Page 6 of I Can't Even

I stayed where I was, and barely contained the urge to giggle my ass off when he took the hard chair, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you.” I smiled at her.

“No problem.” She patted my shoulder. “Enjoy your dinner.”

This place we were at would’ve been any woman’s dream. The owner, a woman in her thirties, had designed it to have pretty much every food imaginable. Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Mexican, American, and so many more. You could get a sushi appetizer while simultaneously getting a British style breakfast, following it up with a Russian dessert.

And, even better, there was a section labeled ‘girl dinner’ on the menu.

I usually ordered off of that, because honestly it was a genius idea that was not only progressive, but also great food to boot.

“Would you like to split a meal?” Frederick asked, as he always did.

I nearly rolled my eyes.

What was it with this man and splitting meals? My God, I wanted to eat my full fucking burger!

“No,” I immediately said. “I don’t like splitting meals.”

Which he damn well knew.

But Frederick’s idea of splitting a meal was more like this: He ordered what he wanted. He ate as much as he wanted. Then he gave me what was left on his plate when he was done.

I’d tried it once, and once only.

That time, we’d been here as well, with Dolly as our waitress.

By the time he’d eaten everything good on the plate, I’d realized my mistake.

And since Dolly had never come around to ensure everything was going okay, I couldn’t order another meal.

When she had come around, I’d been so freakin’ mad that the last thing I wanted to do was order any food from her and give her a bigger tip.

“What are you going to order?” he asked, sounding bored.

He liked coming here because Dolly was a ‘delight to be around’ according to him. Really, she gave him all the attention he craved. And when we weren’t seated in her section, Frederick tended to act like his world was ending.

“I’m going to get the girl dinner that has chicken strips, sushi, and the appetizer of chips and hot sauce,” I answered, excited about what I was about to eat, yet still bummed about who I had to eat with. “You?”

“Breakfast. Pancakes,” he answered. “Can we get the cornbread instead for an appetizer?”

I perked up at that.

“Can I have a bite of your pancake if we get the cornbread?” I asked hopefully.

They looked good. And though I wanted a bite, I didn’t want an entire stack of pancakes.

“Sure,” Frederick murmured, sounding annoyed with me.

I nearly rolled my eyes but caught myself in time.

He didn’t like it when I rolled my eyes. He insisted that it was ‘rude.’

Whatever.

The waiter came by, we ordered our food, and then we were left to actually speak to each other.

Frederick started talking about work, and I studiously ignored him because when he talked about work, he made himself sound way more important than he actually was.

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