“I wonder about the stuff on the side of the road. How does it get there?”
A second before remembering the plague of plastic waste poisoning the earth, Kia opened the straw that had come with her water. No point in not using it now. She accordioned the wrapper until it was a tiny knot, then dripped water on it to watch it expand like a snake, then plunked the straw into her glass.
“Cool,” Deja said, then continued with things she’d seen on the roadside.
Kia stared at the table. It was spotless. Not a speck of ketchup on the outside of the ketchup bottle. And from across the room, she saw a young busboy wiping out the inside of the ketchup lids. Maybe he was like Blake. Kia’s heart throbbed with affection at the thoughtof talented, disciplined Chef Sullivan mentoring this struggling kid. Sullivan hadn’t fired him yet, Kia had noticed, and she loved Sullivan for it. Not that she would be disappointed if Sullivan did fire him. If Sullivan did, she’d admire Sullivan’s decisiveness and the way she’d surely be calm and kind about it. Kia would love her for that too.
Love, love, love.The word kept scrolling across her mind.
The waitress returned a few minutes later with a burger for Deja and an unappetizing-looking chicken-fried steak for Kia. If the cook put the gravy on the side of the steak and added a few green beans, it would improve the plate a hundred percent. Right now it was a white biscuit, white mashed potatoes, and a steak entirely covered in whitish gravy. She texted Sullivan.
Kia:It’s very white down here
Sullivan didn’t write back within half a second, which did not mean Sullivan was mad at her. Kia knew that logically. She had not fucked up by not dragging Sullivan five hours down I-5 to spend two days waiting for Kia to get off her twelve-hour shifts. That’s what she told herself. She still felt like maybe she’d fucked up. Sullivan would have enjoyed the trip. She wouldn’t have hunkered down. She’d have gone hiking, and probably met a bunch of cool, outdoorsy people.
“Are you texting Sullivan?” Deja asked.
Kia nodded.
“How are things going?” Deja propped her elbows on the table, folding her hands above her hamburger in a gesture that said,After I say my grace, I’m going to sit like this until you tell me everything.
“Good.”
“I can see she’s living rent-free in your head. Are you at the part where you’re trippin’ over everything she says?”
“No. What do you meanpart?”
“Of the relationship. First you see them and, you’re like,They’re so fly. Then you get that they-like-me vibe. All that walking on clouds stuff. Then you freak out about everything because you’re convinced they don’t like you. Then you calm down and live happily ever after.” Deja stabbed her knife through the top of her burger. “Or break up.” She neatly cut the burger in half. “But you two won’t. You’re totally into each other.”
Sullivan wasn’t going to break up with her because Kia didn’t let her fry tursnickens in Grants Pass.
“Should we do a live stream?” Deja asked after Kia was silent for a while. “I think it’d be fun to get Marley in on it.”
“Marley?”
“Our server. She could talk about boysenberries.”
There was probably a lot to say about boysenberries: growth patterns, pest resistance, conditions for agricultural workers. Sullivan could probably talk about the boysenberry industry for an hour. But Kia and Marley wouldn’t have a real conversation. Kia would croon,We’re getting gourmazing at Shayla’s Diner in beautiful Grants Pass, Oregon. Marley, tell us what you’re serving today.Marley would recite the pies. Kia would pretend to faint. Maybe they’d film a clip of Kia with a dozen pies in front of her, frantically sticking her fork in each one. They’d throw away the rest, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d pay for them. Plus two minutes on Kia Gourmazing would bring in so many road trippers, Shayla’s would wish they’d never heard of Kia Gourmazing.
Kia took out her phone with a sigh and opened U-Spin.
This account has been closed.
She read the screen again.
“Deja?” It felt like that moment in a horror movie when one friend turns to the other with a look that says,Is that what I think it is?She held out her phone. For once, Deja was speechless.
“It must be a mistake,” Kia said.
It felt like food poisoning. Her stomach cramped. Her heart raced. Sweat dampened her skin, leaving a sick chill as it evaporated. She’d been shut down. She’d heard of this happening. People got shut down for copyright infringement, inappropriate content, false advertising (although U-Spin needed to police that one more carefully), but she had Deja constantly monitoring for any potential issues. She paid $199 a month for a program that scanned for and blocked hacks, trolls, threats, people engaging in hate speech in the comments, and copyright issues. Unless she was sponsored, you’d never find an errant Pepsi bottle in the background or a snippet of a song that wasn’t included in U-Spin’s approved music options.
But there were the words on a blank profile page.
This account has been closed.
Her account was everything. This was her income, her job, her life. Fuck. Some U-Spin employee or, more likely, algorithm could end her life. Yeah, she was getting tired of life on the road and pumping American Spirit breakfast sausage, but she didn’t have a living without her account.
“Let me check my email.”
