500 calories in the sandwich I’ve been getting whenever we come together. True, it fits the meal plan the dietician put together for me: two starches, two proteins, two fats. But 500 calories—that’s double what I used to eat in an entire day. I’m mentally adding up how many it would be if I added chips and a drink when it’s my turn.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
That was always one of the rules. I can hear Jana saying it now.
“Don’t ever look at the number of calories. It’s just a number. Calories mean energy, and we all need energy to live.”
“What will it be?” the guy behind the register asks. His arms are covered in tattoos. I stare at the one of an intricate tree for a moment longer than I should.
I think about leaving for a second, but I’m this close, so I don’t give up.
“Umm—I’ll have a regular veggie and cheese sandwich.” I look up from the tree tattoo. Don’t look. “And some of the baked potato chips and a lemonade.” Diet coke. Get a diet coke. Lemonade is probably 100. Per serving.
“Okay. $5.75.” The guy takes my money and frowns at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I smile weakly. He smiles back. His gray eyes are kind, and they remind me of Jana’s.