“It could be. This could be our origin story. We met at the hospital cafeteria.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re right. Not romantic enough. I’m happy to go with our actual origin story, but I thought you copping a look at the goods before we’d even spoken might be a bit too much for Grandie.”
“If you’d read my bio, you would’ve seen I made a couple of suggestions. Either I bought coffee from you and you asked me out, or a mutual friend introduced us. Simple and straight forward.”
“I don’t think so, Princess.” I pretend to think. “Yes, I think Princess is better than Flower. Or there’s Gorgeous. That has the benefit of being able to be abbreviated to Gorge. And it starts with the same letter as your surname. Gorge Gordon. I do love a bit of alliteration. What do you think?”
“No and no. Can we stick to the topic at hand? We need to agree on how we met.” Her scowl reminds me of those angry cat videos that float around the internet.
“Well, frankly, your suggestions are pedestrian and boring. I can’t imagine either of us being that dull. We need something epic. Can you swim? I could rescue you from a rip.”
“Yes, I can swim. And I don’t see why it has to be epic.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“Because ours is going to be an epic love story, Gorgeous. And for an epic love story, you need an epic meet-cute. I don’t make the romance rules.”
I wonder if she realises how expressive her face is. It’s almost like there’s a computer printout running across her forehead. Annoyed. Exasperated. Unwillingly amused. Intrigued. Frustrated. I choose to focus on the intrigued. Because the more time I spend with this woman, the more I enjoy her company and spicy attitude.
She may not have any PDAs in mind for her grandmother but I definitely wouldn’t be averse to the kind of PDAs that happen in the other P – private. And if I don’t miss my guess, she might not either. Although she’d probably rather die than admit it.
I tuck into the lasagna I ordered while she continues to suggest duller and duller meet-cutes.
“How about we table that for now and play this or that?” I suggest. She gives me a confused look. “Cats or dogs?”
“Dogs,” we both say at once.
“Summer or winter?”
“Spring,” she says.
“Autumn,” I say. Because everyone knows the surf in Sydney is at its best in the autumn. Although an argument could be made for summer. Because hello … bikinis.
“Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee,” from both of us
“Sweet or savoury?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Lili asks, spreading her hands over her tray of food, which includes both. “I can’t be expected to answer that.”
“Ah, so it’s a why choose from you?”
And for the first time, I see her laugh. It’s like the sun came out. I can feel the warmth on my face. And in my belly. Or somewhere in that general vicinity. A laugh from Lilavati is worth something.
“Well, would you look at that. Seems like we have a whole lot in common.”
She’s about to answer when the phone clipped to the waistband of her scrubs lets out a sharp alert.
“Damn. That’s an emergency text. I have to go.” She shovels the last of her burger into her mouth. She’s hardly touched her chips and hasn’t even looked at the pie. I guess that’s how she stays so tiny. She buys food and doesn’t eat it.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask as she stands. “We still need to work on that meet-cute.”
“Sure.” But she’s distracted, reading whatever the message says.
After she’s gone, I finish my lunch and order a terrible cup of coffee, although to be fair, my bar on that is pretty high. Then, I take Lilavati’s pie to the counter and ask them to bag it. I slip the brownies in next to it and wander out to the main reception area.
