Our Strange Love

Chapter 8*

Bubba nodded as if saying, 'See? I told you.'

"Ha." Riley gave a short, mocking laugh.

"Whatever." Eran ended the conversation with that. His eyes met with Riley's warm brown ones. "Go get the book on that stand over there."

Riley looked at the book from afar mysteriously before getting up to fetch it. "This encyclopedia is the menu?" He set it down on the counter between Eran's and his seats. "How old is this thing," he asked, examining the discoloured corners of some lists in the front of the book.

"Tell him about it, Eran," Bubba urged, then walked away to serve customers.

Eran gave a confused frown but looked at the menu while he spoke to Riley in monotone. "This restaurant was started by Bubba's late father, Milton. When he passed, Bubba inherited the diner, renovated, and redesigned. But he still kept many of his father's best characteristics of the place, one of which was making custom orders. His dad had kept a list of the most bizarre orders in a personal notebook, and when Bubba took over, he put those orders together and began adding onto it. This is the extended menu. Eleven years of madness and genius. The End."

"Wow. Bubba's dad was pretty awesome. Bacon cheddar waffles? "

"Oh, I remember seeing that one."

"Have you eaten it?"

"No, I prefer pancakes."

"Then why didn't you order bacon cheddar pancakes?"

"Because that'd be gross."

Riley chuckled, "You're teasing me aren't you?"

Eran looked slightly confused. "Aren't you the tease?"

Riley was silent for a moment before looking down at the menu again.

I don't understand this kid.

"So you can order anything? But there must be limits, right?"

"When Bubba's dad was here, it was a system where a customer could order anything as long as Milton's Midtown had the stuff in stock to make it. And they had just about everything. Now, the town and economy are different so what ingredients Bubba doesn't have, he can usually get for the customer in less than 30 minutes from the grocery store or butcher. So customers can order almost anything and Bubba will make sure they get it."

"Did you decide what to eat?" Bubba leaned over the counter. "It's been over 10 minutes now," he remarked exaggeratedly.

"Can you make potato cakes? You know, kind of like latkes?" Riley tilted his head and looked at Bubba with naïve eyes.

"Sure."

"Why? How?" Riley prodded.

"Huh?" Bubba raised his eyebrows.

Eran spoke up emotionlessly again. "He grew up in the diner and also did a couple of years at a culinary school. Just give me what he gets."

"Okay, two orders of latkes, coming up."

Noticing the open grill space, Riley asked, "Can you make an onion volcano?"

"Don't patronize me." Bubba pointed his knife at Riley playfully.

Riley smiled. He continued looking at the menu for a few minutes, asking Eran if he'd tried this or that and receiving monotone one-word answers. "So you two are childhood friends?"

Eran shifted his eyes away and muttered, "We aren't friends."

Bubba set down their plates and clarified, "We met our last year of high school. I wouldn't say we were friends, we were just always near each other—in the same classes, seated near each other since our last names both start with K, and our test scores were similar too."