that, but I was talking about her.”
“Oh. Right.”
Moiré sighed. “But yes, I feel bad for him, too. It’s so hard to come that close to love, only to be blindsided by losing it.” She gazed off at the mountains, a strange sense of longing in her eyes. There was something more behind her words.
“You’re telling me.” There was more behind my words too. We were both gracious enough not to ask.
I stole another glance at Moiré. The memory of proposing to Ella played through my mind once more. This time, though, my stupid brain pasted Moiré’s face right over Ella’s. I stopped myself. I didn’t want to even think something unfaithful.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m going to hit the men’s room real quick.”
I reached for the napkin on my lap, wiped my mouth and stood. As I dropped my napkin behind me, my hand clipped the top of my water glass. It poured its guts all over the table. Instant-fix mode kicked in.
Grab for my glass.
Get foot tangled in chair.
Fall on my own dinner.
Watch a second glass make a quick dive for the floor.
Involuntarily (ahem) dive after the glass.
Yank the tablecloth halfway off the table while Moiré yelps again in surprise.
It was like living out a really bad screenplay designed to erase a man’s dignity in four seconds flat.
The restaurant patrons paused for a moment of silence to honor my fallen ego, before breaking into half-muted chuckles. Moiré was hiding her laughter behind her napkin and part of me wanted to go hide somewhere. Life had taught me differently, though.
“Thank you, folks,” I said, bowing in my most overblown fashion. “I’m here ’til six. I’ll sign your five-by-eight glossies if you’ve got them.” And with that, I walked away to the men’s room with the swagger of a peacock during mating season.
When I returned to the table, my blood went cold at the sight of a manager who was assisting Moiré in clean up.
How could I forget that she worked here?
Vera was flopping my dead ravioli into a limp bag that probably held the rest of my little catastrophe. Moiré was busy wiping water up with one hand, while straightening the tablecloth with her other. They were chatting happily, as if they knew each other.
I groaned and paced. The best option now was to just wait this out and let Vera walk away. Ella would flay me alive if she even caught a whiff of me being at dinner with another girl. She never understood the fact that my research involved such things, nor did she seem to comprehend that dinner does not equal a date, let alone a proposal of marriage. I scooted quickly back around the corner to the hall for the restrooms and waited. When Vera was out of sight, I waited a few more ticks and then sauntered back to my table. I got a few glances and giggles, but for the most part, the moment had past and people went about dinner as usual.
“Welcome back, Doctor Cairn.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I just had to wash up after surgery.”
Moiré frowned. “Well, Doctor, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… the ravioli didn’t survive the operation.”
I flipped my smile. “Joy. Time to find a lawyer.”
A new voice chimed in. “Oh, hey, Nick.”
Vera. Please no.
Faking a sudden interest in what was left of my water, I greeted Vera. “Sorry about the mess.”
Vera’s smile came through in her voice. “No problem. We got it on film; that totally made up for the spill. One of the bus boys was quick enough to get his phone camera out for that, um, proposal thing and I guess it was still running when you decided to put on your own show.” She giggled. “We’ll be laughing about this for a while.”
I whirled on Vera, “Don’t you dare post that to YouTube!”
Vera started, “Okay, Nick. I didn’t think you were that sensitive about it. I mean, I could tell Greg to just blur your face out.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Vera. I just don’t want to… upset… anyone who might see that video. You know… um…
“Oh. Right.”
Moiré sighed. “But yes, I feel bad for him, too. It’s so hard to come that close to love, only to be blindsided by losing it.” She gazed off at the mountains, a strange sense of longing in her eyes. There was something more behind her words.
“You’re telling me.” There was more behind my words too. We were both gracious enough not to ask.
I stole another glance at Moiré. The memory of proposing to Ella played through my mind once more. This time, though, my stupid brain pasted Moiré’s face right over Ella’s. I stopped myself. I didn’t want to even think something unfaithful.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m going to hit the men’s room real quick.”
I reached for the napkin on my lap, wiped my mouth and stood. As I dropped my napkin behind me, my hand clipped the top of my water glass. It poured its guts all over the table. Instant-fix mode kicked in.
Grab for my glass.
Get foot tangled in chair.
Fall on my own dinner.
Watch a second glass make a quick dive for the floor.
Involuntarily (ahem) dive after the glass.
Yank the tablecloth halfway off the table while Moiré yelps again in surprise.
It was like living out a really bad screenplay designed to erase a man’s dignity in four seconds flat.
The restaurant patrons paused for a moment of silence to honor my fallen ego, before breaking into half-muted chuckles. Moiré was hiding her laughter behind her napkin and part of me wanted to go hide somewhere. Life had taught me differently, though.
“Thank you, folks,” I said, bowing in my most overblown fashion. “I’m here ’til six. I’ll sign your five-by-eight glossies if you’ve got them.” And with that, I walked away to the men’s room with the swagger of a peacock during mating season.
When I returned to the table, my blood went cold at the sight of a manager who was assisting Moiré in clean up.
How could I forget that she worked here?
Vera was flopping my dead ravioli into a limp bag that probably held the rest of my little catastrophe. Moiré was busy wiping water up with one hand, while straightening the tablecloth with her other. They were chatting happily, as if they knew each other.
I groaned and paced. The best option now was to just wait this out and let Vera walk away. Ella would flay me alive if she even caught a whiff of me being at dinner with another girl. She never understood the fact that my research involved such things, nor did she seem to comprehend that dinner does not equal a date, let alone a proposal of marriage. I scooted quickly back around the corner to the hall for the restrooms and waited. When Vera was out of sight, I waited a few more ticks and then sauntered back to my table. I got a few glances and giggles, but for the most part, the moment had past and people went about dinner as usual.
“Welcome back, Doctor Cairn.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I just had to wash up after surgery.”
Moiré frowned. “Well, Doctor, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… the ravioli didn’t survive the operation.”
I flipped my smile. “Joy. Time to find a lawyer.”
A new voice chimed in. “Oh, hey, Nick.”
Vera. Please no.
Faking a sudden interest in what was left of my water, I greeted Vera. “Sorry about the mess.”
Vera’s smile came through in her voice. “No problem. We got it on film; that totally made up for the spill. One of the bus boys was quick enough to get his phone camera out for that, um, proposal thing and I guess it was still running when you decided to put on your own show.” She giggled. “We’ll be laughing about this for a while.”
I whirled on Vera, “Don’t you dare post that to YouTube!”
Vera started, “Okay, Nick. I didn’t think you were that sensitive about it. I mean, I could tell Greg to just blur your face out.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Vera. I just don’t want to… upset… anyone who might see that video. You know… um…
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