I nod. “They handed me my official termination via Zoom this morning.”
She rubs a hand down my back. “I’m sorry, honey.”
I lean down and kiss her cheek, smothering my misfortune with a little deviation. “I’m choosing to look on the bright side. I hated the job anyway, and some might consider this a sign. Plus, I have other things on my mind. More important things.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner.” I wave a hand in the direction of her dining table for her to see I’ve set it with care. Gone are the usual plates and bowls she told me she bought from Ikea. I even whipped out some wine glasses and a fresh arrangement of flowers.
“What is all this?” she asks with a soft gasp.
“My do-over,” I remind her. “Hopefully this will wipe away the first date from hell.”
“Absolutely.” She tilts up on her toes and kisses me, letting her lips linger over mine. I hold her in my arms while keeping in mind the food is ready to be served and running the risk of it getting cold.
A sudden wave of uncertainty and dread washes over me. My plan tonight is to wine and dine her. To show her all the ways she means so much to me before telling her so. Maybe then she’ll realize that whoever we tell, whether it’s our family or the whole world, it’ll all be welcomed with open arms. I understand her hesitation. We’re involving the people in our lives who would be wholly invested. And if things went south, it wouldn’t be a clean break. It would turn messy and complicated. Kind of like her divorce. But I’m going to go through with my plan. I’m going to get through dinner, and we can talk about our future. With that in mind, I pull out a chair for her.
“You know, maybe more of our dates should be disastrous,” she comments, pouring the wine. “Especially if this is how you’re going to fix it.”
“I guess that’s one way to look on the bright side.” I serve the pasta and bring the plates over to the table, setting hers down in front of her. She takes in a big inhale and hums with a pleased smile.
“This smells amazing.”
I sit down, suddenly famished with the scent of lobster and creamy sauce wafting into the air. We’re quiet as I watch Grace dig in.
“How is it?”
“If you ever feel like a career change is an option, you can try your hand at the culinary arts,” she comments, taking another heaping forkful.
I chuckle. “That good, huh?”
She silently nods. I let her eat without making conversation while enjoying the view. When I notice about half her dinner is gone and the speed at which she’s been consuming her pasta slows to a more leisurely pace, I pour her more wine.
“So, I was thinking about…things.”
The wineglass she had tilted back stops mid-sip. “What things?”
“About us.”
“Okay.” The single word trails with concern, making her sound scared and worried.
“It’s not bad,” I assure her. I reach out and swipe my thumb across the corner of her mouth, wiping off a smear of sauce. “I just had some time to think, and after this weekend, it would be irresponsible for us to not talk about things. Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she answers, adding a nod to show no protest. Though the up and down motion of her head feels hesitant, and I wonder if the weekend we spent together left a different mark on her. One that allowed her to have second thoughts instead of a more assured frame of mind like mine. “I was actually wanting to talk to you too.”
I sit up straighter, angling myself to face her. “Go ahead.”
“I was just thinking that…what happened on Friday was a?—”
“Shit show.”
She chuckles a morose laugh. “Yeah. To say the least. And…I know I said we can tell Teeny soon, and maybe tell other people like my sister and the rest of your family too, but…”
I don’t know if I like where this is going. It definitely isn’t going in the direction I was hoping it would. But I don’t poke or prod. I just listen. “But…”
“I think we should pump the brakes on that.”
“You want things to stay between us?”
