Page 133 of The ABCs of You & Me

SOPHIE

Six months after the 5K

When Foster pulls up outside of the Post-it diner, I look over, confused. “Craving some bereavement fries?”

“Something like that,” Foster says as he pays for parking on an app. “Shall we?” he asks, sliding his phone into his pocket and opening the door.

He meets me on the sidewalk and immediately takes my hand, leading me into the diner. It’s even less busy than last time, despite the fact it’s dinner time and we’re in a popular area.

“Reservation for Walsh,” he tells the very bored-looking hostess.

“This way,” she says without even looking at the table map on the stand.

“Good thing you got a reservation,” I whisper as we head toward the table we sat at the first time we were here.

“One can never be too careful,” Foster replies.

The second he sits down, a waitress appears next to the table. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, well, we haven’t…” I start to say while Foster asks for the exact same thing we had the first time.

After she leaves, he smiles serenely at me. “What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly incredibly suspicious.

“Nothing,” he says, drawing the word out a little too much for me to believe it.

“You’re bad at lying,” I hiss.

He shrugs, avoiding eye contact with me as he looks around at the walls. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

I join him in looking at the notes, seeing a few I recognize from last time, but a few I don’t. At least I know people have been here since then.

“Ha.” Foster laughs, pointing to a note above our table. “‘The only thing that sounds worse than nut milk is nut cheese.’” He reads it aloud, and I actively gag.

“That person doesn’t want anyone to have an appetite,” I say as our drinks are placed on the table.

“I’ve never gotten the appeal of cheese made from nuts. Just don’t eat it, ya know?” I stare back at my beautiful innocent-minded man.

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“Foster. Nut. Cheese.” I enunciate each word. He looks back at me with one eyebrow raised. “Does that not make you think of like… dried…” I don’t even think I can say it. “Nut milk? Like thick, crusty…”

“Ew, Soph, why?” he groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“You’re the one who read the note,” I protest. “I’m simply telling you what it makes me think of.”

“It’s a good thing the food here sucks because I don’t have much of an appetite now.”

“Exactly.” I nod. “I’m going to wash my hands and try to think of something else.”

The fries arrive right after I sit back down, and they’re as mediocre as the first time. The mozzarella sticks, chicken tenders, and spinach dip are a bit better, and the flatbread tastes like it had been in the freezer even longer than the last one.

By the end of the meal Foster looks as fidgety as I do on a regular day. He’s never like this. If he’s nervous it usually shows on his face, but his whole body appears to be vibrating.

“Hey.” I reach across the table, sliding my fingers over his. “You’re acting kind of weird. I like weird things, but I’m kind of worried. You’re not going to break up with me, are you?”

His eyes go wide. “Oh god, no, no, sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me. Do you wanna…” He gestures to the front of the restaurant.

“Yeah, but maybe I should drive?”

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