“I guess so,” I agree.
He raises his glass. “Well, here’s to damaged goods. You and I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for us getting our hearts broken, right?”
I clink my glass against his. Our fingers are close enough to touch. We take a sip. I try not to focus on how his perfect lips suck on the plastic straw.
“Does it still hurt?” I ask.
“What?”
“The breakup?”
He shrugs. “Sort of?” He nods in my direction. “What about you?”
“Yeah, sometimes. Like, it’s weird. Sometimes I could care less. I mean, really. Fuck him, right?”
“Totally.”
“But then I wonder what it says aboutme. Why’d he have to chooseher, y’know? We wereengaged. It’s not like we were just dating or something.”
“I completely understand.”
“I often consider a life in the nunnery,” I say.
“Are nunneries even a thing anymore?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I think so. Maybe later I’ll ask Google. I’d hate for my backup plan not to be a solid one.”
Colin smiles. “Gotta keep those options open.”
The waitress brings our salads. We busy ourselves eating. He chews quietly, his napkin folded in his lap. Scott would never have eaten salad, for one thing, and I am almost a hundred percent sure he never put a cloth napkin in his lap. Colin, by contrast, makes a comment about how the salad dressing might be the best balsamic he’s ever tasted, and gratefully accepts my cherry tomatoes when he notices me eating around them. He uses a second piece of Italian bread to mop up the shallow pool of dressing at the bottom of the bowl.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m starving, and this is delicious.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s yummy, I agree. And I eat like six meals a day usually, so I get it.”
“Really? Are you one of those girls who portions out the food really tiny and eats snacks instead of meals? I forget the name of that meal plan.”
I shake my head. “Oh, no,” I laugh. “That’s definitely not me. If there’s one thing I can do—and do well—it’s eat. Mostly because I love to cook.”
“What kind of food do you cook?”
“Everything. I love trying new stuff out in the kitchen. When I was a kid, my nonna lived with us, and she was always cooking. She never followed a recipe either. She was big on tasting stuff,” I say. “You know how some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths?”
He nods.
“My spoon was wooden. I learned all about spices and flavors and how to mix random stuff together to make all kinds of foods.”
“Well, cheers to that. I love a girl with an appetite who’s not afraid to indulge.”
“Meanwhile, look at you. You look like one of those guys who has incredible metabolism and can eat whatever he wants.”
“Nope. I wish!” he says. “I work out. It keeps me sane. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done after the breakup with Elle if it wasn’t for the gym. It was a great way to channel my anger.”
“I know the feeling. Ilana was lucky she was pregnant. I could definitely have considered assault otherwise. Although, I don’t think I’d do very well in jail.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“They only give you three meals.” I smile.
