Page 20 of Bean
“You can’t believe it? Like you were hooking up left and right before you met Heath and have extensive expertise in this area?” I snapped. “I didn’t have my black book, asshole. I was panicking as it was. And how awkward would it have been to admit I’d forgotten his name?”
“Not as awkward as not remembering what he looks like,” Tameron said.
“I remember what he looks like. His body, anyway. He was a bear. A silver fox bear, confusing as that might sound. Just not his face. You know I struggle with facial recognition. And I’m sure I’d remember him if I saw him again. It’s not like I’d forget the first guy I ever…experimented with.” One look from Nash had me reconsidering my word choice. “Hooked up with. Exchanged incredibly erotic hand jobs with.”
Creek groaned. “And we’re back to talking about sex.”
“I don’t think we ever changed topics,” Nash said helpfully.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not getting any either,” Tameron said.
“Shocker,” I mumbled, still a little miffed he’d been on my ass about not knowing what my mystery bear looked like. I could take teasing about my scrambled brain all day, but that one had hit a little too close to home, and it stung.
I got up from my chair. “I’m going to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.”
“Creek, you’re on cleanup duty,” Nash said. “Tameron, a word, please?”
Oops, someone was in trouble, probably for the remark he’d made to me. Nash rarely let that shit fly, though he was nice enough to give you the well-deserved dressing down in private. Oh well, hopefully, Tameron would learn. His mouth was always faster than his brain.
I still went to sleep with a smile on my face. I was taking steps to live authentically, and I was proud of that. My brain was still scrambled, but at least I was getting the rest of my life in order.
CHAPTER SIX
BEAN
The first thing I did every morning when I woke up was a self-scan. I’d lie on my back in bed with my eyes closed and mentally check in with every part of my body, top to bottom. Where was I feeling discomfort or pain? Were there any areas I couldn’t connect to? Was I unconsciously tight somewhere?
When one of my doctors had recommended it, I’d thought it was a load of new-age nonsense. My parents definitely would’ve condemned it, but they were convinced anything that wasn’t cold, hard medicine was the devil’s work. Something about opening up your brain to Satan. Heck if I’d ever understood that.
The thing was that it had helped me become more aware of what was happening in my body, which was crucial for someone with my injury. If I felt even an inkling of a headache, for example, I knew I had to be prepared for a rough day, as that could literally explode into the world’s worst migraine within an hour.
Tightness in my shoulders meant I was stressed, as I tended to pull them up when I was. A sore jaw indicated I’d been grinding my teeth in my sleep. The list went on and on, but it helped me big time. The outcome of the self-scan was the first thing I wrote in my book every day.
Luckily, today, I felt good. Very good, in fact. No headaches, no discomforts, no pain. Yay! Fingers crossed for a good day.
A quick check of my schedule reminded me it would be a long day. Good thing, then, that I was feeling fine, right?
I changed into my uniform, which consisted of blue-and-white checkered pants and a dark-blue T-shirt withEddie’s Baron it. The required safety shoes were hideous, but I had to admit they did the job, as the floor was greasy as could be by the end of each shift, yet I never slipped.
The drive over would’ve been routine by now for anyone else, but I set my navigation anyway. That way, I'd be fine if I lost track halfway through. Just before I pulled out of the driveway, my phone dinged with a reminder.
Oh right, I had to stop by the store first and pick up that order Jordan had texted me about it. He’d forgotten to get a few things, so he’d done an extra order for me to pick up. I changed the navigation to the store and then headed out.
It felt good to have a job, even if I was still a little uncertain if I was fully qualified. Jordan wasn’t a professional chef either, though he’d spent his last two years in the Navy cooking. He’d called himself a Casey Ryback, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. It was probably some kind of pop culture reference I didn’t recognize, courtesy of my strict upbringing with zero movies and music—other than worship, of course.
Also, why on earth did I have no issues remembering a fictional name like Casey Ryback, but I couldn’t recall what my mystery bear looked like? So unfair.
I picked up the order and headed to Eddie’s. Checklists were my saving grace, and Jordan had taken the time to sit down with me and make checklists for everything I had to do in a shift. I’d printed and laminated them, sticking them to the door of the big walk-in fridge. Now, all I had to do was check off each thingwith an erasable marker, and I’d be good. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.
And so I got to work, doing one thing at a time like Jordan had taught me. I was the only cook on shift, but I did have help from Andre, who was bussing and doing the dishes. Fish tacos were now on the menu, and they were popular, which made me happy and proud. I’d made them so often by now that I didn’t need a recipe anymore.
“I need fifteen minutes to catch up on orders,” I told Zayd in the middle of the lunch rush. That, too, was something we had agreed on. It meant he’d hold off on taking new food orders until I had caught up so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed.
“No problem,” Zayd said. “Let me know when you’re able to take new orders.”
Gratitude filled me. “Thank you.”
I worked steadily on the orders until I had no more backlog, then signaled to Zayd I was ready for more. After two, things died down a little, only to pick up again around five. My phone alarms went off every three hours, and I dutifully ate something, even though I wasn’t hungry. Ten years in the Army had taught me to eat when I could, regardless of whether I was hungry. Same with sleeping and using the bathroom. You did it when you had the opportunity.