I sink into the sensations of the experience as best I can, because I do trust him. I trust him, and I trust Orla, and everyone else who have been assuring me that things are going to pan out ok.
When the maître d’ arrives with our menus, he gives us both a nod and a great big smile, since we look fit enough for the opera, but creates no fuss about it, just leads us to our lovely table in the far corner and holds out my chair while I take a seat.
“Drinks?” he asks, and I nod, fuck it.
“We’ll go for a bottle of De Chante, please.”
Josh raises an eyebrow. “All out celebration. Makes sense.”
“It warrants it,” I say.
“De Chante?! Excellent!” the maître d’ says. “What is this? A birthday? Anniversary?”
“Just us, being us,” I reply, and take my boyfriend’s hand across the table.
“Well congratulations on that,” the maître d’ says, and grins before he leaves us to peruse the menus.
To be fair, I couldn’t care less about what’s on the menu. All I want is to stare into Josh’s eyes and soak in the ambience of theroom around us. There aren’t that many diners in here, but there is enough of a vibe to create a thrum.
A thrum I’ve been missing so bad, it’s like a void is being filled up inside me.
Josh pretends to scout the room, with his eyes just over the top of his menu.
“I think we are safe, you know. No paps in sight. Not a single one.”
“I dunno about that. What about her?” I tip my head towards an older couple eating pasta together.
She looks like a sweet little grandma in a lemon floral dress and grey perm.
It makes Josh laugh and put the menu down.
“Hmm. Could be. We can check out social media when we get back home, see if she’s been posting about us.”
The vibe in this place is magical, but the vibe of being out of the Airbnb and in this place with Josh wins hands down. It sure is worth a De Chante.
We clink glasses with anotherto uswhen the bottle arrives, and then we order our meals. I go for Calamari and lasagne. Josh goes for an obscure soundingchef’s special, and a couple of random side dishes, discussing them with the server at length.
I watch him, engaged, loving how nobody in this place seems to be whispering about me. Not right now.
What a welcome relief.
And I can’t help but wonder… if someday, somehow, we will ever be with another piece of our puzzle brought back to life. With someone who attracts even more attention than I would have at the peak of the chaos, just without everyone screaming obscenities…
Last time Josh and I drank De Chante, when we were celebrating life and having serious fun, we were in… we were with…
I look at my boyfriend and can’t help but picture the way he’d be laughing with Heath at this dining table after a few drinks. The way Heath would lean into him when they were sharing a joke. Bumping elbows.
I get churned up when I remember the way Heath looked at me… when he was plotting something… something filthy. Or just making a fruit salad for breakfast.
I gulp down some De Chante to fix my composure. This is not for now.
But as the server departs, Josh lets out a sigh.
“To us,” he says and raises another glass. “And to our fellow De Chante drinker, wherever he may be.”
My eyes widen.
“You were thinking about him, too?”
