Before he can respond, our server, a young guy with a man bun, returns with my wine and sets it down in front of me. “Are you all ready to order, or would you like more time?” When Greg answers in the affirmative, my stomach tightens at what I know I have to do next.
I reach over and rest my hand lightly on Jack’s forearm. “Would you mind ordering for me?”
He blinks at me once. Twice. “Orderforyou?”
“You’ve been here before, right? I’m sure you know what’s best.” I smile guilelessly.
His eyes flick to our waiter, currently busy with Christine and Greg, then back to me. “Are you... sure?”
“I’m sure I’ll like whatever you like.” I sound like the queen-to-be inComing to America.
“Uh... okay,” he stammers after a beat, then reaches for his discarded menu, knocking over a saltshaker in the process. He’s delightfully rattled. “How hungry are you?”
I shrug airily, helping him exactly zero percent. “So-so.”
When it comes to the 125 tips, the rules for dining are actually wildly inconsistent. One says toOrder a steak rare, while another espouses the “cabbage soup diet” as the secret to a trim waistline.Choose the most expensive thing on the menu, butShow him you can have fun on a cheap date! Experiment with meals that have the spirit of adventure, but alsoCook him foods that are basic and familiar, like his mother made.(I’m deliberately ignoring the tips that veer into fat-shaming:Go on a diet if you need to, orIf your mother is plump, tell him you take after your father. If he’s fat too, tell him you’re adopted!)
Rather than try to parse through that contradictoryadvice, I made a pregame decision to place the ball squarely in Jack’s court, giving him a golden opportunity to mansplain the menu while assuming the presumptuous, male-dominant role he was born to occupy. It’s a twofer.
But Jack bypassing my carefully laid bait seems to be becoming a theme. “Do you eat meat? Or are you more of a salad person?” He’s trying valiantly to pass this ridiculous retro test, but he’s definitely sweating.
“Surprise me. I trust your judgment,” I reply magnanimously, giving him absolutely no guidance whatsoever. It’s a challenge to keep a straight face, but I’m nothing if not committed.
Our waiter clears his throat expectantly, pen poised over his notepad. A faint pink hue’s started to bloom up the back of Jack’s neck, broadcasting his discomfort. It’s such a treat to see him squirm.
“She eats meat,” Greg offers helpfully, and I howl internally. “And you can’t go wrong with the crab cakes, she loves those.”
Damnit, Greg!I can’t decide whether to strangle him or thank him (since I did, in fact, want the crab cakes), but seriously—can’tanythinggo the way I need it to? I want to stomp my feet under the table like a tantruming toddler.
As soon as the server leaves, Jack makes quick work of shucking his jacket (I was right; totally sweating), then takes a long pull from the old-fashioned. “You caught me off guard there,” he admits in a low voice, setting his drink back down.
“What do you mean?” I am all puppy-eyed innocence.
“You don’t seem like the type of woman who’d want a man ordering for her.”
“That’s because she’s not,” Greg says flatly. He jerksabruptly and I’d bet money Christine just kicked him under the table.
“I am sometimes,” I counter.
“She is sometimes,” Christine echoes, shooting her husband a stern look. Greg makes a face at her in answer.
Jack’s unconvinced. “You just seem more, I don’t know... independent.”
I nod like this is a novel observation I’m considering for the first time. “Sometimes it’s just nice to not have to think for yourself, you know?”
I deliver the line flawlessly, but this one truly hurts coming out, like I’m regurgitating a cactus.This isn’t me!I want to shout to the restaurant at large.If you’re overhearing any of this drivel, please disregard!
Jack considers me thoughtfully. “Actually, I do know. Decision fatigue is very real when you run a business. I have to make a thousand different decisions every day, and by Friday? Forget it, I can barely remember my own name.” He leans back in his seat and flashes me a grin. “How about next time we switch and you can order for me? It’ll be like menu roulette.”
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?Why can’t Jack just react how I need him to evenonce?
I somehow manage to gin up a smile, but behind my polite veneer, I’m seething. Also, suspicious. No man could successfully dodgeevery singletrap I’ve laid for him, could he? Has he somehow discovered what I’m up to? That’s how it works inHow to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, right? Both Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson falsely assume they’re the only ones doing the double-crossing. Maybe someone’s tipped him off and he’s trolling me with these letter-perfect responses. Maybe Nat’s a double agent!
It’s about here I realize I’m losing my marbles.
“Ooh, Cass—awkward couple at four o’clock.”
“Hmm?” I’m so lost in my paranoid delusions that I completely missed what Christine was saying.
