The food was delicious, of course, even though there was still a tiny spot of me craving Indian.And I couldn’t stop thinking about how Hugo had picked the spot in front of Hutchinson’s without telling me we were coming here.About how he’d barely glanced at the menu.About the wine, and the wedge salad, and the dressing on the side.When the waiter came to ask about dessert, Hugo started to shake his head.
The words just burst out of me: “We need a minute.”
The waiter disappeared into the shadows.
Hugo raised an eyebrow.
“Weren’t you even going to ask me?”I said.
“Ask you what?”
“If I wanted dessert.”
Surprise.A hint of hurt.“We talked about this.”
Which was true.Kind of.And…kind of not.
Normally, it would have ended there, but somehow, the words kept flowing.“Sometimes it feels like you don’t care what I want.Sometimes it feels like what I want doesn’t matter.”
The sharp edge of the hurt emerged from the confusion on his face.He said stiffly, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not saying that’s what you actually think.I’m just saying that’s how it feels.”
“Of course I care what you think.Of course what you want matters.”
“I know.”
“You hate making decisions.You told me that on our first date.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
He let out a little breath, shook his head, and looked away.“God, I’m such a jerk.”
“No!No, you’re not.You’re not, Hugo.You’re wonderful.”
“I can’t believe I did this.I can’t believe I made you feel that way.”
“You didn’t!Stop, please.You didn’t, really.I—I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?You’re telling me how you feel, Dash.Of course I want you to tell me how you feel.”
I feel miserable, I wanted to say.But evenIknew he didn’t want me to tell him that.
When the waiter returned, Hugo looked at me for a response.
I wanted the ice cream and bread pudding.
Did I want the ice cream and bread pudding?
Did I want dessert, really want it?Or was it just a craving?Or was I being a brat (which was coming through in Hugo’s body language pretty clearly)?Was I digging in my heels about something that didn’t matter, just to show Hugo that I could?
The old, familiar paralysis gripped me.
“Sir?”the waiter asked.
