Night One, Before Midnight · 125 lb
I said it. Out loud, to Dawn, in front of the case: don't toss them, let me finish everything. She gave me a rule back like a dare. Counter full, gate shut, bell ready at opening. If the latch closes, she believes me.
I ate the first cupcake with my eyes closed. Then Tess locked the door and slid a whole tray across the glass, and I stopped writing for a while. Crumbs don't clock out. Neither do I.
Night One, After Midnight · 185 lb
The midnight box was still warm. I opened it like a birthday. Tess says my top is losing the argument. My top can file a complaint with the management, which is me, on the night shift.
My belly sits round over my skirt now and I keep touching it between bites. It feels like proof. A delivery guy in a straw hat brought party boxes and I told him the party had found me.
Morning One · 230 lb
Dawn looked at the empty case and then at me for a very long time. One night does not prove a system, she said. Fine. Then it's a week. She ordered a rolling rack. I think she is secretly on my side.
She told me to turn around for proof, so I did, slowly. Two hundred thirty pounds by her eye. I cleared it standing, and Tess says that counts twice.
Night Three · 290 lb
Reese came with a measuring tape to plan a route through the café. The tape quit before it got around me. I told everyone not to tell the tape. I respect its effort.
Then the service doorway. Sideways, steady, Tess pulling on three. The gate bent and stuck open and Reese called it decorative. I'm on the customer side now. It has better light.
Night Five · 440 lb
Sable from the tattoo shop held up a picture from Monday. I barely recognised that girl. Monday was adorable. Monday had smaller plans.
I leaned on the counter with my belly over the edge and both hands full of it and asked her for a good angle. She said she'd hang the photo by her mirror. I hope it's a big mirror.
The Last Night · 850 lb
The front window first, the neon skull behind me and the whole street outside. Then home base and the last stack. Tess gave me one helped bite and stepped back, and I finished it myself. Every shelf. Every tray. Every crumb.
Dawn came in with the sunrise, counted empty shelves and said I won the week. Then she pointed at the gate. It still has to shut. I asked for a minute. Maybe two.
Opening Time · 1,000 lb
The gate is never shutting again. I fill the whole space behind the counter, glass to wall, and my belly rests where the éclairs used to sit. Dawn said leave the counter full. It is.
Tess says I'm the display now. Nobody can reach the bell, so we laughed instead of ringing it. Breakfast opens in five minutes. I'm writing this with the last crumb on my lip, and I'm already hungry.
Read the same story from the outside in Ivy's weight gain story, or follow it stage by stage, 125 → 1,000 lb.