4
THE RESTAURANT IS ABSOLUTELY stunning, all stainless windows and mahogany wood. It’s called The Octagon, and is actually in the shape of an octagon. I’ve never been here before. Of course, I haven’t — this isn’t the kind of place I usually frequent. A glass of wine costs more than a pair of my boots. Mind you, I shop mostly at thrift stores.
My eyes are practically bulging out of my head as I peruse the menu, and the prices of the entrées. I try to be inconspicuous as I flip through. Mark is sitting right in front of me, next to my lovely mother. They make a beautiful older couple. He’s only two years older than her, but like her, he looks amazing for his age — picture Pierce Brosnan.
I’m happy for her. I’m happy she’s found love. She’s had a tough life, putting up with my deadbeat dad all these years. She’s such a sweet person — I just want the best for her.
“I’m thinking of having the garlic shrimp,” she announces.
“Good choice,” I say. I know how she loves shrimp.
“Actually, love,” Mark says. “The flank steak is excellent. I think it’s a better choice for you, with your anemia. Look at you, you’re white as a ghost tonight.”
What the…
I look at my mother, whose head is down, staring at the menu. “You’re probably right, darling,” she concedes.
She looks slightly defeated, just like she did with my father sometimes. In Mark’s defense, she does look a little sickly. Her skin is so white against the dark fabric of her black dress. She looks like Morticia Adams. The woman could use some iron. I’m always telling her to eat baby spinach and lentils and beans.
I stare down at my little black dress. I’m also very fair, like my mother. Oscar says my dark hair against my pale skin is striking. I’ve worn high platform heels with a ribbon detail, one of the few fancy pairs of shoes I own. When I was younger, I could have never worn an outfit like this, but yoga and a good diet have their benefits.
The server asks us for our drink selection. Mark orders glasses of water and two bottles of wine for the table; a red and a white.
“I’ve ordered you the shrimp cocktail,” he tells me. “It’s amazing.”
“Yes, it is,” my mother says, beaming.
My mother is in her element here — she loves all things fancy — nice restaurants, fancy trips, pretty clothing.
“I’m sorry you won’t get the chance to meet Samantha,” Mark goes on. “She’s in New York, but she’ll definitely be out for the wedding. You’ll meet her then.”
“I can’t wait. How old is she again?”
“She’s thirty. My son is about your age. He’s twenty-eight.”
Interesting…
“What’s he like?” I ask, in an attempt to make conversation.
“Well, he’s an attorney like myself. Works for my firm actually. He’s a hobby photographer, and quite the ladies’ man,” he adds with a smirk. “And he’s always late.”
“It’s okay.”
Mark checks his watch again. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. I keep telling him that tardiness is completely inconsiderate, but he doesn’t listen.”
I study the man who will soon be my new father; all class: perfect hair, flashy suit and shiny cufflinks. Mom could do worse. Anyone, after my loser dad, would be an improvement.
“Your mother was chronically late when we first met,” he tells me. “But I whipped her into shape. She knows I won’t accept it.”
I bite my lip. He sounds a bit controlling, but who am I to judge.
The shrimp cocktail arrives, and I can’t believe my eyes. These are the most massive shrimps I’ve ever seen. Mark has ordered two orders, with two shrimps each. Or should I say ‘prawns’.
“Help yourself,” Mark urges with a wide smile.
I grab one and dip it into the accompanying cocktail sauce. “These look great.” I bite into the huge shrimp and savor my first bite.
I close my eyes, enjoying the taste. I don’t often indulge in food. I rarely treat myself. I’m a bit of a zealot, I admit, but at least I’m healthy now.
