I’m imagining so many things...
“I don’t know,” I say, realizing there’s no way I can sit here and keep eating while he’s having a literal meltdown at the table.
There’s a long, awkward pause. James moves in his seat, and I wonder if he’s worried how the other people on the tour are going to review this experience.
Finally, I shift into a different gear, clap my hands in front of Roger, and say, “Okay, Roger. That’s enough. It’s time to get it together. Come on. Time to get your big boy pants on.”
He stops moaning and looks at me. His cheeks are stained with tears, truly the epitome of pathetic. He drags the back of his hand across his face, wiping his nose.
I think of how unsuitable I was for company during the first few months after John moved out, and I’m overcome with sympathy for him.
“We’re going to stand up and walk outside. I’m going to call you an Uber, and you’re going to go home and sleep this off.” I stand up, fully aware that everyone is watching. “Let’s go.”
Miraculously, he does exactly what I say, and a few minutes later we’re standing on the street waiting for a driver named Sheila to roll up in a black Toyota Camry.
While we wait, a still teary Roger looks dejected and slightly embarrassed.
“Look,” I say. “You shouldn’t be dating right now.”
“But she’s dating—”
“Right,” I say. “But you need to give yourself some time to get over this. Hang out with friends. Play video games. Watch dumb movies. Eat junk food.”
“Does that really help?”
“Absolutely not.”
He looks up and chuckles.
“You’ll feel like crap,” I say honestly. “But eventually, you’ll get tired of feeling like crap. And then maybe you can figure out how to make yourself better. Get a hobby. Find some friends. Change your life.”
He looks sheepish.
The irony of me giving this pep talk is not lost on me.
The black car pulls up, and I open the back door and help him pile in.
“I’m really sorry, Kate,” he says.
I nod ruefully. It’s a perfect end to this date.
“It’s Claire.”
“Oh, right.” He nods. “Claire. I’m sorry,Claire.” He over-enunciates my name, then his eyes flutter closed.
“Roger,” I say, one hand poised on the door.
He looks at me.
“For heaven’s sake, pick up your socks.”
Claire: NEVER AGAIN.
Minnie: Oh no! What happened with Roger?
Claire: You don’t want to know.
Minnie: I absolutely do.
