“What happened?”
“Nothing I want to discuss in the middle of a restaurant.”
She sat her mimosa down and cocked her head to the side. “Navy, did you?—”
I immediately held me hand up to stop her. “Do not finish that sentence. It wasn’t planned.”
“That makes it worse.”
“How?”
“Because planned means you made a bad decision with organization. Unplanned means your body overthrew the damn government.” She replied as I covered my face with both hands. She reached across the table and pulled one of them down. “Do you regret it?”
I considered lying, but Tasha would have heard it before the answer left my mouth. “No, I don’t regret it at all. ”
Her expression changed into concern. “What about Marv?”
“We’re not together.”
The waiter arrived with our entrées, placing grilled salmon in front of me and a blackened chicken pasta in front of Tasha. The interruption gave me room to breathe, although Tasha continued watching me while he grated fresh Parmesan over her food. Once he left, she twirled pasta around her fork without eating it.
“You need to be careful,” she said.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to be.” She coached me while I just looked at her. “There’s a difference,” she continued. “You just got out of something that broke pieces off you. Lev might make you feel safe right now, but you don’t know what he looks like once he wants something from you besides money.”
I jerked my head back and shook my head. “He already wants money.”
“You know what I mean.”
I cut into my salmon and let the steam rise between us. “I’m not trying to be with anybody. I’m trying to finish paying him, get divorced, and get my life together.”
“Good.”
“But I do like him.”
Tasha’s mouth twisted as though she wanted to argue but knew there was no point arguing with a feeling. “Just don’t confuse the first man who treats you gently with the man meant to keep you safe.”
The words rang through my ears loud and clear. I lowered my fork. “When did you get wise?”
“I’ve been wise. I just dress it up in foolishness so y’all don’t get intimidated.”
I smiled, but hers didn’t fully return. She looked down at her plate and began pushing the pasta from one side to the other. The noodles dragged through the cream sauce without ever reaching her mouth. A few seconds later, she reached for the paper wrapper from her straw and started folding it into smaller and smaller squares.
I watched her paying close attention because she had been loud all morning teasing, laughing, talking to strangers as if she had known them for years. Now she sat still with her shoulders slightly rounded, pressing her thumbnail into a piece of paper no larger than a postage stamp.
“You okay Tash? ”
“Yeah.”
The answer came too quickly. “Tash, we’ve been talking about me all morning, but how are you?”
“I’m fine.” She reached for her mimosa, then stopped before her fingers touched the stem.
That was when I knew that something was. “Tasha, look at me.”
She kept her eyes on the plate and I waited. Outside the window, the sunlight flashed across the water. Somewhere behind us, a child started crying because his mother had taken away a phone. The restaurant continued around us, bright and busy, while our table had become much quieter.
