I asked, trying to recover some dignity. “What’s it called?”
“Las Vegas,” she said, before taking a bite of her dip-covered bread.
“Yeah… small town,” I muttered.
“So, how about you,” she asked, when she finished her bite, grinning at me.
I told her and we took turns laying out our bios for the next in fifteen minutes. We discussed hobbies, favorite books, movies and music, notable experiences, et cetera, until our waitress appeared with our food. We took it gratefully.
Moiré bit into her angel hair pomodoro and her eyes grew. “Wow. This is so much better than Jessica had told me. It’s amazing they can get something so simple to taste this good.”
Fortunately, my crab ravioli was good enough to stall my case of pomodoro envy.
“Oh, before I forget,” Moiré added, “did I tell you I put in for a department scholarship?”
“Really? Well, you’re certainly deserving of it. When do you expect to hear back about it?”
Moiré quirked her mouth. “They weren’t sure. Could be a week, could be a month. Something about determining how many scholarships they could afford.”
I snorted. “Good luck with that. The department chairs make Ebenezer Scrooge look like a philanthropist.”
She shook her head. “That’s being a bit harsh. I’ve met some of the chairs and they’re not all terrible.”
“Maybe I just got lucky.” I only managed half a grin. “Well, again, good luck all the same. I hope you get your money. I know you deserve it if anyone does.”
A rising murmur from the crowd interrupted my thoughts. Moiré and I glanced over, curious. I realized at once what was happening. A dozen red roses on the table. A bottle of something bubbly and expensive. A guy positioning himself on one knee in front of a girl who looked like she’d just been told it was her turn to leap from the aircraft. His face was plastered with that “I-really-hope-she-says-yes-because-I-already-bought-the-ring,” look. “Start taking notes,” I whispered.
Moiré nodded, already one step ahead of me. Her countenance radiated that, “Oh my gosh, this is so great!” light that women get during moments like this.
Like a flock of birds that flies in subconscious coordination, the whole room quieted as the guy dug into the pocket of his suit coat. In a blink, I was a few months in the past. Ella was there on that bench in the garden spot on campus. She had the moon as her halo and the stars in her eyes. We hadn’t known each other long enough for me to know how she liked her toast, but my heart was compelled by a sense of, well, destiny in a way that defied logic. I just knew I wanted to marry her.
There I was, lifting the little velvet box, opening it with anticipation. She was smiling. So close! I called her by name and asked that timeless question, “Will you marry me?” Without warning, I realized I was staring at Moiré.
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” I heard. Wait… Andrew? Who? That wasn’t a voice I knew.
Then I was back in the present, gasping with the rest of the room. Moiré’s hand found my shoulder, but I forced myself to ignore it, instead re-focusing on the unfolding drama.
“W-what?” the guy asked. He was starting to shake. “You’re sorry for… for what?”
The girl wore her pain openly. “Andrew, I’m sorry, but… this… all these people?”
He just knelt there, jaw on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said a final time before hurrying out of the room.
Three, stretched seconds of silence and then he was off after her. “Amanda! Wait!”
The whole room gawked like idiots, watching his dash for the door. When he was gone, the silence lingered just long enough to come to a boil. Thereupon erupted a hundred hurried whispers.
“That poor thing,” Moiré said, turning a shocked but sympathetic expression my way.
I nodded. “Yeah. I feel his pain. It’s like a kick in the crotch.”
Moiré’s eye showed surprise, but she smiled. “I’ll take your word on
“Las Vegas,” she said, before taking a bite of her dip-covered bread.
“Yeah… small town,” I muttered.
“So, how about you,” she asked, when she finished her bite, grinning at me.
I told her and we took turns laying out our bios for the next in fifteen minutes. We discussed hobbies, favorite books, movies and music, notable experiences, et cetera, until our waitress appeared with our food. We took it gratefully.
Moiré bit into her angel hair pomodoro and her eyes grew. “Wow. This is so much better than Jessica had told me. It’s amazing they can get something so simple to taste this good.”
Fortunately, my crab ravioli was good enough to stall my case of pomodoro envy.
“Oh, before I forget,” Moiré added, “did I tell you I put in for a department scholarship?”
“Really? Well, you’re certainly deserving of it. When do you expect to hear back about it?”
Moiré quirked her mouth. “They weren’t sure. Could be a week, could be a month. Something about determining how many scholarships they could afford.”
I snorted. “Good luck with that. The department chairs make Ebenezer Scrooge look like a philanthropist.”
She shook her head. “That’s being a bit harsh. I’ve met some of the chairs and they’re not all terrible.”
“Maybe I just got lucky.” I only managed half a grin. “Well, again, good luck all the same. I hope you get your money. I know you deserve it if anyone does.”
A rising murmur from the crowd interrupted my thoughts. Moiré and I glanced over, curious. I realized at once what was happening. A dozen red roses on the table. A bottle of something bubbly and expensive. A guy positioning himself on one knee in front of a girl who looked like she’d just been told it was her turn to leap from the aircraft. His face was plastered with that “I-really-hope-she-says-yes-because-I-already-bought-the-ring,” look. “Start taking notes,” I whispered.
Moiré nodded, already one step ahead of me. Her countenance radiated that, “Oh my gosh, this is so great!” light that women get during moments like this.
Like a flock of birds that flies in subconscious coordination, the whole room quieted as the guy dug into the pocket of his suit coat. In a blink, I was a few months in the past. Ella was there on that bench in the garden spot on campus. She had the moon as her halo and the stars in her eyes. We hadn’t known each other long enough for me to know how she liked her toast, but my heart was compelled by a sense of, well, destiny in a way that defied logic. I just knew I wanted to marry her.
There I was, lifting the little velvet box, opening it with anticipation. She was smiling. So close! I called her by name and asked that timeless question, “Will you marry me?” Without warning, I realized I was staring at Moiré.
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” I heard. Wait… Andrew? Who? That wasn’t a voice I knew.
Then I was back in the present, gasping with the rest of the room. Moiré’s hand found my shoulder, but I forced myself to ignore it, instead re-focusing on the unfolding drama.
“W-what?” the guy asked. He was starting to shake. “You’re sorry for… for what?”
The girl wore her pain openly. “Andrew, I’m sorry, but… this… all these people?”
He just knelt there, jaw on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said a final time before hurrying out of the room.
Three, stretched seconds of silence and then he was off after her. “Amanda! Wait!”
The whole room gawked like idiots, watching his dash for the door. When he was gone, the silence lingered just long enough to come to a boil. Thereupon erupted a hundred hurried whispers.
“That poor thing,” Moiré said, turning a shocked but sympathetic expression my way.
I nodded. “Yeah. I feel his pain. It’s like a kick in the crotch.”
Moiré’s eye showed surprise, but she smiled. “I’ll take your word on
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