Katrina is back. She’s concerned. Her customers are not happy campers. In fact, there’s a full-on meltdown going on. Not good. “Is everything okay, folks?”
I draw in a breath and compose myself. “I’m sorry, but we didn’t realize the risotto had mushrooms. I’m allergic.”
She brings a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she says, as if this is her fault somehow. “We can get you something else. The angel pasta is delicious. No mushrooms.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” I say to her, all the while scowling at Peter. “How could you have known?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask about allergies,” she says. “I’m supposed to, but I always forget.”
“No harm done,” I tell her. “I’ll have the angel hair pasta.”
“Okay, we’ll have that right out,” she promises as she takes my plate and dashes off.
“Sorry,” Peter says. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Was he not? Or was he? Did he purposely want to make me sick? He knows it’s not a deadly allergy. He knows I’d just end up perched over a toilet. Maybe he was angry because I fucked Blake. Could he really be that vengeful? I study him with a raised brow. I honestly don’t know what to think.
Or was it simply a lack of concern? A self-absorbed man who doesn’t consider others enough to remember something important like this? Either way, I’m not impressed. I’m suddenly brought back to that morning at the Inn when Blake made sure there were no mushrooms in the quiche.
He remembered.
The veal and capers truly is delicious, and so is the pasta and the wine Peter has chosen. There’s something to be said for a man who knows his wines. I’m starting to feel a little tipsy, and starting to forgive and forget. The night is young and life is too short to fight over trivial things.
We chat a bit about his job and our mutual friends. Apparently our friends Sebastian and Anna just got engaged. Seemingly the fiasco that was our almost-wedding didn’t deter them. I’m sure she thinks that Sebastian could never do that to her. That’s exactly what I would have thought about Peter too.
The food is great and the conversation flows smoothly. Of course it does. We know each other so well, we’ve been part of each other’s worlds for years now, ingrained in the smallest, most mundane details. He hates blue toothpaste. I love fuzzy slippers. He hates Jim Carrey, thinks he’s annoying. I love Ryan Gosling. He loves to play soccer with his buddies. I love to read and journal, and have coffee with my friends. There are many, many things that Peter knows about me that Blake doesn’t know.
On the flip side, there are also many things that Blake knows about me that Peter doesn’t. Such as: I used to steal Popsicles from the corner store in the summer. My favorite catch is Walleye – I love the shimmery gold, and love the taste when Momma cooks it. I hate worms. I love the movieCocktailwith Tom Cruise. I peed my pants in 2ndgrade. And so much more.
So many stories to tell Peter. So many years ahead of us to share them.
We split a bowl of ice cream and tiramisu for dessert, and he flirts shamelessly with me, just like old times. He tells me I look amazing, slides his foot along the inside of my leg, up high. He tells me he wants me. He tells me he’s missed me.
I’m tipsy and happy. I want to be with him again. We can try to start over. I want to give him a second chance.
