Page 37 of The Marriage Game

Instead of heading to a table in the center of the restaurant, our server friend leads us around the perimeter of the bank of tables. I notice how the few couples that are already here this early have joined each other at their various tables and are chatting away with one another, becoming vacation friends. I want some vacation friends.

Evidently though, vacation friends are not in the cards for me and Max, because the server continues to lead us very much away from all the people. She finally stops in the far corner of the restaurant where there are three steps up to an alcove with a table in it. A reserved sign sits on top of the table, and there’s a red velvet rope attached to two stanchion posts closing off the area.

“Here we are,” the server announces, unhooking the velvet clasp theatrically. “Kind of fun, right?” she says. “Like you’re VIPs or something?” She peers more closely at us. “Wait—you two aren’t famous, are you?”

“Uh, no,” Max replies quickly, looking nervous.

She stares at him for a second like she’s scanning every last celebrity image stored in her brain to see if any match up, but then shrugs, her disappointment evident. “Okay then,” she says, moving to let us pass.

We walk up the two steps and look down at the table.

“This is weird, right?” Max whispers. He glances around the space and frowns. “Is that a flag on my chair?”

“Whoopsies!” The server cries, hurrying to pick it up. “This is usually where we put seasonal decor,” she explains with a half-laugh. “We had our patriotic decor up for Memorial Day later this month, but we swept it all away for the two of you not famous people.” Again she studies us, this time focusing her attention on me.

“Clearly I’m not famous,” I tell her pointing a finger at my crow’s feet then sweeping it down over my less than Hollywood-ready body. She has the grace to appear confused by my words.

“Um, if you say so. You look familiar, though. Are you sure you haven’t been in any movies? You’re pretty enough to be.”

I’d be far more flattered by this if she wasn’t someone who works in a tip-dependent industry. As it is, I barely contain my eye roll.

“Not unless you count all the home movies my dad used to make back when camcorders were a thing,” I reply dryly, earning myself an uncertain laugh from her. A tip-laugh to go with her tip-compliment.

“Uh, okay then. Well, I’ll let you two get settled then I’ll come back for your order. Can I start you off with something to drink? Oh wait—” she pauses, “I’m also supposed to give you this.” She hands me a red envelope marked as ‘To the Bernards’. “Now then, drinks?”

We both order coffee and water, then the server disappears, leaving us alone. Very much alone. Basically we’re almost as alone as we were in our cabin; the only difference is that our isolation is on display for all to see over here on our corner pedestal.

Isolation. The word jogs a memory: two identical red-head girls sitting across from each other at an isolation table of their own. Girls who came from their shared cabin after being marched there by the whole camp.

“Okay, this is weird, right?” Max breaks the silence that fell over us with the server’s departure. “Everybody else is over there,” he gestures back to where the tables are—the place is really filling up now that it’s approaching 8 o’clock— “and the two of us over here on this…stage thingy. This has to be Dorothy again, right? I really don’t get why she thinks separating us from everyone is a good plan.”

“Don't you see!” I exclaim, setting the red envelope down. “The woman has gone full on Marva on us!”

“Marva?” Max echoes in confusion.

“You know, the Marvas?” I repeat. “FromTheParent Trap—our daughter’s favorite movie. Or her old favorite movie, anyway. She used to watch it almost every weekend.”

“Ohhhh, yes. Of course. I remember now.” Realization dawns on Max’s face. “That’swhy that song Dorothy was whistling yesterday sounded so familiar.”

“Yup.” I nod. “It’s the same one all of the campers whistle as they march Halle and Annie to their isolation cabin.”

“Just like we’re in an isolation cabin,” Max says with a shake of his head.

“And eating breakfast at an isolation table.”

“That makes this whole plan of hers seem even more strange. Those two girls became friends because they discovered that they were long lost twin sisters. What on earth is Dorothy hoping we’ll discover, because I certainly hope we’re not long lost relatives.”

“Don’t be silly,” the woman of the hour appears in front of our table, wearing her signature pleased-as-punch smile—the one that I’ve already figured out means her manipulation tactics are working just as she hoped—and an extremely bright orange sweater, “of course, you’re not meant to discover that you’re long lost relatives. You’re meant to discover your long lost love for one another. Now don’t forget to read what’s in the envelope, you two.” She points to the discarded red envelope then zips away disappearing into the crowd of tables to visit with other retreat goers.

I can’t look at Max, so I focus really hard on the menu in front of me. After a minute of reading the same description of Eggs Benedict over and over again without retaining a single word, Isneak a glance at Max only to find him sneaking a glance back at me.

I sigh and put my menu down. He does the same.

“Clearly that woman is crazy,” he announces.

“Not to mention rude,” I huff. “Our love for each other isn’t long lost.” I drum my fingers nervously across the table then blurt, “Is it?”

Max looks shocked. “Of course it isn’t. Not for me, anyway.” He clears his throat. “Is it for you?”

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