Chapter Text
Gwen is an emotional eater.
She’ll admit to it. In 9th grade, when she didn’t make the volleyball team, she ate her feelings away with two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. When her mom died a couple years ago, she devoured three plates at the local Mexican buffet. And today, when her boyfriend dumps her for a basic-ass valley girl, her craving for comfort food rears it’s ugly head yet again.
This is how she finds herself at Khanna’s Kitchen, an empty little Indian restaurant nestled in a strip mall next to Walmart. Sitting at the counter is a curly-haired Indian boy wearing a blue hoodie. He seems engrossed in a game on his phone. He looks a little young to be working, Gwen thinks. Maybe his parents are the owners? Before she can ponder it further, the boy glances up from his phone and gives her a disgusted look.
“Jeeze, what the fuck is wrong with you? You look like you just got dumped or something,” he says. Great, Gwen thinks. Despite her efforts to scrub her face of tears, even a 10-year-old can pick up on her misery. Irritation spikes in the pit of her stomach. She’s not in the mood for a little kid to tease her; especially when the goal of this trip was to make herself feel better with comfort food.
“I did. Fuck off,” she snaps. The kid throws his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide.
“Damn, okay! Sorry.” He seems to shrink in on himself, ducking his head behind the cash register. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. She didn’t mean to scare him. For as tough as he was acting, she didn’t think her outburst would affect him, much less make him apologetic. She’ll let it slide this time. If only she could rub this in Jason’s face. She doesn’t hold grudges; Fuck him!
“It’s fine,” she says. The kid visibly relaxes and sits up straight on his stool. With her arms hugging herself, Gwen examines the menu hung above the kid’s head and realizes she has absolutely no idea what any of the food is. The anxiety hits her full force as she tries to decipher the foreign language and grainy pictures. He watches her with a curious expression.
“So…Are you ready to order…? He asks tentatively, probably wanting to avoid another outburst. She chuckles. At least she’s not the only anxious one. This thought helps her pull herself together enough to ask him for recommendations. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He glances at the menu and then looks her up and down, like he’s sizing her up.
“Do you want something spicy? You look Mexican, so I think you could handle it.” Gwen snorts.
“Don’t profile me, you little shit.” The kid grins. She rolls her eyes. “But yeah, I am. Mexican. So, give me something so spicy that I’ll be shitting a waterfall for days.” The kid laughs and honestly, it’s music to Gwen’s ears. She’s been listening to the sound of her own snot-filled sniffling for the past hour, so the sound of joy is a welcome one.
The kid turns around and yells something in another language into the kitchen. Hindi, probably? She’s not entirely sure. The kid faces her again and gestures to a beat-up table and chairs across the room.
“You can go have a seat. I’ll bring your food out in a minute. Try not to cry too much while you wait, yeah?” He teases, reverting to his earlier snarky attitude. This time, however, he seems softer, his eyes crinkling with concern. Gwen smiles.
“Yeah, yeah, suck my dick,” she retaliates. The kid snickers and bounces away to help the cooks make her food. Gwen grabs her bag and makes her way to the table.
Sitting down, she realizes that the place is a lot shabbier than she originally thought. The chair across from her somehow only has three legs, and the table itself has mini dicks drawn on it in permanent marker. In front of her table, on the wall, there is a T.V. playing some Bollywood movie. She spots the restaurant rating near the front counter and is not surprised to see the “B” stamped on front. Is it too late to bail, she wonders? The kid inadvertently answers her question by bringing out a serving tray with her order.
“Alright, I ordered you a Chicken 65 and slipped as many spices on it as they’d let me. You’re welcome,” he says, placing the plate in front of her. “I also brought some Naan bread for you to eat on the side.” She glances at the food. It doesn’t look too bad, actually. Maybe she judged the place too quickly.
“I forgot to ask,” the kid starts, balancing the empty tray on his hip, “Did you want anything to drink?”
“Just a coke is fine,” she says. As the kid walks away to fetch her drink, she digs into her meal. She lifts a forkful to her mouth and the spices burst on her tongue. He wasn’t kidding about the extra spices! She really wishes she had her drink. She prays the kid comes back quickly before her taste buds disintegrate.
Thankfully, the kid rounds the corner and sets her drink down beside her. She gulps it greedily, pointedly ignoring the shit-eating grin he gives her.
“It’s good, huh?” He teases.
“If I could actually taste anything over my mouth being on fire, I’d let you know.”
“Oh, calm down, it’s not that bad. I thought you said you could handle it?” His grin gets bigger.
Gwen ignores him and takes another swig of her drink. Putting on a brave face, she takes another bite of the chicken. After a few chews, she decides it’s not too bad once you get used to it. She tears off a piece of naan bread to try. The kid waits in suspense, tapping his foot.
“Okay, fine. You win. It’s pretty damn good,” the kid smirks. After a moment of awkward lingering, he asks a question that will change both of their lives forever.
“Can I...Can I sit with you?”