Thomas’ eyes widened at Mary. ‘Ouch! Talk about being shut down. No mercy, huh?’
Mary smiled. ‘That’s what you deserve for such a bullshit story. Superstition? Bad luck for going Dutch? Really? I promise you thatI’mnot as stupid as I look.’
Thomas laughed. ‘Touché.’
Hey,the voice inside Mary’s head came back.If he wants topay, let him pay. It’s one less time that you’ll be using your credit card, and for us, that’s a good thing, remember?
Mary nodded at the voice, but Thomas thought that she was nodding at him.
‘OK… fine,’ she finally agreed. ‘But with the condition that the next time, it’s on me. Deal?’
‘Absolutely.’ Thomas’ smile was a happy and sincere one because he knew that he’d just bagged a second date. ‘You have my word.’
The waiter got back to their table with the credit card machine. He retrieved Thomas’ card from the bill booklet, inserted it into the machine and handed it to Thomas, who punched in his pin number before returning the machine to the waiter.
‘Is it OK ifIleave the tip?’ Mary addressed Thomas, reaching for her handbag for the second time. ‘Or is that bad luck as well?’
‘It’s already included, ma’am,’ the waiter said, as he pulled Thomas’ card out of the machine, ready to return it to him.
‘It’s included,’ Thomas confirmed.
‘Well, I think he deserves extra,’ Mary explained, grabbing two twenty-dollar bills from her wallet and handing them to the waiter. ‘Plus, I don’t like leaving electronic tips.’ She fixed Thomas with a solid stare. ‘Because when it comes to certain things, I’ll admit that I am one hundred percent old school.’
Thomas began applauding, as he laughed. ‘Touché, again.’
By sheer misfortune, the waiter tried to return Thomas’ credit card just as he began clapping, which caused him to hit the card with the tips of his fingers and send it flying Mary’s way.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,’ the waiter apologized, his eyes wide, as if he’d just done something terrible.
‘It’s alright,’ Mary said, giving the waiter a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it.’ She picked up the card, which had skidded over the table to land on her lap.
‘So sorry again, sir,’ the waited repeated himself, bowing at Thomas.
‘It’s OK. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking.’ Though the reply was addressed at the waiter, Thomas’ concerned eyes were focused on Mary. Something had changed in his tone of voice. For some reason, right then, he sounded a little tense.
The waiter bowed one last time at them both before thanking Mary for the extra tip and finally walking away.
‘Sorry about that,’ Thomas said, trying to sound breezy and extending his hand at Mary, ready to get his card back, but Mary held on to it for a second longer. It wasn’t only Thomas’ tone of voice that had changed. His demeanor had changed as well. In just a few seconds, he went from being totally relaxed to looking quite anxious.
Mary peeked at the credit card in her hand and her heart stuttered.
‘What the fuck?’ she murmured. Her eyes stayed on the card for another second before jumping to Thomas, then back to the card, then back to Thomas again.
This time, he didn’t hold her stare.
‘Who the fuck are you? Really?’ she asked, anger taking over her tone. She flipped the card around so it would face Thomas. ‘Because your name, sure as shit, ain’t Thomas is it?’
The happy smile that had graced Thomas’ lips just seconds earlier had completely vanished. He looked like a school kid who had been caught out cheating on an exam. His attention finally went back to Mary. The look on his face was as serious as a heart attack.
Mary flicked the card back at him, almost hitting him on the face. ‘Whoever the fuck you are,’ she got to her feet, ‘stay the fuck away from me, you hear?’
‘I’ll cut you a deal,’ the man that Mary knew as Thomas said, as she got up to leave.
‘Fuck you and your deal. How about that?’ Mary reached for her shawl.
‘I’ll tell you who the fuck I really am,’ he said, his tone almost as hard as hers. ‘If you tell me who the fuckyoureally are… because all this…’ he gestured at her, ‘… is nothing but a front, isn’t it? You’re not really who you’re pretending to be – are you? And your name isn’t really Mary, is it?’
Forty
