The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie

by Rachel Linden

Feeling oddly deflated, I navigated to the photo app on my phone, curious to see what it could tell me about my life. I felt a little like I was voyeuristically spying on someone else’s life. Technically it was my own life, but it still felt illicit somehow. I scrolled through more than a hundred photos before I stopped. What the photos showed about my own life was just plain depressing. Almost all of the photos were taken at Toast or with the Toast employees at what looked like various pubs. Lots of group shots of me holding a pint with people I recognized as kitchen and waitstaff. There were a couple photos of me and a tall, sweet-looking man whom I surmised was Colin. In all the shots we appeared to be hill walking or standing in a large garden, me holding a bunch of beets or an armful of zucchini. Nicola was right, Colin did have bedroom eyes. In the photos he looked tall and a little gangly, but adorable, wearing an English driving cap and a sheepish grin. He had a freckled complexion and ginger hair. He reminded me of Rory. Apparently I have a type. I sighed and clicked off the phone. In some ways Toast was just as I imagined it, but in other ways this day was not quite what I’d envisioned. It wasn’t just the question of Rory, although that weighed heavily on my mind. It was my apparent lack of a good work-life balance. Did I have friends, hobbies, interests outside the restaurant? The photos I’d just seen would seem to indicate that I did not.

so Lolly have a restaurant, a boyfrien,d and your coworkers are your friends in the country you love...but back in Seattle you've got one friend, still whinging about your high school crush and never go anywhere...