Mags leaned over the dessert case in the truck stop diner and sang out, “Look what they got today!” Her thick palms splayed atop the long case, wedding ring sparkling in the spotlights. Red flowery blouse curtained three long shelves of thick gooey fudginess and dripping fruitiness and stiff creaminess.

Deb hung back by the hostess podium, avoiding the case. She tried to block what Mags was saying, stop her mind from going into details. She had to be strong, focused. Her mission tonight ran counter to their standard Monday-night mission. But she had not told this to her friend and co-conspirator.

Mags heaved herself up and turned to face Deb, her full weight looking like an unmade bed. She brushed greying strands away from her face. “They have a lot better desserts out here,” she said. “I was at the diner in town with my church group this morning. They didn’t have the cherry jubilee or the chocolate peanut butter explosion. I just had coffee. My church ladies admire my willpower. I tell them I weigh in on Monday nights. I don’t tell them I come here with you after!”

Their regular server Tina bounced up, holding the decaf coffee carafe and picking up two dessert menus from the podium. “Look who’s here! My beautiful Monday Night Ladies.”

“Tigger Tina!” Mags smiled wide.

Tina’s familiarity unsettled Deb with a creepy feeling that Tina was more drug dealer than server.

Tina winked and bounced them to their regular back booth, the one furthest from the window seats overlooking the highway pond, on the other side from the bathrooms and slot machines. Three private booths shoved against a wall, beneath portraits of Wisconsin dairy land, cows grazing. Deb brushed off toast crumbs lingering on the torn vinyl seat. She scooted her way in. The table smelled of disinfectant. Did it feel a little further away tonight? Maybe just her imagination.

Tina passed them menus. “How are my ladies tonight?”

“We’re here, so you know we’re good,” Mags beamed.

Flipping cups and pouring coffee. “You saw the specials in the case?”

“We did,” Mags said, “but go ahead and tell us about them anyway.”

“We got a brownie upside down cake tonight that has a layer of chocolate fudge inside, and we can warm that up and put a scoop of vanilla ice cream on it for you. It’s chocolate molten lava heaven. We also got a berry cobbler with a sugar-topped crust that has been flying today. I saved you two pieces, just in case.”

“You always take such good care of us,” Mags said.

 “I’m looking out for you,” Tina winked again. “I know you need a few minutes to think it over – I’ll be back to take care of you.” She patted Mags’s shoulder and strode off, her generic running shoes bouncing along the worn carpet. Deb watched her go, thinking how Tina had been taking care of them for two months now.

Just after Christmas, Deb had risen to her highest weight yet – 230 – and her new doctor (young, fit) had given her the list: prediabetic, high cholesterol, etc etc, and a referral to a nutritionist. The nutritionist (also young, fit) had talked with her for an hour and given her a plan. Drastic: no sugar, no salt. Then the nutritionist suggested the support meeting at the hospital – weekly weigh in, discussion, camaraderie with others. “This is a big change,” the nutritionist said, “and you’re going to need a lot of support to do it.” Dale’s insurance covered it. She promised herself if it was awful, she wouldn’t go back, but she had to try it once. She almost backed out at the basement room with its fluorescent lights and folding chairs. A dozen people gathered: some very overweight, some medium overweight, one girl so underweight Deb wondered why she was there. And Mags. When that unmade bed stood up and said how she was almost 60 and had little grandbabies she wanted to see grow up, but how she loved her some tater tot hotdish, Deb immediately related. Deb went back the next week, just to see Mags, with a rehearsed line: Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Mags suggested the truck stop. In the back book, Mags said, “What if we cheat, just tonight? A planned cheat – isn’t that what they all say to do?”

They’d come every Monday night for two months.

“Well,” Mags opened the menu. “I’m up a pound this week, but I’m not missing my one official cheat.”

Deb studied the part in her friend’s thinning hair. Yes, the table was definitely further away tonight. She pushed the menu aside and sorted through her purse for hand sanitizer. The scent of lemony alcohol blended with the grease and sugar and coffee. The quiet din, the dim lighting were usually so calming. Her heart pounded and she felt like she couldn’t get a full breath. She looked around; not a lot of people on a windy March night. Large men who had sat behind the wheels of big rigs for a lot of hours. Skinny men who probably smoked, like Deb’s husband Dale. Skinny as a rail, could eat anything. Like their waitress, Tina.

“Do you think Tina actually tries the desserts?” Deb asked. “She’s so thin.”

“She’s young. She can probably eat anything and not gain weight.” Mags studied the menu.

“That was never me,” Deb said.

“That was me in high school,” Mags said, “but then I started having babies – look out! Just attach me to a garden hose of chocolate. I think I gained weight on the drive home from the hospital.” She put her menu down and pushed at the table. “Too many options. I don’t know what to choose. Want to order two to share?”

Deb settled her butt down into the vinyl. All day she had been practicing what to say at this very moment. “I’m just having coffee tonight.” She heard the words coming out of her mouth.

Mags looked up, eyebrows contorted. “Seriously?”

“I’m just not feeling it.”

“Not feeling dessert?” Mags looked around as if to confirm this crazy-talk with somebody else. She shook her head. “I can safely say I’ve never, ever felt that way.”

“Well, you know.”

Deb leaned back and put her hands on the table like she was holding court. “You are seriously telling me you’re going to pass on chocolate molten lava heaven?”

“Yes.” Deb nodded her head.

“Maybe just a scoop of vanilla ice cream?”

“I’m going to pass.” The lines came out flawless.

Tina appeared. “So, have we decided, ladies?”

Deb was on a roll and opened her mouth to say she was good with decaf, but Mags said, “We’re still deciding, hon.”

“Maybe you need two of each and take some home to hubs?”

“We need a couple more minutes,” Mags told her, smile plastered on her face. Tina nodded and bounced off, and Mags faced Deb. “Now what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “If I wanted to eat alone, I could have stayed home. Bob’s got bowling league tonight.”

Dale was also gone for the night, helping his brother put in a new hot water heater. Deb’s whole body instantly recalled the illicit glee of eating alone for a night. Even better on his annual fishing and hunting trips, when she would buy all her favorite foods and hunker down in front of the TV. Except now, oddly enough, she could also recall the anguish, lying there so sick, physically unable to move, until an hour passed and she’d be ready to have at it again.

Deb said, “When Dale is gone I never stop at just one piece of pie.”

“Of course not.” Mags looked away, out at the truckers, back at her menu, then back to Deb. “Then why did you come here tonight?”

“Because I wanted to be with you,” Deb said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” In the two months they’d been meeting over melting ice cream and gooey chocolate, they’d talked about their lives. Mags revealed her despair that her son’s girlfriend was a liberal who went on protest marches. Deb confessed she had a terrible time being with her five year-old grandson who had autism. But honestly, part of her didn’t want to see Mags at all. Part of her knew Mags would have a reaction when Deb said she didn’t want the dessert. She feared she might break down and eat the damn cake just to make her friend happy. She’d eaten to please plenty of people in the past.

“I’ve lost some weight,” Deb whispered, breaking the script. She was reticent to reveal how much, not wanting to make Mags feel bad for not losing any.

Mags nodded. “That’s great.”

“Twenty pounds.” Deb tried to tone down her excitement. “These are my thin pants. You know how long it’s been since I put them on? Even Dale noticed. The other night he told me my neck looked thinner.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Mags asked. “You eat dessert on Monday nights, and you’re losing weight. I don’t see a problem.”

Because Monday nights when she went home, Deb felt like crap. Her blood sugar plummeted, her sleep was awful, and Tuesday mornings she woke up hung over. She actually looked up the diner website and the nutrition content of the pie she’d eaten. 930 calories, 47 grams of sugar. No wonder she felt like the gouged-out tire ruts in their gravel driveway. She used to feel like that all the time. And now she didn’t. And then something else happened this week. She’d been trying very hard to stay on this diet, and all of a sudden, it wasn’t hard anymore.  

“I just don’t want to.”

Mags sighed and closed the menu. “Well, there’s no sense in us sitting here. I’m not going to pig out while you sit there gloating.”

“I’m not going to – ”

Mags pushed against the table to heave her weight out. It was over. “Wait,” Deb impulsively reached out and grasped Mags’s puffy fist, the first time she’d ever touched her friend. Mags jerked both hands back and tucked them down beneath the table, but the physical connection was enough to keep her in the booth.

Deb whispered, leaning in. “It’s actually easier. To not eat the sugar, I mean. It’s easier to give it up cold turkey. I’m not craving it anymore. I don’t even want it. I feel so much better.” She felt lighter, to tell someone the miracle. Of everyone Deb knew, Mags would be the one to appreciate that miracle.

Mags stared at her a long moment, like she was truly listening.

Tina appeared. “Did we decide?”

Mags looked up at the server. “Looks like we’re not in the mood for dessert tonight.”

Deb burst into a smile. Mags believed her! Maybe it could work for her, too. Maybe their friendship was about something more. They could do this together!

“Oh, well,” Tina shook her head, throwing her ponytail over her shoulder, “you can always get something to go!”

“You know,” Mags said, “I think I’ll do that. Pack me up a piece of the brownie and the cherry. I’ll bring one to Bob.”

Tina bounced off. Mags pushed herself out of the booth without meeting Deb’s eyes, plodding after Tina. Deb sat, then put a few dollars on the table. She stood and walked slowly to the front counter, where Mags watched Tina pack her box. Deb paused beside her and asked, “See you next week?”

“You know it,” Mags sang out. She kept her eyes on their server as she spoke to Deb. “I’m just gonna pay my bill. You don’t need to wait with me. Have a great night!”

Deb waited in the car, Dale’s new car, a hybrid he’d just bought, he was just so thrilled at its gas mileage. He’d insisted she drive it tonight. It felt like a long time before Mags finally came out carrying a large bakery box. Deb watched her truck lunge forward and roll through the stop sign, no turn signal, onto the frontage road toward the highway.

How many times she’d eaten on the way home, steering wheel covered in frosting.

Deb felt a glowing sense of triumph. She’d faced the challenge, overcome the temptation. It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought; now it was over and she could go home. She put her foot on the brake as Dale had showed her, pushed the button to start the engine. The dashboard lit up and dinged. Without the engine revving, it was hard to tell if it had even started. All day she’d been on edge about this night. Now she could relax. Her whole body sank into the new leather seats, and she watched the little picture of the energy flow from the battery to the motor. The car, so quiet, idling. So nice of Dale to let her drive his car tonight while he went to help his brother. She watched the flow of energy. It was time to go. She should go now. She should go.

– Felicia Schneiderhan

Author’s Note: When the pandemic hit the States, I froze up on my ongoing literary projects. To jar loose the creativity, I put the projects on hold and started a new game, “The Rules of Engagement.” Every week, I had to write a new short story following the same rules: third-person point of view, less than 3,000 words, taking place in one setting, and one person has a secret they may or may not reveal. Also, there had to be a garden hose. I wrote several short stories like this, including “Idle.” It was fun and got me out of myself, for just a little while at least, every day.