Keep away.
I withdraw immediately, reminding myself to keep my distance and to give her the space she seems so badly to need.At the table, I pull out her chair, but she puts her hand in front, halting me.
“I can pull out my own chair, thanks.You don’t need to fuss over me.”
“Okay.Sorry.I just ...”
“I’m sure you do this all the time,” she says, sitting down.“You don’t need to ...perform,” she adds.“I know it’s customary.It’s etiquette for you.”
“It’s just manners,” I mumble vaguely, hating that the bad start to our evening is getting worse.
We sit down across from each other.Candlelight flickers between us and a small vase of flowers sits in the middle over a white linen tablecloth.Maybe it’s too intimate.Too luxurious.Too much.She sits quietly, her hands in her lap, looking around.
The server pours water into our glasses.
She takes a sip, her gaze drifting everywhere but to me.To the walls.The candle.The flowers.
She couldn’t make it more obvious that she doesn’t want this.
I realize, suddenly, that this might all be wrong.That the very things I thought would make her feel special are doing the opposite.Maybe this is too much for her.Maybe trying to impress her, to show her how much she means to me, is having the opposite effect and has left her feeling out of her depth.
What happened to her?
Life seems to have dulled her sparkle, or maybe this is what happens when people grow up.I look at my brothers and me, and can’t say that we’re a bundle of laughs either.
“I can tell you don’t want to be here.Would you rather go someplace else?”I suggest.
“I agreed to one dinner,” she says.Then, “It feels like you’re trying too hard, like you’re trying to impress me, but I don’t need to be impressed.”
“I just wanted us to have a nice time,” I reply.“Seeing you again, it reminded me of a time in my life that wasn’t as dark as it had been.”
Her eyes flick to mine and she blinks.It feels like she’s about to say something, but she opens the menu and studies it.I pick up the wine list and casually peruse it.If we can’t make small talk, I might as well get the food ordered.“Do you care for any particular wine?”
“Not really.”
Hmmm.
I order a bottle of the Puligny-Montrachet, trusting the sommelier’s slight nod of approval.“What’s going on with you?”I ask gently.She’s still studying the menu.“You seem unhappy.”
She laughs, short and humorless.“Unhappy?”She shakes her head.“I’m just trying to figure out what to eat.”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” I remark.
“It’s just a menu, I’m sure I can handle it.”She studies me for a moment.“Look at you.Playing protector after all this time.”
“I’d protect you in a heartbeat, always.”
Her brow furrows.There’s something there.Something about our past that bothers her.
“You were there for me when I needed someone,” I explain, softly.“That doesn’t disappear just because years pass.At least, it doesn’t for me.”
“I survive just fine on my own.Always have.”
She’s defensive, and short, and trying to make conversation seems almost impossible.I’m relieved when the wine arrives.The server pours a small amount for me to taste.I swirl it around in my glass, suddenly feeling so self-conscious because Maya is watching me, and now every movement I make feels exaggerated.
She’ll think I’m an entitled prick.
“That’s good.Thank you,” I say to the server who starts to pour wine into Maya’s glass, but she puts her hand over it, preventing him.
