“We can just order everything.”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“What happens when I can’t finish it? You throw it away? Pretend it never existed while people in the back are working for it? Do you even think about that? People outside are starving.”
He winces. Not offended—confused as if he’s never had to consider the world that way.
“I… didn’t think of that.”
“Exactly.”
He reaches for my hand again and I pull away.
“We are from completely different worlds,” I whisper. “You get that, right?”
“So?” he says. “I don’t care.”
“I do.”
His voice lowers. “I like you.”
The words hit me like a bruise forming.
“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t say that.”
“I do.”
“Why?” My voice trembles. “Because I’m easy to impress? I’m not a charity case.”
“I don’t think that?—”
“Jax, let’s be honest. I’m not the girl you introduce to your parents, I’m the girl you hide. The girl you discard when it’s time to be serious.”
His face fractures. “That’s not happening.”
“Sure.”
The food arrives and I want to devour it all. Instead, I take careful bites, matching his pace like I belong here. I don’t—not even close—and it’s not just because of my clothes or how I hold the fork. It’s everything else.
Jax leans back slightly, already reaching for the fries. “These are insane,” he says, like he’s impressed, like this was a good idea. I hum in agreement, even though I haven’t really tasted them yet.
He takes another bite, this time with a fork. I don’t think about it at first. I just reach for one, eat it the way I always have. Then I notice the fork in his hand, the way he barely makes a mess. I look down at my fingers, already slick with sauce. Shame creeps up my neck.
I grab a napkin, wiping my hands too quickly. I reach for the fork, adjusting my grip, trying to match him.
He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
“These are really that good!” he says, watching me now.
“Yeah,” I say. “They are.”
I take a bite with the fork.It’s not the same.
He smiles, satisfied, like he got it right. He thinks this is working. I nod again, because it’s easier than explaining.
He sips his whiskey and his shoulders dip a little, his voice slowly loosening as he starts to talk more, about nothing really, about the park we passed and how his family might buy it, about things that feel far away from this table, from this place.
I nod when I’m supposed to. I take small bites and count them without meaning to.
