Page 83 of The Situation
“So what did you do today?” I ask.
“I had one hell of a day. My ex-wife called. We’ve been divorced for five years, and she still calls me to come over and fix the air conditioner. I should tell the bitch no, but I don’t. You’d think she’d figure out how to use a thermostat by now.” He sighs haughtily. “But, like they say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I don’t know his ex-wife, but I instinctively feel the need to defend her.
“Growing up, we had a thermostat that never worked right,” I say. “My mother could never get it to kick on. My father always had to do it. It was a joke around the house. It only liked Dad.”
“Electronic things typically prefer men.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes widening.
“It’s not women’s fault. I think it’s something in their body chemistry that does it.”
I set my menu down, my blood heating. “You know, Curtis, I’m picking up a chauvinistic vibe here, and I should point out before we get too far into this that I’m not the one.”
“Here is your chardonnay and your water with two slices of lemon,” Morgan says, placing the drinks on the edge of the table. “Would you like to start with an appetizer or jump right into your entrées?”
“Double cheeseburger for me,” Curtis says. “Fries are fine on the side.”
He hands her his menu.
I haven’t even perused mine. But the thought of eating anything right now makes me ill. And I just want to get the hell out of here.
“Same for me,” I say, forking over my menu, too. “Thank you, Morgan.”
“You’re welcome.”
She’s not two steps away before Curtis lets loose on a tangent about classic cars. Out of nowhere, and with no attempt at finding a topic that I know anything about or have any interest in, for that matter, he goes off about torque. Pistons. Crank shafts, which I gather is not what it sounds like.
I nod here and there, but there’s no input needed from me. This is a one-person conversation. I’m just here as a spectator.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m not sure what I was thinking agreeing to this farce.
As he chatters away, my thoughts drift to Tate.
“And to think that my goal has been trying to run into you all day. This doesn’t bother you, does it? Me being in your office? Because, if it does, I’ll go.”
My heart tugs in my chest.
I’ve been unfair to him. I’ve been unfair tomyself.
Somewhere along the line, I’ve allowed the monologue in my head to skew to the negative. Instead of looking at a situation and seeing the positive—what happens if this is the best thing to ever happen to me?—my mind always goes to the dark side—what happens if I screw this up and ruin everything?I don’t feel hopeful; I’m fearful. I don’t imagine the joy that could come out of something. I go immediately to the potential pain and heartbreak or judge myself preemptively.
I look up at Curtis. His lips are still moving. I watch him jabber on, having muted him in my head, and ask myself what I’m getting out of this. The answer: nothing. So why was I so willing to take this risk when I could’ve taken a much safer gamble and had dinner with Tate?
I need to talk to him.
Adrenaline fires through me, and my eyes dart around for an escape plan. Just as my hand locks around my phone, Morgan appears with our plates. Curtis finally stops jabbering long enough for me to catch my breath.
“Your burgers are here,” she says, setting our plates in front of us. “Do you need anything else? Ketchup? Refills?”
Earplugs.
“I’ll take another chardonnay,” Curtis says.
“Could you bring the check whenever you have time?” I ask. “Just to save you the trouble later.”
She nods knowingly. “I’ll grab that for you. And the chardonnay.”
