I keep my food order simple, just a salad that has absolutely no business costing twenty-seven dollars, and Emmett opts for a gigantic cut of filet mignon.
After a bit of small talk and icebreaker questions, Emmett takes a sip of his wine then props his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his joined hands.
“So. If you had to escape this date, right now, how would you do it?”
I make a show of tapping my finger on my chin and lower my voice as I lean in conspiratorially, telling him, “If it was going badly, likereallybadly, I would make a scene. Like, we were breaking up and it was a total nightmare. You would think I was crazy and never call me again.”
“And if it was just a boring date?” he asks.
“Oh, easy. I’d slide under the table like a slug and crawl out of the restaurant.”
He throws his head back in laughter, saying, “Well now I wanna bore you, just so I can see that.”
“Have you ever had a date you wanted to escape?” I ask him.
“One,” he says, “Last year. I took her to an art gallery and she had a few too many glasses of the free wine. She wound up destroying one of the pieces, which I then had to pay for...and it was an ugly one.”
“Oh my god,” I say, my hand flying up over my mouth. “I would be mortified.”
He nods, sipping from his wine again. “I was.”
As our meal winds down, we decide to order dessert, which tells me the date is going really well. I don’t want to get my hopes up too much just yet, but I’m cautiously optimistic that this might actually lead to a second date. Shoot, I might get my first kiss tonight. That alone sends butterflies through my stomach.
Tucking into our desserts, Emmett pops a bite of his tart into his mouth and asks, “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done on a date?”
Oh boy, here we go. This is an in to tell him, but it’s also the defining moment of this date. This single moment can make or break everything that has been building up for this entire evening.
All of a sudden, my dessert isn’t appetizing anymore and those butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach have all been squished, replaced with a nervous sweat that crawls across the back of my neck.
“On my last first date,” I say, “I passed out and smacked my head on the table.”
With a laugh he says, “Christ, were you drunk?”
“Nope, I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my life. I just didn’t see that one coming. He practically ran away from me.”
His brow furrows. “That one?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I have this thing, and usually I just get dizzy, but sometimes I pass out. That time I passed out,” I laugh.
“What kind of thing?” He asks.
“Like a…health thing,” I tell him. “No one really knows what exactly it is. But it’s not serious or anything. I live a pretty normal life, considering. I manage it.”
“Oh.”
I watch in slow motion as his face falls, just a little, and I can actually see each individual wheel turning in his head.
So this is what option three looks like.
•
I lean over to give Emmett a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, I had a really good time with you tonight,” I tell him.
“Yeah, me too. I’m glad we did this.”
He isn’t, but that’s okay.
