“I made reservations at the new Ethiopian restaurant that just opened. It got great reviews in the paper and I’ve heard good things about it from my friends.”
I’ve never tried Ethiopian, but I didn’t want to sound whiny if I suggested we go somewhere else. Instead, I turned on the radio to listen to some music. He immediately turned it off.
“Sorry, I don’t like to listen to music while I drive. I find it too distracting,” he informed me.
“No problem.”
Honestly, it was a problem. Because I didn’t just listen to music while I drove, I cranked it up so loud my neighbors could hear me when I pulled in and out of my driveway. My parents do the same thing and it became a habit early on.
It’s not like I have to have music on all the time. I didn’t need to listen to loud music with Caleb because I enjoyed talking with him. My mind started wandering to steamy thoughts of Caleb and I had to concentrate to regain my focus on Max.
In Max’s defense, he picked an excellent restaurant for our date. While not fancy, the restaurant had an upscale ambiance without feeling too intimidating. We sat on cushions on the floor across from each other with a small table in the middle. Not the most comfortable way to dine, but certainly unique.
Max asked the waitress for recommendations since neither one of us had eaten at an Ethiopian restaurant before tonight. She suggested we order a combination meat and vegetable platter which would allow us to sample eight dishes on the menu. I’m not the biggest meat eater, but I agreed to the platter.
While we waited for our food, we drank some wine and I attempted to relax, admiring the Ethiopian artwork that decorated the room.
“So Max, how do you enjoy being a pediatrician?” I asked, not caring I had broken my rule about talking about work.
“I love being a doctor,” he replied.
“You must love children since you’re a pediatrician,” I added.
“Actually, I can’t stand the little germ-infested beasts.”
I sat there staring at him, trying to determine if he was pulling my leg. He certainly looked dead serious.
“Why do you work with kids if you don’t like them?”
“We all have to do a pediatric rotation in medical school. I impressed the pediatric physicians with my skills, and they convinced me I would make a successful pediatrician. I can fake it well enough with the kids, and it’s really the parents I interact with anyway. Of course, that’s no picnic either.”
I lost my appetite, but the waitress set the food in front of us, oblivious to my growing distain for the man sitting in front of me. She explained the dishes to us and the manner of how to eat it.
“There are two chicken dishes and one beef dish as well as lentils, peas, cabbage, and mixed veggies. Here we do not use utensils to eat our food. We use the bread, injera, to scoop the food, and lovers feed each other.”
“It’s also a good way to spread germs, right, Dr. Hunter?” I said, hoping he’d get the hint I wanted to feed myself. He nodded and began to eat.
Maybe I’d find feeding someone sensual, like the scene in 9 ½ Weeks, but it would not be with Max. Luckily, he didn’t ask.
We engaged in small talk while we sampled the dishes. I had to ask for more water, because some of the dishes caused a fire to form in my mouth and down in my belly. I’d be sorry tomorrow.
At one point in the meal, Max excused himself to go the restroom, and I got a moment of much needed silence. Just like at speed dating, the guy talked about himself constantly, rarely asking me about myself. I knew this was not going to work out, and I just wanted to go home and get some rest for tomorrow night’s date with Ryan.
When he got back from the bathroom, I noticed Max sniffing and rubbing his nose with his hand several times. He also talked more animatedly than earlier, although he still only talked about himself.
“Do you feel okay? You seem like you might be coming down with a cold.” I hoped he’d say “yes” and end the date right then and there.
“I’m fine.” He paused for a moment, then leaned in to ask me a question. “Do you do cocaine?”
“No. Do you?” Judging by his question and his behavior I’d guess and say yes.
He had the tenacity to sit back and try to worm his way out of his admission. “I, uh, only do it for recreational purposes. I’m not an addict or anything.”
“Oh no, you’re not an addict. You’re high on a date right now! You take care of children for goodness sake!”
I couldn’t help it. Sara the woman had left the building and in her place sat Sara the psychologist. I wanted to run out of the restaurant, but I needed to confront him on this or I’d never forgive myself. I sat straight on my pillow and cranked the metaphorical switch in my brain to transform into counseling mode.