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“Are you sure this is okay? It’s your birthday, after all. I got you something.”
I pull out a can of Diet Coke with a bow on it. The gas station attendant I bought it from looked at me like I was nuts.
Emily’s whole face melts at my gesture. I wonder if she thinks about how we met as much as I do. “Thank you,” she says. She drops it in her large purse, hitting something inside with a thunk.
“Are you sure this is okay? Did you have other plans?”
“There’s no one I would rather spend it with than you,” she says. I squint at her, but brush it off. For some reason, she’s on edge and I don’t know why. She points to La Scarola. “Besides, this is my favorite restaurant.”
I look up at it. It always looked like nothing from the outside. “I’m excited. I remember this place being excellent.”
“Oh, it still is!” Her voice hit a high note and cracks.
“Are you okay?”
“Yup, why wouldn’t I be?” She laughs, but it’s a machine gun of awkward chuckles.
“Okay,” I say. She’s acting so strangely. “Are you sure?”
“Perfect. Never been better.” She lets out an exhale, hitting a low note as she leads the way to the restaurant.
She talks to the hostess, who leads us to a small table. The table we sat at on my last night in town is next to us. I remember how I wanted that night to never end. Instead of sitting next to her on the half booth like our last night, I take the outside chair.
“I never thought I’d be back here. It looks exactly the same.”
Emily opens the menu like she’s never been there before. “That’s part of its charm.”
“It’s been a long time,” I say, holding my menu, looking at her.
“It sure has.”
“Hi, Emily,” the server says. She turns to me and points back to her. “New man?”
“Well—”
The server nods once and pulls out a pad of paper. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee. Black,” I order.
“Double gin and tonic.”
“Oh, it’s one of those nights,” the server says with a chuckle as she walks away. Emily’s chest is bright red. She’s changed out of the sundress to a tank top and shorts, and I tried not to look, but the red is spreading down her neck and arms.
“Emily, you’re bright red.”
Her eyebrows lower as she extracts a black rectangle from her purse and flips it open. It must be a mirror.
“Oh my God,” she says once she takes a look at herself. Then, she drops her elbow to the table with a thud to drop her head into it, a loud clank of the centerpiece and the silverware vibrating through the restaurant. She lifts her arm to hold her elbow. “Ow.”
“Let me look at it. I am a doctor.”
“You’re a dentist,” she points out. “Right? That still happened?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve been practicing for eight years now.”
“Did they teach you about elbows in dental school?”
“I learned elbows on the streets,” I joke. She giggles, and it breaks the tension. She flicks her hands out.
