Page 402 of The First Time
Blake holds the door open for me. He motions to one side of a long, red booth.
It's the next best thing to pulling out a chair. He really is a gentleman.
Somehow, he doesn't look out of place here. Even in his two-thousand-dollar suit.
He nods to the guy behind the counter like they're old friends.
I pull my cardigan over my chest.
His eyes meet mine. "Is that the winter formal dress you mentioned?"
I nod. "It's a funny chance to wear it."
"Yes, but it suits you."
"My chest?"
His laugh is sad. "Yes. But the rest too. It's—"
"Beautiful and understated?"
"You're already bored of my clichés. We're practically married."
My laugh is nervous. I unwrap my silverware and play with my fork. "It's weird wearing a party dress to a funeral."
"It wouldn't be. Not for Mom. She'd love that dress."
"Because of my boobs?"
"Yes. But because it's beautiful. Because it's for a party. That's what she wanted. She wanted us to celebrate her life instead of mourn it."
"A lot of people say that."
He nods.
"But it never really works that way."
"No. It doesn't."
Our server interrupts. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee," Blake says. "And the tilapia special." He half-smiles. "Best tilapia anywhere."
The guy nodsdamn straight.
"I'm sold." I hand the guy my menu. "And an iced tea."
"You got it." He looks to Blake. "I'm so sorry about Meryl."
"Thank you," Blake says.
"She was a great woman."
"She was," Blake says.
The guy walks away, shaking his head like he can't stand how unfair life is.
I fold my napkin into a triangle. "She was a great woman."
