Attention: Department Leads
Subject: Meal Delivery
Week Options: Submarine sandwich tray, stir fry platter, margherita pizza.
Please confer with your staff and return department orders by the end of today for the following week of deliveries, specifying condiments, toppings, and number of diners.
*Dessert* Snickerdoodle cookies
My parents sat uncomfortably on the couch the next morning waiting to talk, but they didn’t start till Andrek joined us. I couldn’t figure out how to act, so I let my face go blank and slumped beside Dad. That did the trick, because he put an arm around me.
“I know, baby,” he said. Quiet, gentle. “I wish things were different.”
Mom closed her eyes for a long time. “We need to talk about what happens next.”
Andrek rested on the arm of the chair, and I sank into Dad’s side.
“We’re listening,” Dad told her.
She stood and paced, her arms stuffed into the pockets of her lab coat. “I need you to go about your routines as normally as possible and return to these quarters the moment your shifts end. Rationing must start today, though it won’t be announced yet. You’ll need to be ready to go to the subbasement shelter at a moment’s notice. And no talking about the fleet with your friends. This is privileged information and must remain so as our investigations into the communications breach continues.”
“How long?”
Dad misunderstood me and said, “As long as it takes to find them, honey.”
“No, I mean, how long are we supposed to keep things secret? The RC’s fleet and all of it.”
“Oh. President Marshall will decide that with ops,” he said. “Though I expect it will be within a few days, maybe as early as tonight.”
“That’s fine for you three, but folks in the kitchen are going to notice rationing, whether anyone tells them or not.”
Mom wrapped her arms tightly around her chest and croaked, “Can you please just have a normal day and come straight back?”
“I think the news is going to spread with or without my help.”
Andrek met my gaze for the first time all morning with I-need-to-talk-to-you eyes.
I almost smiled, a reflex, until I remembered I couldn’t be open with him either. I was holding his secret and Viveca’s, and I was all alone with both.
“But I’ll do my best,” I said, and I meant it. I’d try my best to pretend everything’s normal.
Just not for them.
This made breakfast awkward smothered with extra tricky. I took three bites, and each lodged in my throat like tiny rocks.
Mom’s Major Mom mouth. Remember what we agreed. One rock wiggled its way free. Dad’s checked out face. Impotent. Hoping and waiting. The second rock dropped and knocked against the first in my gut.
Andrek pinched me, not hard, but if he kept at the same spot any longer, I might bruise. I wrapped my foot around his leg, pulling it closer, then thwacked his knee twice. Stop it.
He kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’m going to tell them about my service. Even if it means I’m in some trouble for a minute. I can tell it’s tearing you apart.”
“‘Kay.”
“I know you’re mad at me for not speaking up, but,” he twisted a curl free from my hairnet, “I don’t want to lose you either.”
The third rock plunked as Viveca sat on my other side, her jumpsuit tied around her waist, the same way I’d been wearing mine. She rested her uniform—a soft cardigan sweater with reinforced pockets—next to her.
Her lips were black today. A strong look.
The rocks inside me tittered and clacked. I blushed, sandwiched by secrets and beauty.
Space me, this girl. A tiger’s eye pendant blinked atop her clavicle, fixed by a delicate black chain, and her shining hair fanned her shoulders. Her bare arm rubbed against mine on the table, and her energy was a whole cup of coffee.
She smiled. I thought it was a “game on” smile.
“Good morning,” we said at the same time.
I wore myself out feeling every seam on my jumpsuit, the tips of my hair, the air on my face. How was she going to play this normal morning, she who saw two steps ahead of the rest of the trust? Then, instead of saying something to shake the table’s world, she laced her fingers through mine and took a slow sip of her juice.
I swallowed a squeal as Andrek tensed and tried to pull his leg back.
“Good morning,” my parents returned, several seconds too late to sound ordinary. They picked at their food, glaring at my hand in hers. If they weren’t going to eat, why wouldn’t they leave?
Andrek mumbled a good morning too. I wished someone, anyone, would say something less boring, because the rocks had done an impossible thing. They’d grown. I checked my plate, positive that wasn’t how soy eggs worked.
“Can I get a minute alone with you before you go to work? It’s about the memorial.” Viveca’s thumb moved over my index finger and sent a shiver of joy down my spine.
“Now works.” It was hard to make myself move, but I managed to do it. I quickly kissed Andrek and whispered, “Tonight.”
“Walk with me,” I told Viveca.
“Have a good day,” Mom called as I walked away, emphasizing good to mean “perfectly normal.”
“Smoothly done,” Viveca said, giving me another shiver. I was not used to compliments that weren’t from Andrek.
“I have names from ops’ suspect list for you to watch for in the line today, but—”
“I probably won’t recognize names,” I cut in.
“I thought of that actually, so I have pictures. As well as some questions that might be conversation starters. But be yourself and talk like you usually do at work. If you notice anyone acting peculiar, we can talk about it after lunch. Will you be free after your shift?”
I dumped the rest of my rock-eggs and settled the tray in the sanitizer cart. “My parents ordered me straight back to our quarters. For safety.”
“Of course they did.”
“I’m not doing that though.”
She breathed out a laugh. “I guessed not.”
She put her tray on top of mine. I liked the click it made. We slid into seats at an empty table so she could show me the faces and guiding questions. I committed them to memory as best as I could, and we shared the rest of her juice before she left for work.
My job today was to hunt for the spy without drawing attention. Meanwhile, she’d be digging through personnel files and records for proof of foul play that wasn’t her own. I adjusted my uniform, slung on an apron, fixed my hairnet in place, and started my shift prep. All the while I practiced the first question, mouthing it to myself as I worked.
What was your favorite holiday growing up?
Viveca thought this would spark some emotional conversation, and I was to watch for anything weird, because people with a secret act all kinds of ways, she’d said. Overly talkative or oddly quiet or sweaty, clumsy, off, anything out of the norm. It didn’t seem like enough to me, but she said my “strong intuition” should be plenty to speed our investigation forward.
I was supposed to start the conversation circling the kitchen first, because one of Viveca’s names was Ty, and I was supposed to say I was asking “for the memorial,” if anyone got at me for being nosy. These supposed-tos lined up nicely with my parents’ musts, and holiday talk sparked around the kitchen as soon as I practiced on Stephan, so I was feeling pretty smug about my espionage efforts by the time I carried lunch to the serving line.
Seared butternut squash curry on rice. Snow peas. Pineapple compote with coconut cookies. A bright and happy spread.
Stephan joined me on the line. He’d been stuck prepping lunch deliveries most of the morning.
“Can I get—” he took the tray and an extra cookie and crouched by my feet. “Thanks. I’m starving,” he mumbled between bites. He scarfed the whole meal in seconds.
I shielded him from view as I plated more trays, because Chef would flip to see him eating on the line. “No worries. I got you.”
Ty was as normal as ever with her one-word answers, so I ticked her off the suspect list and smiled at the first person in line. A doctor, I figured, because of the red Medical emblem on her left shoulder. She wasn’t one Viveca told me to watch for, but I might as well get things moving.
“What was your most memorable holiday,” I asked her, “when you were growing up?”
She jerked to attention as if caught unaware and stood frozen for a moment, her hands hovering over the edges of the tray she reached for. Her eyes widened then contracted, emotions spilling over her face. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion.
“Why would you—you can’t ask someone that!” she said hotly. “My home flooded on Christmas day, if you must know.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Thanks a lot.” She stormed away with her tray, but not before I saw tears spilling onto her cheeks. She brushed them away with an angry tug of her sleeve.
Stephan cuffed my shoulder and helped the next person. “What was that about?”
“A mistake,” I said, trying to shrug it off. I should have stuck with “best.” Maybe I’d do better with the next question.
I gave myself a solid minute to let the line move further and hide the crying doctor from easy view. Then I picked a happy looking couple out of uniform. “What’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”
“Easy,” the first man said. “My mother’s paella.”
The second man bristled and cut a look at his partner. “Your mother’s? Your mother’s?”
“Well, yeah,” mama’s boy answered defensively.
“You said mine was your favorite,” bristly man whined. “The best meal of your life, remember?”
“Baby, I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever have my mother’s again.”
“Or mine! If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t get to do any cooking anymore.”
Their argument trailed off as they walked away, but I was left blinking after them and wondering how I’d failed so badly so fast.
Stephan rolled his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk so much.”
I laughed, mostly with embarrassment, and definitely did not talk for several minutes.
When Danny came through the line with her friends, I got to practice on them, to slightly better, if bittersweet, results. The best meal of Danny’s life was one I cooked for Faraday’s campaign, and the last Danny shared with her mom and brother. Luckily, none of the other faces I was looking for showed up in line after, and once I spotted Viveca I decided to take a quick break.
I dragged her to Chef’s office and heaved a sigh of relief nobody was using it. Less lucky, I noticed the mama’s boy talking to Chef, who saw me watching.
She rubbed her forehead and waved me on.
I pulled the curtain closed with a huff. “This isn’t working.”
I spun around and nearly knocked into Viveca. The rocks in my gut rattled like they expected me to tumble them smooth.
She scanned me, locking onto my mouth. I couldn’t imagine what she saw there, but she hadn’t stepped back to let me further inside.
“I see. Don’t sweat it. It’s only one prong of Plan A. Anything stand out to you?”
I chewed my lower lip, which she was still staring at. “Only how phenomenally bad that went.”
She crossed her arms, a thinking pose. “That’s weird, because usually you present rather well. Warm. Friendly.”
“I do?”
“How do you not know that? You’re very approachable. Anyway, I think you’re in your head. How about this.” She brought a finger close to my lips, pointing. “Relax. This is only a start, to see if you notice something I don’t.”
That shriveled me more than I liked. “Oh.”
“I said that wrong. Your part in the plan is the most important because people I call to my office come prepared with ‘versions’ of their truth. You’re more likely to see folks how they really are.”
“I just relax?”
“Yes,” she said. “And be yourself. Stick to food topics, but maybe take things down a notch? Make it less personal?”
I squirmed a little. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that. Thanks for the pep talk.” I turned to leave, but she took my arm and slid her fingers between mine again. My head went light and fizzy.
Her smile bloomed. A black rose. “Lane.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she said, and brushed that rose between my cheek and my mouth. The room spun or I did. “For believing me.”
Maybe I should never kiss her. Our nearness made me feel supercharged. I could power a planet.
“I should go back out. Stephan’s got deliveries soon, and I don’t want to miss—you know.”
“I’ll stay close. In case you need me.” She whirled past me through the curtain, revealing Chef frowning quizzically at the hole in the line.
I checked the ovens with Chef’s attention boring into my back, but she was busy once I returned to my position.
Stephan shot me a curious look but softened when I laid more cookies out. He still acted hungry, so I sent him off to eat again before he had to dash. Deliveries must have been wearing him out, and I wondered why he hadn’t asked for more help when he’d taught me his routes through all the weird hidden hallways between departments. I didn’t know how he ever came up with it, because he still hadn’t been assigned his own tablet. Anyway, I’d had fun learning the secret, windy paths of the trust, even though I’d rather be in the kitchen.
With my courage mustered and the bain-maries freshened, I surveyed the tail end of the lunch line. There were four others that Viveca had me looking for, but I only saw one of them, a guy in his thirties. Thick-jawed and white, not much taller than me. I’d noticed him before, usually at breakfast, because he piled every kind of available cereal into a box and left with it right away. If there weren’t at least three kinds available, he went hunting for Chef to complain.
Cereal Box wasn’t carrying his box today. He scratched at the back of his neck, his gaze darting to the west hallway. I supposed that was a little weird.
I wouldn’t waste my question this time. Keep it about food. Not heavy. I waited till he was one person shy of the counter and asked, “Is there something you’d like us to make next week?”
The person in front of me was twice the height of Cereal Box and had shoulders that wouldn’t fit through most doorways without twisting. His watery blue eyes were marred by bloodshot cracks. He was, I realized, the drunkest person I’d ever seen in real life.
“Your tits on a tray will do, sugar,” he quipped, sticking his finger into his compote and smearing it on his tongue.
“Ew,” was all I managed to say, because Cereal Box squawked and pulled Giant Drunk away from the line.
“Don’t talk to her that way!”
“What’re you—” a branch-sized white finger poked at Cereal Box’s nose “—gonna do, you tiny—”
Cereal Box did some fancy one-two fist work that doubled Giant Drunk in half, but while Cereal Box cradled his knuckles, Giant Drunk snapped a trunk-like arm around his neck.
Shouts from the cafeteria got drowned out by Giant Drunk’s unintelligible hollering and Cereal Box’s cries. I cast about helplessly, my hands pulled in to cover myself, though the counter separated me from the fray.
All of a sudden, Stephan was there to save me, sliding over the line and bursting the men apart with sharp barks at both. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Stephan got Drunk Giant kneeling, held by the back of his collar, and Cereal Box by the front of his shirt.
Stephan caught my eye and mouthed, “Go,” so I did, backing into Chef’s arms, who hustled me to her office with gentle words.
“You are having a real day of it,” Chef said, pulling off my hairnet and patting my cheeks. I let her. “One thing after another all shift, then this. How are you? You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”
I inched over to Chef’s couch and hauled myself onto it. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am. Boorish drunks and hothead men. Not you.” She laughed her baritone laugh, the one even the freezer doors couldn’t muffle. “However! You have been stirring the pot on the line today. What’s that about? Best tell me so I can get in front of it.”
I caught my breath and tried to untangle my stiff limbs. “It’s…”
Chef had been so amazing to me. Patient. Kind. She’d let me play at being a dessert chef, though my recipes were amateur hour. Baking 101. She provided her office as a retreat, whether or not I was on shift.
I didn’t want to lie to her.
“Oh my, now I’ve stirred something myself, and you’re—”
“It’s okay. I should tell you,” I said. “It’s for the memorial.”
“How?” she asked, which was perfectly reasonable to wonder, but my preparation didn’t stretch that far.
So maybe I wouldn’t lie. How could I not lie? “I’m trying to gather ideas for it, for…” If I said something and made it true, then it wouldn’t be a lie. “A holiday. A Memorial Day.”
Viveca lifted the curtain and swept across the room to me in one step. “I saw.”
“Yeah.” I said. “I’m all right. I was about to pitch Chef our memorial plan. For a holiday.”
Chef glanced between us shiftily. She was too clever not to sense something was up. “Like, a Faraday… day?”
I screeched. “Under no circumstances will we call it that.”
“But yes,” Viveca slid in. “A holiday, with a better name. And we’ll need to build an entire day’s menu.”
Oh, I saw where she was taking us. I shored up my voice, which was still a tad shaky. “And games and other stuff, but yeah. Food’s at the center of any holiday tradition.”
“That’s true about food.” Chef sniffed and tapped her teeth. “But we can’t have you disrupting meals like this, with people all in their moods.”
An idea flashed. I’d never been great in groups, or timed settings, but maybe there was a different way. “I was going to ask if I could meet with a few people at a time, actually. Not during meals. Maybe after dinner service? That way we could run some tasting trials. Without disruptions.”
Chef kept tapping, considering. “A focus group. I could make that work.”
Viveca’s eyes twinkled. “And could we also get a list of trustees’ dietary requirements and restrictions? We don’t want to do Faraday an injustice by not thinking things through. Or do anything to mess up your orderly kitchen.”
“Little thick there, dear.” Chef smoothed her apron. “I’ll make those records available. You’ll need to double check the pantry first, of course.”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you!”
Chef shooed us from her office with a wicked grin. “Go on then, you two. Faraday Day.”
Viveca and I held hands on our way out of the kitchen and through the cafeteria, our surprise victory flapping like a lightning bug trapped between our palms.