A night out with a stranger when all I wanted was to crawl into bed with my kid and pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure if I was angrier at my mother for arranging it . . . or at myself for agreeing.
I spent most of the afternoon trying to convince myself it wouldn’t be that bad.
Dinner, polite conversation, escape before dessert. I’d endured worse . . . like being back under my mother’s roof.
By the time seven rolled around, I’d changed my shirt three times and ended up in something that screamedI’m not trying, but please don’t pity me.
When the doorbell rang, Ava darted out of the living room in fuzzy pajamas, a handful of popcorn already in her mouth. “Grandma said you’re going out to dinner,” she said.
“Apparently,” I muttered.
She tilted her head. “Do you want to?”
“Nope.”
Ava smiled faintly, then handed me a handful of popcorn. “For bravery.”
My heart squeezed. “Thanks, kiddo.”
I popped it in my mouth, kissed her hair, and let my mother usher me out like I was heading to prom instead of emotional purgatory.
The restaurant was nice in that generic, overcompensating way, with linen tablecloths, moody lighting, and a menu where everything came with a balsamic reduction.
David, my mother’s matchmaking masterpiece, was perfectly pleasant. At first.
He talked about his work and becoming a partner, asked about Ava, and even laughed when I admitted I’d once burned spaghetti. It was fine.
Finein that way where you could feel how hard everyone was pretending it was.
Then the waiter brought the wrong wine.
“I said theMerlot,” David snapped, his tone sharp enough to make nearby tables flinch. The waiter, a kid, barely twenty, apologized and hurried off.
I stared at him, stunned. “That wasn’t necessary.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “If people want to work in service, they should do it properly.”
Something cold and solid settled in my gut. “He made a mistake, not a crime.”
David blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. “You’re very sensitive.”
“Or maybe you’re just an ass.”
He sat back, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
I stood. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“What?”
I tossed my napkin onto the table and walked out before he could say another word.
Outside, the night air was cool enough to sting. I pulled my phone out, thumb hovering over the Uber notification.
Your driver is on the way.
