Reservations for Two (Hours Late)

Cash had fallen out of love in the parking lot. It began an hour and a half after he was supposed to pick her up, when she’d chastised him for showing up early, even though it wasn’t true. She knew that, but she had lost track of time cold-calling lifestyle sponsors. She was excited to get out of the house, and took an extra half hour to dress up. 

But she had accused him of not knowing when his reservations were, a mistake both of them probably regretted. By the time they had rolled up to the bistro, he knew getting a table would require hysterics—something she was always ready to supply. It was what she was good at.

Cash thought about his Elden Ring build while she berated the hostess—and him—in public. As a DMV employee, it felt like bringing work home.

The violent eruption turned to an ooze after she learned the restaurant had “happened to save our table”—two hours later. Unfortunately, it was beside the washroom, which caused an aftershock that earned them a free dessert.

This is how he came to be staring at his future wife.

She sat behind his date, cardigan over a floral summer dress, laughing at something the elderly woman with her had said. A lyrical giggle—little bursts of bubbles—was the only sound for a splendid moment. It tickled his soul and reminded him of things he’d forgotten he missed.

Of course she caught it—the glance, the smile, the attention that was missing its intended destination.

“There you go again, looking…” brought him back to reality.

The ease of their conversation, the grace of her hand as she emphasized her thoughts physically. What were they talking about? Crocheting?

“I’m talking to you, Cash…”

Yes, that’s what her hands were doing—looping thread as she talked, captivating her audience and the eavesdropper. Her long, delicate fingers finished their dance as quickly as they began. He longed to watch her again, seated beside him.

“You always do this—looking at other bitches while we’re out. I don’t even know why I’m with you anymore. I deserve a real man, someone who listens to me…”

The stranger was so tender, listening intently as her white-haired date made a similar motion—familial hobby, no doubt. After more finger ballet, their conversation was punctuated by a laugh so loud it boomed. It was her—her gusto for life so large it blew out windows. She flushed with embarrassment for a moment, and then the girls were back at it.

His date was poking her long nails at him now. The pointed red tips dashed at him through their shared space as she continued to browbeat a scarecrow. If he only had a brain.

Cash’s long sigh broke her concentration, like brake pressure after a long bus ride. Final destination.

“Can we just enjoy each other’s company before it all starts…” he asked, taking it in — the lights, the murmur of people, the sudden clarity washing away the heaps of bullshit. There’s nothing like a lucid epiphany: effervescent. 

Against her nature, she granted his request, and he basked in the peace. 

“Why are we here? Do you remember?” he finally asked. It was a simple question, with a factual answer.

As if she had never stopped talking: “Of course I know. I just passed two thousand subs on Insta—duh. You know it’s a big deal for my brand.”

It was his birthday.

He finally laughed as she continued: “It’s not enough though. I’m not serious till a hunnerd K. That’s why I took so long to get ready. I just wanted tonight to feel worth it, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t seem like it’s worth celebrating.”

Again, he stole a glance over her shoulder.

“Hardly does, does it.” Cash traced the bubbles as they vanished against the rim, then sipped his beer and let the table go—back to its rightful owner—turning his attention where it mattered.

His dream girl had slipped off her cardigan, revealing freckles. The sight made him feel guilty for looking—the act of looking at such beauty a sin. She ate what he had ordered as if each bite were anointed. He lusted for it—for that feeling of presence. Would she teach him?

“…anyways, that’s why I need you to take me to the mall after this so I can try on my new dress for the photo shoot I’m doing with Kendall. I don’t care that you don’t like him—he’s gonna help me get this going…”

More bubbles floated his way. She was laughing again, at herself it seemed. It didn’t matter; he’d take classes to make sure she laughed every day.

“It’s literally, like, only an investment of three hundred dollars…”

Oh no. She stood, helping her elderly friend to her feet—they were leaving now. Cash’s chest compactor began to hum; his time was up.

“…so then that bitch Bernice told me—”

Obviously, he needed to say something. The doorbell.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Fine, but you better hope I’m still here when you get back.” A joke, her genuine smile—the one she didn’t practice in the mirror. 

Then his past grabbed his hand and told him it loved him, and reflexively he told it the same.

His date didn’t notice when he slipped out the front door; once he was gone, her phone claimed her now-undivided attention. For her, there was no doorbell to hear.

Cash wasn’t sure what the play was here—this wasn’t exactly a meet-cute and it felt stalker adjacent—but his mom crocheted, and it was his birthday, and that was enough for a conversation.