What the fuck?
Fearing that my voice will betray me again, I swallow the “sorry,” pour the water and sit back. My peripheral visioncatches Celeste’s eyes flicking to me. There’s a piercing quality to her usually benevolent gaze.
She turns to Laura. “What was it like being onWed at First Sight? Antoine doesn’t talk about it, but I’m terribly curious.”
“Did you watch it?” Laura asks.
“Some of it.”
Did she watch me flirt with Laura? Dance with her? Kiss her?
I’m shocked that the questions never occurred to me before.
“It was unsettling to have cameras film almost everything you say and do,” Laura says cautiously.
Celeste cocks her head. “Anything positive about the experience?”
I itch to tell her to drop the subject, but I want to hear Laura’s answer even more.
“It was scary at first,” she says.
“In what way?” Celeste presses.
Laura runs a hand through her hair. “Like when you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake, but it’s too late to back out. The cameras are rolling, and you must play your part.”
“It was all my fault.” Mike takes Laura’s hand. “You did it to get back at me for asking for a break. I can only imagine how you felt when you realized you’d punished yourself by trying to punish me.”
Laura pulls her hand away to pick up her glass and drink some wine. It’s her left hand, which is significant because she’s radically right-handed.
“And then?” Celeste asks.
Laura sighs. “And then it was fun. Until it wasn’t. At the end, it sucked. I felt like a loser, a pea-brained cow that never learns.”
The stark honesty of her reply hits me like a sucker punch. I know that it’s as much an indictment of me as it is of her. Butit’s not the implicit accusation, which I fully deserve, that has me reeling.
“You’re the opposite of a loser,” I blurt out. “You’re wonderful in every way!”
Celeste stiffens next me. I regret my lack of restraint at once. Luckily, Mike, eager to steer the conversation in his direction, asks Celeste to tell him more about the film project she wants him to work on. She replies that it’s a contemporary drama set in Orléans.
They talk about it for the next twenty minutes. Mike’s questions seem just as inexhaustible as his excitement. Laura says nothing. Neither do I, grateful for the break. In the middle of the main course, I catch myself mirroring her movements, down to matching her pace when cutting into my steak. I set my fork and knife down and deliberately skip several beats to break the spell.
When the desserts arrive, Celeste ignores Mike’s next question and turns to Laura. “How did you two reconnect? There must be a great story there.”
Laura takes her time chewing the first spoonful of her tarte tatin.
By the time she opens her mouth to answer, Mike beats her to it, “Oh, it’s a story as old as time. I begged, I groveled, I wrote a song. Finally, she gave me a second chance.”
“Beautiful,” Celeste says.
“There’s a twist to the story, though.” Mike looks at Laura. “We’re taking things real slow this time. Eh, babe?”
She doesn’t answer.
He winks theatrically. “I think Laura wants me to work for it, because it’s very un-Laura-like to hold back.”
I hate that I agree with him. But he’s right, so I have no choice. Laura doesn’t do things halfway.
“That’s admirable,” Celeste says flatly.
