standard nachos. Not great, but not gross, either. I dip a round chip into warm, gooey cheese, and it tastes exactly like I expect. Like processed cheese. “The nachos are fine, too.” I push away the paper plate. “Next.”
Theo stares at me as he slides a slice of pizza across the table. Clearly, he doesn’t agree with my assessments of the pretzel or the nachos, but he doesn’t argue.
No wonder MASH Me promoted him. There’s something to be said for agreeability. In fact, Penn could learn a thing or two from Theo Ford. Perhaps it’s a good thing he isn’t here, because he’d fight me on every item. I’d be dealing with the bad form of Penn-inspired agitation—not the pleasant kind I felt earlier. The one I’m aching to feel again.
I bite into the pizza and gag. There’s no way around it. This pizza has the distinct smell and texture of a bouncy ball. “That one’s got to go,” I declare.
Relief washes over Theo as he sighs. “Agreed. That’s my second least-favorite thing on the menu.”
“What’s first?”
He gestures to the corn dog between us, and I have to suppress my gag reflex again. “You know what? I’ll take your word for it. Pizza and corn dogs, gone.”
“Really?” Theo brightens. “That’s great. Yeah. Okay. So, what should replace them?”
Again, my eyes flit to my phone on the table.
I hate how badly I want to hear from Penn. I want to see if the switch has gone off in him, too. Find out if we’re straddling a line, or if we’ve already crossed it, because if we keep moving in the same direction, then eventually I’ll know one way or the other how Penn feels, and whether it’s enough to get me out of here.
What I still won’t know is what happens to me if it isn’t enough. Or what to do with all these mixed-up feelings I have about Penn, no matter where I end up. Because I can’t undo what’s happened, and I’m afraid I won’t forget it, either.
“Let me think,” I tell Theo. Except, I can’t think. Not about anything, or anyone, else.
Your heart line,Penn said. I can hear the words echoed back, in his raspy voice, and I have to chug too-sweet lemonade to regroup.
Theo watches me expectantly, brow creased with worry. He must be able to see how restless my limbs are. I can’t sit still. I shift my posture and cross my legs. Uncross them. I push my hair behind my ears. Pull it forward. Push it back again.
“What do you think?” I stammer out. “What would you do?”
His eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I toss up my hands. “Would you change everything? Or keep it the same? Or can some things stay the same while other things change? Does it have to be all or nothing?”
He stares back, blank-faced. “Um…”
“Like, what if people have gotten used to the disgusting pizza? And they never really liked it that way—in fact, they hated it, actually, but it’s familiar. And they don’t like anything too spicy, so they’ve just kept returning to it, appreciating, in some ways, that it was always exactly as it was, because they could trust that no matter what else might be different, they can count on it to be the same.”
Theo scratches at his neck. “Boss, I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“The pizza,” I reiterate, flustered. “What if we change it, and it ruins the whole menu? And people can never even enjoy the new pizza, because they can’t forget how they used to feel about it?”
He nods, contemplative. “So, you think people want our pizza to stay disgusting?”
I sit back and exhale, wondering if I’ve lost my mind as well as my place in time. “I just think they might get upset if one day they walk in and the pizza has changed. Forever.”
