Page 8 of D.I.E.T. (Did I Eat That?)

Sinjin rolled up to the edge of the parking lot with his left blinker clicking, waiting for his chance to turn out onto the street. When it was clear he pulled out onto the street and immediately slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel left and right, the truck fishtailing, because a car going way too fast sailed right through the stop sign from the street across from us.

I screamed, seeing my life flash before my eyes, pressing my hand to my heart. “Take me back to my car,” I ordered. “I’m not hungry.”

The infuriating man snickered and reached over the center console to squeeze my knee. I thought he meant it to be comforting, but that crossed a line. Squeezing a knee implied an air of familiarity that he and I had not yet achieved and I promptly moved his hand back to his own suit-covered knee. “Hands and feet inside the car there, buddy.”

He shook his head, snickering harder. “You look like a woman who likes her lo mein. Am I right?”

Lo mein? Uh… weren’t we trying to shed the weight? And really? Could you even trust a person who didn’t eat lo mein? I thought not. That was like saying you weren’t a cheeseburger person (even a vegan cheese plant-based burger, which I’d never eaten but I’d heard those plant-based burgers were pretty tasty).

When I didn’t answer he prompted, “Geet?”

“That’s a trick question. Would you even want to know someone who didn’t eat lo mein?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No. Probably not.”

Well, one thing to know about Sinjin, he knew his Chinese restaurants. The Golden Dragon? Yes, please! Anybody who was anybody got their Chinese fix from The Golden Dragon. The painted lanterns with dangling red tassels greeted us along with the hostess who looked fifty but was probably one hundred judging by the photos of her and her husband hanging on the wall behind the cash register. A golden dragon—hence the restaurant’s name—with bright red-and-green accents painted on the wall encompassed the entire room. Someone had painted mountains and tiny villages the dragon’s body flew over. The seating consisted of all red cushions around black lacquer tables and booths. And the smells. My stomach growled, anticipating what was to come.

The hostess walked us initially to a table for two, but my lunch date decided he’d rather have a booth. And he wasn’t wrong. The two-person tables rested next to the front door. Who wanted to get hit with a burst of cold air every time somebody came into the restaurant?

The hostess set down the menus and walked away. Now, as I wasn’t a stranger to the Golden Dragon, I knew the menu like the back of my own hand. But seeing as I had a wedding to get in shape for, I opted out of the most wonderful, mouthwatering, saucy platters of deliciousness the place had to offer. When our waitress came to take our order, first I asked for a water because I’d already had a smoothie, then, and I was so proud of myself for this, I asked not for lo mein, even though all I wanted to do was swim around in vats of shrimp, vegetables, and noodles. Instead, I ordered the steamed rice and vegetables. No sauce. Plain chicken, no sauce. That showed proof of my dedication. Everyone knew the sauce was the best part. Aw, man, I was going to miss the sauce. But since Kami’s wedding loomed and I sat across the table from my accountability partner, I certainly wasn’t going to fall down at the first hurdle.

My mouth gaped open at Sinjin’s order. “I’ll have the General Tso’s beef and an order of rangoons, pork dumplings, the lo mein—plus, we’ll try the orange chicken and your other two dumplings as well. That should be good.” Then he looked at me. “That sounds good, right?”

Excuse me?I considered myself a professional eater who just happened to not get paid for it, andIdidn’t eat that much. Then on top of it, he ordered a soda.

I was like, “Are you at least going to order a diet?”

“Oh, yeah, I should probably do that.” He held his hand up in the air to wave back our waitress. “Make that Coke diet, please.”

The guy was never going to make it through bootcamp.What the heck?“I’m not sure that dumplings are bootcamp-approved food items.”

He swatted my words away. “It’s the first day. What’s it going to hurt?”

“Your progress?” I replied and remembering I still carried it, I slid him his license.

Pulling out his wallet, he replaced the card and looked to me. “So tell me about yourself,” he said instead of replying to my reply.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Where do you work?”

“I’m a massage therapist at Affinity Salon. I’m actually the only massage therapist at Affinity Salon.”

“Affinity?” He waited to speak again until the waitress had finished setting our drinks down in front of us. When she walked away, he cocked his head and looked at me. “Only massage therapist? You must do well for yourself.”

“I live comfortably,” I said. Not wanting to talk about my finances with my accountability partner, I turned it back on him. “What do you do?”

“I’m in finance.”

“Of course you are,” I muttered under my breath. To which he snickered.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“You just look like somebody who’s in finance,” I said. “Expensive haircut, expensive suit, nice truck—I bet you even have a warm weather vehicle, too. Am I right?”

“You’re right. Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed. It’s got nothing to do with me. I just pictured you being more fun, is all.” I picked up my water and sipped enough to catch a piece of ice to crunch on.

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