Page 13 of Daddy's Little Chaos Gremlin

So many questions, but my hope was that before Phillip left, I’d have some definitive ideas of what I needed to keep stocked in the fridge to keep him healthy.

“Zephyr, this is my friend Phillip, Dr. Levine, who I was telling you about earlier,” I said by way of introduction. “Are you still okay with him examining you and talking to him about your health and eating habits?”

“Uh-huh,” Zephyr replied. “I think I’d better.”

“Is there a reason you feel that way?” Phillip asked as he pulled up a chair closer to the couch as I moved the coffee table out of the way so it wouldn’t impede him when he went to examine Zephyr.

I knew he wouldn’t jump to that right away; he never did. Even the standard vital checks, temperature and blood pressure cuff, waited until he’d had a chance to speak to the patient first. There was nothing more frustrating, at least not to me, than going to the clinic or hospital and having something rubbed across my forehead and strapped to my arm before I had the opportunity to even mention what had brought me there in the first place.

“Just that a lot of foods make me feel yucky, especially meat,” Zephyr admitted. “I really like it, too, especially steak, but I can only eat a little bit at a time. I love seafood, but I can only eat a little bit of that at a time, too.”

“What about fruits and vegetables?”

“I love them, but I’d rather drink them. Before the troupe fell apart, I had drank several a day, Paulie and I both did, but he ate a lot more solid food than I did.”

“So, it isn’t a restriction that’s been imposed on you in order to keep your weight down?” Phillip asked.

“It’s always been stressed to me that it’s a good idea to drink more than I ate and to keep away from sweets, but I’ve never had an issue doing it,” Zephyr explained. “The few times I’ve had fast food I could barely finish a happy meal. Any more is just too much.”

“Have you ever had a problem with overeating or with deliberately throwing up your food after you’d eaten it?” Phillip asked, his tone both blunt and kind.

“No, sir, but I will throw up if I eat too much,” he explained. “I had an aunt who used to try and make me finish everything on my plate, but she always put too much. After I threw up all overher when she shoved a bite of mashed potatoes into my mouth, she pretty much left me alone.”

Snorting, it took everything in me not to say what popped into my head, that she’d deserved it. My old man was from a generation where you ate what was offered or you starved, and you finished what was on your plate or you sat there until it was empty. Because it had been done to him more times than he could count, he’d refused to do it to me, which I’d appreciated. Some things, like mashed turnips, were never meant for the human pallet. I’d die on that hill if it ever came to it. I couldn’t even think of an animal that ate turnips. Shouldn’t that have been a clue to people everywhere?

“So, it sounds like you know the limits of what you can consume in a single sitting,” Phillip went on to say, looking thoughtful as he studied Zephyr. “Is there a reason you had to give up your smoothies after the troupe fell apart?”

Zephyr nodded, fidgeting a little. “Just, um, the cost of fruit,” he muttered. “I knew Mr. Bruce and Mr. Brenner at Honey Hearth wouldn’t have minded me using their blender to make them as long as I washed it after I was through, but I wanted to make sure I saved all the money I could for paying for my room so I could keep staying there until I could find a job and put money aside for an apartment.”

“That wouldn’t have been easy if you were also paying for a room.”

“I know, but they weren’t making me pay the full rate as it was. They’d given me a discount, since I was renting by the week. I wanted to make sure I’d have the money I owed them first, before I worried about anything else.”

“And meals were included in your room fee, so it made sense to eat what you were provided,” Phillip added, coming to the same conclusion I had after I’d witnessed him eat there.

“Yes, sir.”

“So let me ask you this,” Phillip said. “On a normal day, what would you have before practice or a performance?”

“A smoothie,” Zephyr nodded.

“Do you add anything like protein powder or vitamin supplements to it?”

“Protein powder sometimes, but not too much. I really get all I need just by mixing different smoothie recipes and eating small amounts in between.”

“So more like snacks?” Phillip asked.

“Yes, sir, but not like snack foods, like chips and stuff,” Zephyr explained. “I love finger foods, like meat and cheese roll ups, sandwich squares and bruschetta. Those are the perfect size foods for me.”

So, I’d knocked one out of the park by cubing the sandwiches, good to know. I knew how to make pinwheels, too, but I did need to touch base with him about one thing first.

“Were you okay with the lunch meat slices, or would you prefer real sliced turkey, roast beef, chicken, and ham?” I asked.

When he licked his lips, looked down, squirmed and lifted his shoulders into a little shrug, I knew I had my answer. The question was if he’d trust me enough to tell me the truth.

“It’s okay,” he hedged. “But I like the slices carved off the bone better. Sometimes the stuff from the deli counter is too salty andI end up guzzling a bunch of water, which just makes me feel really full even when I’ve barely eaten anything.”

“Thank you for being honest,” I said, gently touching his knee so he’d look up at me.

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