“It’s good to see you again,” she said, smoothing out her skirt before settling into her chair. No, not really. You ripped apart everything that ever fucking made sense to me.
“You too,” he replied. He picked up a menu and scanned the page dedicated to the appetizers. Maybe if you would have made up your damn mind I wouldn’t have panicked.
She watched him over the top of her menu and pretended to look at the names of the dishes. Her stomach twisted and turned as the letters and numbers jumbled together into a foreign language and she realized she was staring, not reading, the chaotic mess of black ink on fawn-colored card stock. His red hair had been cropped short, but she still remembered the mass of red curls that used to cascade down. His blue eyes were the same. Sharp. Wary. Always so wary.
“So how’s everything?” he asked softly, still perusing the menu. “Family? Work?” Please don’t tell me how happy you are without me, that you’ve adjusted and I’m little more than a figment of a dream to you anymore.
She paused, her mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh—um, busy at work, same old, really. Kids are good. Not really seeing anyone right now.” Damn it, just had to throw that one in there, didn’t I? Way to sound desperate, you fool.
“I see.” Are you trying to get my hopes up?
The waiter came by at that moment and asked if there was anything that he could bring either of them to start. He held his pad of paper in position and looked back and forth between them, expectant.
“Do you still drink wine?” he asked her. Three o’clock in the morning. Sand sticking to every patch of bare skin we had. A bottle of wine and us at the center of the universe.
“Yes, on occasion,” she replied. We always fought the worst when you were drunk, I wonder if you realize that. But the times when you were warm and amicable…
“A bottle of the house red, please,” he said. If anything in celebration that we’re in the same room for ten minutes and haven’t clawed each others’ eyes out yet.
“How about you?” she asked. “Family? Work?” He seems happy enough. Here I am coming in, trying to change everything. Uproot everything. Fuck.
“All the same,” he replied. What am I saying? Nothing is ever the fucking same. What do you say—
“You know what I think?” she mused. —we just get out of here?
