“Yeah. I’m still here.” I heard him sigh, “These aren’t the same plans you made yesterday with your ex, are they?”
Inwardly I cringed. Then, outwardly I also cringed, “Yes.”
Silence.
“Quinn?”
“I’ll come too.” It didn’t sound at all like a request.
“Uh, what?”
His voice was business-like, brusque. “You and I will go out tomorrow. Tonight I can meet your friend Jon.”
“You want to meet Jon?” Instinctively my gaze searched for Elizabeth and I think I must have looked as stricken as I felt. She just stared at me with wide eyes.
“I want to see you.”
His words made my heart skip; I had difficulty forming a coherent thought, “Well- I guess- I mean- I suppose it’s- I mean it’s not like- maybe we could- I just don’t think-”
“Where are we going? What time are we meeting him?”
“I was just emailing him to work out the details.”
“Ok. How about Chez Jean? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“No- I’ll meet you at the restaurant at seven.” I didn’t want to arrive with him. It would feel too much like a wheelbarrow date: two wheels and a kickstand.
“Do you know where it is?”
“I know where, it’s a block west of Al’s Beef, right?”
I could hear the smile in his voice, “Your landmark is Al’s Beef?”
“How can you miss Al’s Beef? It’s yellow and black and has a giant plastic cup in the center of the sign. I think they have franchise opportunities available.”
He laughed, “I’ll see you at seven.”
His laugh made me smile like an idiot. “Ok. Seven. I’ll see you at seven.”
When the call ended I stared at the cell phone without seeing it for several moments. I felt light, like my feet weren’t touching the ground and I could cloud hop if the desire so struck me. I felt like running through a field and spinning around while an orchestra played in the background. I felt like clicking my heels together and sliding down an impressively large and steep banister. I felt like picking apart a daisy while reciting: “He loves me, I love him.”
Elizabeth’s concerned voice brought me out of my meandering reveries and a bit closer to reality; “You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you like this.”
Goofy grin still in place I sighed. I knew what I looked like, sounded like. A small voice in the recesses of my overactive brain screamed at me: You are infatuated! Infatuated I say!
I’d never realized before- as, perhaps, I’d never been presented with the opportunity to know- how glorious infatuation could be.
~*~
That night’s dinner began with one of the most awkward silences I’ve ever experienced in my life. I had to bite both my cheeks to keep from filling the black hole of unsaid words. After introductions Jon sat next to me, on the booth along the wall, and glowered at Quinn. Quinn, from his chair opposite us, smiled at Jon.
It was a smug smile tinged with a certain amount of swagger. I didn’t know how to feel about it so I just ignored it for the time being. I kept swallowing and hoped my excessive, obsessive compulsive action went unnoticed. Finally, feeling like I was going to burst, I excused myself from the table and half bolted to the ladies’ room. I stayed there until I felt capable keeping a rein on the overflowing list of factoids related to black holes.
As I left the small ladies’ parlor I noticed for the first time how really nice the restaurant was. It smelled like garlic and roux, the walls were a pale yellow except the crown molding which was a dark, natural stained wood. Windows were framed in sheer burgundy curtains and beautiful oil landscapes, of what I assumed were the French countryside, added intimate elegance without making the place feel cluttered or like an art museum.
The tables were covered in white cloths; rows of forks, spoons, and knives spread like petals on either side of a series of plates stacked one on top of the other; largest on the bottom, smallest on the top. A delicately folded linen napkin, which looked like a swan, spilled out of a water glass to the right of the plates.
I was so distracted by the ambiance that I didn’t notice until I returned to the table that Quinn was sitting alone. I glanced around the small restaurant and saw Jon’s retreating form heading out the door. Without thinking I followed him and called his name.
He paused. He turned slowly and stepped back into the bistro. I noted his eyes move beyond me to where Quinn sat then back to mine. His expression, usually so open and unguarded, was remote and sullen.
“What’s going on? Where are you going?” I stopped in front of him, my palms up between us.