Invisible (6 page)

Thirty or so minutes
later, Rosa pops back into the kitchen and tells me there's a new woman having dinner here.

“Okay, and that's unusual because?”

“Because she staying here for a year. She might become regular if you nice to her. You come say hello.”

I look at Paco, eyebrows raised.

“Go ahead, everything's under control.”

I look around the kitchen—he's right. It's the lull before the storm. I take off my apron, toss it over a stool, and follow Rosa to the dining room. Patrons are just beginning to come in. Rosa heads to a corner table near the window, where a woman sits alone. She seems familiar . . .

Ah yes. The woman I saw in Dr. Becker's waiting room on Monday.

“Dis is our executive chef and owner of Ellyn's—Ellyn DeMoss.”

I hold out my hand. “Hello.”

She looks at me, a question on her face, and then recognition. “Hello, I saw you in the doctor's office on Monday, right?”

“Right. Rosa tells me you're new to town?”

She reaches out her hand and clasps mine. “Yes, I've rented a house here for a year. After that, who knows?” Just like in the doctor's office, I see something in her eyes that I can't read, though her smile seems genuine this evening. “I'm Sabina Jackson.”

“You two can be friends. Two single women alone in dis town. You need each other.”

I shake my head. Rosa—the Queen of Relationships.

Sabina is quick to respond. “Oh, I'm not single, but I'm here alone. So it's good to get to know a few people.”

I nod. “Well, please, come in any time. And if you need anything while you're here, just call.”

“Thank you. I'll be back. I'm not much of a cook myself.”

“I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

I turn to go and see Dr. Becker and a woman walk in the front door.

Too late to hide. Oh, why can't I be invisible? Boy, he's dating a young one.

Then another woman comes in the door behind them—Nerissa Boaz.

“Hi, Ellyn.” The young woman says.

Dr. Becker looks from me to the young woman at his side. “You two know one another?”

I look again and smile. Of course. The tattoo. “Twila, hi. I'm glad to see you.” I smile at Dr. Becker. “Twila and I met at Corners of the Mouth recently.”

“Great. That's where we met too.” He turns and motions Nerissa forward and drapes an arm around her shoulders. “You two must also know each other.” He looks down at Nerissa.

“Of course.” Nerissa steps forward and gives me a hug. “Like many of the chefs in the village, Ellyn pops in from time to time to pick up some last-minute produce.”

Well, aren't they a cozy little group. “I haven't seen you in the store in a while, Nerissa.”

“I'm not there as often as I used to be. I'm doing more consulting with clients.”

And consorting with doctors, it seems.

“When my wife, Sarah, was . . . sick, Nerissa helped me put together a diet to help treat her.”

“Oh . . .” I exhale—something I don't think I've done since they walked in. “Twila, I'll see what kind of vegan dish I can put together for you.”

“Thanks.” She looks, wide-eyed, around the restaurant. “Wow, this is really cool. I love the vibe.”

“Thanks.” I laugh. “Come to think of it, I kind of like the
vibe
too.” I look around the dining room and try to see it through Twila's eyes.

“I'll have whatever you make for Twila.”

“Are you a vegan too, Dr. Becker?”

He smiles, “It's Miles, please. No, I don't follow a vegan diet as a rule, but I figure it's good for me once in awhile.”

“Well, I hate to turn customers away, but maybe you should have gone up to Raven's.”

“Raven's is good, but we wanted to come here. Just a salad will work for me, how about you, gal?” He looks down at Twila again.

“Sure, whatever.”

Nerissa chimes in. “You know me, Ellyn, I'll eat anything you cook. I couldn't do it on a daily basis, but when I want to splurge, I want you to be the one doing the cooking.”

“Well, thanks.” I look back at Twila. “I'm sure I can come up with something besides a salad. Rosa will seat you and I'll head back to the kitchen. Nice to see you all again.”

Rosa's been standing in the background. If she knew about Dr. Becker and Nerissa, she didn't mention it to me. Didn't I just tell her to keep me filled in on the local gossip?

Rosa comes forward with three menus in her hand. “Right dis way, Doctor.”

I turn back to the kitchen and slip through the swinging doors. “Paco!” I hiss his name. “What can we put together for two vegan dishes?” I think through what's on our menu for this week. “What about the ravioli with the fresh tomatoes and crisp vegetables?”

It has to be good. No, it has to be great.

“They're cheese raviolis—asiago and romano.”

“Yes, but we can use the tomatoes and vegetables on something else. Listen, Corners is open until 8:00. Run down there now, and I mean run! Get some polenta. I'll substitute the polenta for the ravioli and in the meantime, I'll make them a salad of greens and . . . something. Go, Paco, go!”

“
Si,
Bella. I'll go. But who are we serving? The president?

“Just go!” I push him toward the back door. The president. Ridiculous. My heart races in my chest—as fast as I hope Paco races to Corners.

But then, that's silly. It isn't as if Dr. Becker hasn't eaten here before. I take a deep breath and look around for Rosa, but don't see her.

Good thing it was just Paco who noticed my . . . my what? My whatever. Rosa would never let me hear the end of it.

You have taught me that I should come to take food in the way I take medicines. But while I pass from the discomfort of need to the tranquility of satisfaction, the very transition contains for me an insidious trap of uncontrolled desire.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Seven

Twila

When I told my
mom about meeting Ellyn at the store and wanting to try her restaurant, she seemed surprised. I don't eat out much. I told her it wasn't about the food, just that I thought Ellyn was sort of interesting. “Like, intriguing. You know?”

“She's engaging. I've always enjoyed her when she's come into the store. I love her restaurant.” She didn't look up from the cutting board where she was cutting carrots into sticks.

“Engaging? Yeah, that's it. So do you want to go?”

“Of course. Miles mentioned wanting to eat at Ellyn's again.”

That time she did look up at me.

“Mind if I invite him to join us?”

I did sort of mind. “Um . . . okay. He's for sure not my doctor anymore, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Let me know when it works for both of you.”

I met Dr. Becker when my mom was working with him at Corners, putting together a plant-based, cancer-fighting diet for his wife. I'd dropped out of school at that point and had been home for four or five months. He was the one who helped my mom get me diagnosed. Not that she didn't know what was going on with me—the diagnosis just had to be official to get me into a treatment program. Miles helped her choose the treatment center too.

I'd like to put that behind me, but I guess it will always be with me.

The thought of having dinner with Dr. Becker was sort of weird, but not because he was my doctor. The last time I had dinner with my mom and a man, the man was my dad. That was a long time ago. But still, it was hard not to make that connection.

“Any word from Dad?” She'd looked up again and I saw the concern in her eyes when I asked her.

“No, not since the last check he sent for your tuition. Did you hear from him when you graduated?”

She knew not to ask me about him unless I brought him up. “Yeah, the usual. He wrote
Happy Graduation
on the memo section of the check, so that was nice, I guess.” I looked at the clock hanging on the wall in the small kitchen. “I've got to go. I open this morning.”

“Did you have breakfast?” The concern was there again—in her eyes.

“Yeah, I did. Really.”

“I believe you, Twila.”

She did, I could tell.

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and then came over to put her hands on my face, so that I had to look at her. “I'm sorry about your dad. I wish I could love you enough for both of us—to make up for . . .”

“Mom, it's okay. I know.”

She kissed my forehead. “I'll see you at the store later. And I'll give Miles a call and see when he's free for dinner, then we can compare calendars. Okay?”

“Okay.”

As I walked out to my car, I thought about the check my dad sent for graduation. I used the money to get my tattoos. Maybe because I knew he wouldn't approve. Or maybe just because I knew what I wanted and he happened to provide the money.

It doesn't matter either way.

I don't look old enough to have tattoos or a degree, or so people tell me. My mom says I look twelve but have the maturity of a forty-year-old. She says I was born with wisdom in my eyes—an old soul.

But, she's my mom, so, you know.

When I tell people I'm twenty-six, they laugh and say things like No way or
That's not possible.
Someday, I'll be old enough to take their surprise as a compliment—but now, it makes it hard to do my job—for people to trust me with their health.

I grew up hanging around Corners of the Mouth and listening to my mom talk about the benefits of whole foods, herbs, minerals, and supplements. She quoted Hippocrates daily.
Let food be thy medicine . . .

Kind of ironic, when I think about it.

Nutrition is part of my genetic makeup, I think. But I didn't follow my mom's path without exploring first. She believed that if she let me go, like a butterfly, I'd come back.

Which I did.

I left home after I graduated from high school and went to UCSC—University of California, Santa Cruz. It felt the most like home—but away from home. I fit there.

Even though there were similarities to where I came from—there were differences too. My mom wasn't there. I was free to explore other life paths, and other belief systems. I watched and listened and checked things out on my own.

I explored Paganism, a belief in gods other than the one true God. I had friends who worshipped the god of the moon—the god of the sea. I was drawn to worshipping creation because of its beauty, but each time I tried to put my mind on the god of the sea, all I could think of was the One I knew who created the sea.

So that year, I accepted, on my own, my mom's belief in Jesus and the truth of one God. But the Bible also was responsible for the personal philosophies I'm trying to live by now. Some of those philosophies are my own—rather than my mom's.

I'm not, like, big on limiting people with labels: evangelical, environmentalist, liberal, conservative, fat, thin, or . . . anorexic. Though it's taken me awhile to get past the fat and thin labels. But I began labeling myself as a vegan that year because it's a word people recognize. For me it's about a belief system, not a label.

Like when I read in Genesis that humans didn't begin eating meat until after the flood—I thought, whoa . . . we were originally created for a plant-based diet? Meat was God's provision for sure, but maybe not His original intent? I'm not sure.

Anyway, meat is hard for me to eat.

But then . . . a lot of things are hard for me to eat.

Funny thing is, since coming back, I've developed this . . . sense. I saw too many hurting people, especially when I did my stint at an in-house treatment facility. But a lot of hurting people come into Corners of the Mouth too. Usually after they've tried everything else. You know, when their doctor can't help them.

When they're desperate.

So . . . about this sense. I believe God's called me to help. He's given me a heart—and the experience—to help people in pain. I may not feel their physical pain in my body, but I feel their pain in my spirit. It's kind of hard to explain. But it's like it makes my heart bleed.

And I don't just sense their physical pain—I get their emotions too. Emotional pain and physical pain go together. One breeds the other. If you begin with emotional pain and don't resolve it, it manifests in the body.

That's what happened to me.

And if you suffer from physical pain, your emotions often follow along. But I find people are more willing to open up and talk about their physical pain. It's like a doorway to their emotional pain, right? That's why I reference the Augustine quote about physical pain being the greatest evil—people can relate to that and then, a lot of times, they'll open up. But they hold their emotional pain closer, keep it hidden longer.

If I've learned anything from my own experiences, it's that, most of the time, emotional pain is based in shame. And people don't want to go there.