Page 30 of Two Friends in Marriage
I know she doesn’t mean it in anI-want-to-get-you-nakedway, but still.
“Is it okay?”she asks.
Oh no.Now I’ve been quiet for too long and she’s worried I don’t like it.
I squeeze her hand.“Yeah, I love it.”
Jane drives us east along 16th.She parks in a lot in Unionville and leads me to a Greek restaurant in a converted house.The hostess takes us to a table under a red umbrella on the front patio.Baskets of flowers hang on the white fence.
“This is lovely,” I say.“Have you been here before?”
Jane shakes her head.“No, I was just looking for something with a nice patio.”
She busies herself with the menu, while I spend another few seconds looking around.It’s the sort of place that could be on a listicle of romantic patios in the Greater Toronto Area, but I remind myself that she doesn’t mean it to beromantic.
We debate getting the platter for two, then decide it’s too much food—it would probably be enough to serve at least three.I opt for the lamb shank, and she chooses the quail.For appetizers, we eventually settle on melitzanosalata, which I’ve never had before, but it sounds a bit like baba ganouj.Jane also wants to get the taramasalata.
“Would you like a drink?”I ask.“I’m happy to drive home.”
Once she selects a white wine and we place our order, there’s a moment of awkward silence.I feel slightly off-kilter.
“Any plans for the weekend?”she asks.
“I have a bunch of laundry to do tomorrow, and Watson thought he’d like a plant friend, one that isn’t a prickly cactus.We could go to Home Depot?”
I know, I know, it’s an incredibly mundane conversation for a first date, but I don’t mind.
It’s strange that I’m thinking of this as a first date, though.Jane and I hung out many times, just the two of us, while engaged—although, to be fair, we were mostly trying to figure out logistical stuff and rarely went out to eat.
It’s not a date.It’s a meal with a friend.
Jane’s wine arrives.She murmurs her thanks, then tries a sip.Her lipstick leaves a faint smudge on the glass, and I shouldn’t find that mesmerizing, but I do.
Fortunately, before I can fixate on it too much, the server brings over our dips.I swipe some of the pale-pink taramasalata up with my pita.The color is from the roe, and I think the base is crustless white bread.
Jane doesn’t say much as she helps herself to the dips.I try not to stare on her lips and her throat as she eats, but then I drop my gaze to her single bare shoulder—and for some reason, that doesn’t help.
“Do you like it?”She gestures at the food.“I feel like I’m eating twice as fast as you.”
“I do, I do.”I pick up my pace and try to stop admiring her.
I don’t succeed.
But the dips are delicious, and our mains are equally tasty.I give Jane some of my lamb, and she murmurs her approval.
It really is a nice night, and I’m done with work for the week.An older white woman gives me an odd look as she walks by—the eye makeup, presumably—but I brush it off pretty easily.I tell myself it was just my imagination, even though it probably wasn’t.
After dinner, we walk up and down Main Street before returning to the car.
“You know,” Jane says as I pull out of the parking lot, “I think Home Depot is still open.Should we go now?”
“Sure, why not?You’ll have to give me directions, though.”
She directs me to the most convenient location, and as we step out of the car, I’m conscious of the fact that we’re not dressed for buying plants at Home Depot.Jane is wearing a sophisticated black outfit with stilettos, for God’s sake.But if she wants to do it now while we’re out, I’m game.I put on my mask, and we head into the store.
“We should get something big for the living room,” I suggest.“To sit on the floor and cover Watson’s head.Maybe one of these?”I point to some kind of palm.
“I like this one better.”Jane gestures to at a mass cane plant—I know what it is only because I can read.
