The sun has gone down behind the buildings, and candlelight twinkles in the wine between his fingers.
“Thinking?” I repeat, startled.
To my surprise, I realize I’ve been smiling. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes as he searches my face intently.
“Yeah, there’s definitely something interesting going on in there,” he chuckles, pointing vaguely in the direction of my brain.
But when I try to assemble the words to explain it, it all sounds dumb. I’m enjoying not ordering my own food? Come on. Who would say something like that?
“Oh, I don’t know,” I finally sigh. “Probably just the wine. The food is good, right?”
“Just the wine, okay,” he repeats, with a bit of a dejected smirk. “Well, I’m glad you like it. We should try the other place, at the end of the block. Do you like Brazilian barbecue?”
My breath catches in my throat, threatening to give me instant and humiliating hiccups.
“Gosh, I’m tired!”
He presses his lips together. Suddenly I really want to go home. I just do. I feel strangely exposed out here, being asked questions about things I barely consider in my conscious mind.
“It’s been such a long day,” I explain in a rush. “But this was really nice. Thank you very much.”
He takes a breath and pauses for a beat, then motions the waiter for the check. “Nice to see you take a break. Do you need me to get you a cab?”
I realize that I am already pushing away from the table, like I am trying to escape or something. I guess my legs are committed to running away. There’s no stopping me now.
But I do force myself to smile at him before leaving. I can at least manage that.
Jeez, awkward much? I ask myself as I sit in the back seat of the Lyft, trying to purge myself of any memory of the last hour.
Am I that antisocial? Totally innocent, friendly dinner, and I have to act like a freak? Like I don’t know how to be nice? Answer questions? Maybe even ask questions?
Oh my God, I did not ask him any questions.
Come on, I scold myself. That is like Human Being 101! Ask people questions about themselves! Act normal!
“Uuuuughhh,” I groan, jamming the heel of my hand against my forehead.
“Are you okay, miss?” the driver asks, glancing at me with concern in the rearview mirror. “Do you need me to stop the car?”
Quickly I drop my hand, trying not to look like one of the drunken people he probably picks up nearly every day, the kind of person who throws up in the back seat of his nice, shiny car.
“No, no, I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Just socially inept. The usual.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” I shrug helplessly. “Actually it’s right… Oh, here. Okay. Thank you.”
I squint at the figure sitting on the front steps of my townhouse to make sure I’m not seeing things. As I climb out of the Lyft, the figure turns toward me.
“Landry?” I call out into the darkening air of my neighborhood.
A dog barks in the distance. A yuppie jogger hums as he runs past me. Landry waves her hand limply in the air.
“Hey, I thought that was you,” I smile as I approach her.
She stands and hugs me, sniffing my hair judgmentally like she always does.
“Flowers,” she remarks, like she always does.