Our waitress brings me another glass.
“Your hands are shaking. You okay?” Owen says. He’s always more solicitous when we’re out.
“I saw blueberries in the salad. Guess they forgot to take them out.”
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “I forgot to tell them about your allergy.”
“I told you when we started dating,” I say, struggling to contain my dismay and anger.
He studies my face. “It isn’t like it’s fatal, right? I mean, you aren’t swelling up or anything.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time.” Owen sighs. He hates being told when he made a mistake. “Anyway, your present.” He slides a small envelope across the table.
I decide to let it go. There’s nothing more we can do after he said he was sorry and promised to remember in the future.
I pick up the envelope and open it to find a Target gift card. Well. That’s…unusual. I don’t know what I expected, really, but we’ve been dating for a year now. I thought he’d give me something other than a box store gift card.
“You know, in case you want to get something,” Owen adds, as though he can sense my disappointment.
“Right. Thank you.” I smile, trying to look at the bright side. “It’s perfect. The Target by the gym has a large book section.”
He frowns. “I wasn’t thinking books.”
“It’s a gift card,” I say, trying not to sound stiff. “I can buy whatever I want, right?”
“Well, yeah. But ideally something that will be good for you.”
“Reading is good for me.”
“I was thinking…” He stops when our server comes over to take our salad plates. When we’re alone, Owen says, “I guess I should’ve been more specific.”
Before he can elaborate, the waitress returns with our pasta, checks to see if we need more of anything, then leaves. I wait for Owen to explain himself, but he just gestures at me with his new fork.
“Go ahead. The spaghetti is supposed to be really good.”
He has that stubborn look that says he’s not going to do anything until I do what he asked of me first. I don’t need clarification right this moment, so why not humor him? I take a bite of the meatball and chew. It’s quite good. But part of me stays a bit wary—and somewhat resentful. Whatever Owen’s going to specify about the gift card can’t be good. But I don’t know why he gave me one if he only wants me to buy some specific thing he approves of. He should’ve just bought me what he really wanted me to have. That way we could’ve skipped this unpleasant discussion.
Or is this his way of talking about what’s been bothering him? But does it have to be on my birthday?
“I just think it’s best if we take a moment to breathe,” he says suddenly. “You know…away from each other.”
I choke on the meat. Crap! The basil tomato sauce shoots up my nostrils and burns like hell! I start coughing and snorting.
Owen jumps up and shoves his napkin up my nose while covering my mouth.Oh my God.Is he trying to smother me to death in front of all the well-heeled diners here?
I swat his wrist a few times and he finally pulls back. The piece of meatball that was lodged in the wrong place pops out, allowing me to pull air into my lungs.
“Are you okay?” He leans forward, peering at me.
“No!” I gasp.
He raises the napkin again. I wave him away impatiently and take two big swallows of wine. “You want tobreak up?”
He retakes his seat. “That isn’t what I said. Just, you know. Take a breather.”
“That totally sounds like a breakup.”
