He waited quietly, but as soon as we entered the elevator he snuck in close and said, “I like them. Keep the heels but get rid of the hair.”
His breath tickled my ear and the tiny hairs on my neck stood at attention.
“I don’t know much about LA… Does that kind of talk get you bonus points with women? Not that you would be looking for that with me,” I quickly added.
The doors to the elevator opened and he never answered me.
Now we were seated at a booth next to the window, the sun shining outside, and I felt more introspection coming from Ford.
“The hair thing. I’m sorry. I miss the curls. Do you remember how I used to pull on them when we were kids?”
“And you made me cry every time?”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table as I was sure he’d been taught not to do. “That was one time.”
It was only one time, but I wasn’t giving in to him.
“There was another time my hands in your hair didn’t make you cry. In fact, I think you enjoyed it…”
I couldn’t believe this man. The nerve he had to bring that up. Here. At lunch. “We’re supposed to be discussing the wing.” I took a sip of sparkling water the server had waiting for us.
“We will. But James, we have to discuss that night eventually.”
“We haven’t in twenty-two years. I think it’s okay to let it lie. What’s the saying? Let sleeping dogs lie…”
“It’s not okay.” He was still bracing himself on the table, taking me in. “I hurt you, but I didn’t mean to. I knew it meant something to you.”
“Ford, please don’t,” I whispered.
“It meant everything to me too, which is why I ran.” He ignored my plea for him to stop. “I was a boy, relying on my parents’ names and fortunes. I hated that. You knew that about me before I did. I had to get far away, but the longer I stayed gone, the more I became convinced you were better without me.”
“Excuse me,” the server nervously interrupted.
I was sensing we were giving off thehaving a momentvibe.
“I mentioned we would do the prix fixe over the phone,” Ford said to the server, and then quickly followed with, “Don’t worry, I let them know my friend has a shellfish allergy,” and a longish wink toward me.
“Yes, I was confirming if you wanted me to start service,” was all the server said, not showing whether he spotted the wink or not, while my mouth hung open, ready to catch a fly.
“Great, thank you. Whenever it’s ready, we are.” Ford smiled at the server, still ignoring my gaping mouth.
“You remembered?”
“You mean I didn’t forget the time you ate a spring roll with shrimp and your face blew up like a blimp, and I rushed you to the hospital? No, I most certainly did not forget.”
A small smile cracked my lips this time.
“Don’t laugh,” he threatened.
“I’m fine. I was fine then.”
“I didn’t know that…”
He’d been so stressed that night when the incident happened. We’d gone to a movie with a group of friends and then to this Chinese restaurant with one of those spinny lazy Susan things in the middle of the table. My mom was a vegetarian, so I ate a lot of rice and beans or tofu growing up. Most of my eating-out adventures were with Ford or his sister. When they ordered, I always followed suit. That evening, I remembered thinking the spring roll was so perfectly fried, delicate and crisp. I’d savored each bite until Abby, a friend of ours, said, “Jamie! Are you okay?”
“Umm, yeah, I think,” I’d replied, confused by the panicked look in her eyes.
That was when Ford looked at me, yanked me from my seat, dragged me outside to the car, and drove straight to the emergency room.
