Page 30 of Not My Finest Hour

I nod like I get it, but I don’t. The drinks section may have names I understand, but nothing about the food stands out excepthalibutandoysters. And what’s supposed to accompany these “normal” items sounds so weird. Like what the hell are velouté and katsobushi? And could someone please tell me what goose tongue is? Do geese even have tongues, and do I want to eat that?

“Have you ever been here before?” I ask. Weird food aside, it doesn’t seem like a place you’d just stumble upon. Like, no one is going to walk by and assume this is a restaurant. There was no outdoor seating, and no chairs for people to wait for an open table. This place looked like it could be any one of the other shops along this street.

He’s quiet for a moment, looking like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I actually came here once before with someone else.”

He doesn’t elaborate on who that someone else was, and the words tumble out of my mouth before I stop to think about why he wouldn’t tell me. “Who did you come here with?”

His gaze flits away from mine. “My ex and I had our one-year anniversary here last year. That was before she dumped me for someone else.”

“Why’d you choose this restaurant then?” If this was someplace that held bad memories for me, it’s the last place I would want to come.

“Because I’m ready to move on and associate this place with something positive. I didn’t want that experience to ruin this place for me.”

“I can understand that. And I hope this evening will help rid this place of any bad memories.”

He smiles and takes my hand in his. “It’s working so far.”

Our server stops at our table to get our drinks, then is back in a flash to take our dinner order. I still have no idea what anything is and rattle off “the halibut,” so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about. I just pray she doesn’t ask me any questions about ways to customize it. She doesn’t, and takes Wesley’s order which is the octopus with goose tongue.

We sip our drinks and make small talk while we wait, and I steer clear of any talk about his family. It takes so long for our dinner that Wesley manages to make it through two glasses of wine. When our plates are finally delivered, they look more like art projects than dinner.

I stare at Wesley’s plate. “Where’s the goose tongue?”

Wesley points at some lightly steamed greens and takes in my befuddled expression. “What did you think goose tongue was?”

“I thought you were going to be eating an actual goose’s tongue. I had no idea there was a plant that went by that name.”

Wesley laughs a big, booming laugh, drawing attention from some of the diners surrounding us. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. Was it that obvious that goose tongue is a plant? Maybe I’m not refined enough to be here.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You should’ve asked me if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know what half the stuff on that menu was,” I fire back. “I didn’t want you to think less of me for not knowing.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I don’t mind that you didn’t know. We’ve just had different food experiences in our lives.”

That’s it.I’m ready to get out of this restaurant and back into my own element. It’s clear that Wesley and I are two different people and while he seems nice enough, it’s not going to work out. I shouldn’t feel inferior every time I’m with a guy. I want to be treated as an equal, not someone to be pitied because I didn’t spend my youth and early adult life dining in fancy establishments. I’m perfectly happy having Mom’s cooking because to me, there’s nothing that compares.

I hurry through my meal and switch to drinking water while I wait for Wesley to finish his. He orders another glass of wine for himself and takes his time with his octopus. I excuse myself to the bathroom to kill time because it seems that he’s in no rush to leave.

In the bathroom, I scroll through my phone and see a bunch of missed text messages from Lorelei and Chelsea.Shit.I forgot our annualTwilightwatch party.

It’s something we’ve done every year since middle school because that’s when the first movie came out. We all went to the theaters to seeTwilight, and did the same each year when a new movie would come out. Once there were no more movies released, we got together each year to watch them all on disc. As we got older and our schedules busier, we usually wouldn’t have time for all the movies, so we’d choose a few to watch.

I quit wanting to partake in this event five years ago, and in fact, last year I suggested that maybe it’s time we move on and find something else to watch. Lorelei acted like I’d just kidnapped her dog. From the tone of her messages tonight, I know she thinks I bailed on them. I’ll have to patch things up with her later.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Wesley is finally done with his meal. He flashes a lopsided, dopey smile when he sees me.

“Are you…ready…to go?” he asks, draining the last of his wine.

Oh, no. What is happening here? Wesley doesn’t sound like his normal self, and when I stare into his eyes, they have this sort of glazed look about them. He only had two glasses of wine. Or was it three? Can you get drunk off of three glasses of wine? I mean, they were very generous pours, at least that I can remember.

“Uh, yeah. I’m ready to go,” I say, taking my seat once more.

“Let… Let me just…get…our server,” he says, raising his hand in the air and waving it around. He continues waving it around, like it’s some sort new appendage that he’s just figured out how to use.

I pick his wine glass up off the table and give it a sniff. My God. It smells like straight alcohol in there. What the hell was he drinking?

Our server approaches our table and asks if we’d like dessert. “Tonight, we have buttermilk ice cream with seaweed foam…” She continues to speak in some foreign language about tuile and black rice with cardamom this, and whatever else comes out of her mouth.

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