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seems almost logical. Knowing that Monday is coming means the rest of the week is a mindless binge. And now you are back where you were. And no matter how much I share that this was and is my struggle, no matter how much I say that I gained two pounds for every four I lost, up and down, two steps forward and three steps back, these women I try to bond with, they don’t come back. As if I will judge them, or be disappointed in them. On the one hand, I’m thrilled that they come in. On average they double or even triple the spending of any other customer, but I write them off, even though I don’t want to.
    We usually have a lull around two, allowing Kai and me to take stock of what we think we will need to get through the day, clean up and prep, and get ready for the shift change, when I lose Kai’s exuberant and slightly manic energy for Delia’s comforting warmth and wry observations.
    I always take the time to sit down and eat something, even though I’m rarely hungry then. But if I don’t, I’ll be randomly snacking, picking at the ends and scraps of things, not even realizing what I am doing. Carey once had me set up a video camera in the corner of the store for an afternoon and then watch and write down everything I ate. Nearly four hundred mindless calories, eked out in single bites and little nibbles—a half a piece of this and a quarter piece of that. I was astounded. Nearly 20 percent of what should be my ideal daily intake, without ever really tasting or enjoying the food. So now, I make a plate, balancing some protein, some whole-grain carbs, and some healthy fats so that I have a slow, steady burn of energy in the afternoon, and don’t let hunger creep up on me.
    I’m enjoying a piece of Kai’s chicken and some of the wheat berry pilaf when Delia flies through the door, buoyed on a gust of wind. She pulls the bright red knit cap off her head, and shakes her braids Medusa-like.
    “Children, it is colder than a witch’s tit out there. Please tell me there is coffee in the pot.”
    I look at Kai, and he looks at me, and then we both look at Delia sheepishly.
    “Good lord, I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with you two!” she blusters, heading back to the kitchen, stripping off her parka and dumping it in the closet on her way past, muttering to herself. Neither Kai nor I drink coffee, both of us preferring tea. He never acquired a taste for it, and I can’t drink it without remembering that Andrew used to make the coffee every morning, that we used to sit and have breakfast together and discuss our upcoming day, and that when he would kiss me goodbye—real lingering kisses, often with tongue, not the usual married morning peck most couples offer—he would taste of deep-roasted brew. My thirst for coffee seems to have disappeared from the moment I pitched that coffee cup at his head.
    Since neither of us indulge, we only remember to put a pot on for Delia about every third day. Kai and I laugh, listening to her mumbling rant, which is still going in the kitchen. “I swear!” we hear, and Kai says, “I think that is my exit cue.”
    “Don’t leave me with her,” I beg in false fear. “Ashley isn’t coming, I’ll be all alone at her mercy.”
    “You should have thought of that and remembered to make the diva her coffee,” he says, going to the closet and getting his coat, winding an endless blue scarf around his delicate neck. “I need to head over to Paulina Meat Market and pick up a hanger steak for dinner, Phil has been craving red meat lately.”
    “Say hi to the guys for me.” I love the butchers at Paulina. They know their business, wouldn’t dream of selling you something less than perfect, and can eyeball a ten-ounce New York strip like no one else. Plus they make all their own sausages, and like to slip me a salami stick with a wink when I leave. If I weren’t so sure it would be the death of me, I’d be very tempted to marry one of them.
    “Will do.” Kai pulls