Page 126 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

I reach across and touch his hand. “What’s wrong?”

He closes the menu. “I’m okay,” he says.

“You sure?”

“How are you doing?” he asks, eyes roaming over me as if he’s looking for bruises. He’s done that every time he sees me since he noticed them the other day.

My head hurts, my eyes are heavy, and my bones ache. “I’m okay.”

The waiter comes over to our table and greets us. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Just water for me,” I say, smiling. This place is nice, and I know that Daniel doesn’t have a lot of money.

“And for you?”

“Water,” Daniel says.

The waiter nods. “I’ll be back in a moment with those.”

When he returns, he sets the glasses down and then leaves so that we can have more time to look at the menu. There are so many choices, and I have no idea what I want. “What are you going to order?” I ask, peeking over the menu.

He’s scratching his head, looking as puzzled as I feel. “I’m not sure.”

I look at the options again. The only vegetarian option is a salad. I doubt that’s what he wants. This restaurant smells amazing and I’m sure he’s as hungry as I am. Salad isn’t going to cut it.

“Maybe you could order one of the pasta dishes. They could probably make it without chicken,” I say.

He nods, but I don’t think he’s convinced. His foot is tapping and there’s sweat building on his brow.

I don’t understand why he’s so stressed.

He reaches for his glass of water, but his hand fumbles and knocks the glass over. Water gushes across the table and spills into my lap. I jump up, and he gasps.

“I’m so sorry!” he says, unraveling his napkin and handing it to me.

In an instant the waiter is back at our table, drying it off with a towel. I pat my dress with Daniel’s napkin, but it doesn’t do much good. The dress is soaked.

The waiter brings me a new napkin and I set it in my lap over the wet spot. That will have to do for now. I’m sure it’ll dry soon, so I don’t mind. Besides, it’s only water. It won’t stain.

Daniel’s face is bright red as he lifts the menus, searching for any way to be helpful. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m not made of sugar. I won’t melt.” That’s what my grandma said every time we went out in the rain.

He should laugh, but he doesn’t. His gaze is locked on the menus, then his shoes. He glances at me in between, but never lingers on me. He smacks the table and then tugs at his hair. His foot still hasn’t stopped tapping, and now he’s rubbing the back of his neck with both hands, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

I reach over and touch his arm. “Daniel, what’s wrong?”

“This date was supposed to be perfect, but it turned into a disaster.”

I think it’s cute that he’s so worried about making this date special, but I don’t need to go to fancy restaurants or eat expensive food to have a good time. “It’s not a disaster.”

“Yes, it is. Annie said you’ve never been on a date like this, and now I’ve ruined it for you.”

I take his hand and hold it with both of mine. “Why do you think it’s ruined? Do I look upset?”

“Aren’t you?” He peeks at me, face flushed.

I smile. “No. I’m here with you.” I run my thumb over the knuckles on his hand. “That’s all I need.”

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