I chuckled. “It’s three flowers.”
“Exactly, just sneaky.” She replied shaking her head.
The waiter appeared with menus and two glasses of water. Before he could introduce himself, Tasha smiled up at him and tapped one finger against the cocktail page. “Is the passionfruit mimosa sweet-sweet, or sweet like y’all want people to think it’s sweet?”
He blinked, then smiled. “It’s pretty sweet.”
“Pretty is not a measurement.”
“Tasha.”
She looked at me crazy. “What? I need to know before I spend eighteen dollars on juice.”
The waiter’s smile became bigger. “I can have them make it a little sweeter.”
“See? Customer service.” She closed the menu without looking at anything else. “Bring me that.”
He turned to me and I told him, “Just water for now.”
Tasha waited until he walked away before leaning across the table. “You’re being boring?”
“Nooo, I’m actually being responsible.”
She waved me off and picked up her menu. For the next several minutes, we argued about appetizers as if choosing the wrong one might alter the course of our lives. Tasha wanted calamari until she saw a plate pass our table and decided it looked “too organized.” She changed her mind to truffle fries, then added crab cakes.
When the fries arrived, she reached across and stole one before the plate had fully touched the table and I slapped her fingers away.
“Ow.” She frowned.
“You have your own side.”
“Yours looked crispier.”
“They came from the same kitchen.”
“You don’t know what happened back there.”
I shook my head and picked up a fry, watching her blow dramatically across the one she had stolen before biting into it. This was what I had needed though. It wasn’t the spa, though my body felt better than it had in months. It wasn’t the shopping bags we planned to collect later either. I had needed somebody who knew me better than anybody. Tasha knew when my silence meant I was tired and when it meant something was eating mealive. She knew which questions to ask gently and which ones to drag out of me by being irritating.
Unfortunately, she was best at the second method. She dipped another fry into the aioli and studied me over her sunglasses, which she still had not removed even though we were indoors. “So…. let’s talk.”
I looked at the menu. “About what Tash?”
Tasha slowly pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and looked at me over the top of them. “Who is he?” She questioned and I didn’t answer but reached for my water instead. Her mouth fell open. “Oh, my God. There is a he.”
I sipped my water. “I didn’t say that.”
“You reached for water.”
“Because I’m thirsty Tasha, don’t make a big deal.”
She pointed at me. “You do that when you’re lying.”
“No, I don’t.” I frowned.
“Yes, you do. You drink water and start blinking like a damn hostage.”
I kept my eyes on the glass, which only made her point stronger. The waiter returned with her mimosa, saving me from answering. Tasha took one sip, swirled it around her mouth like she was judging a wine competition, then nodded her approval. “This is good. You want some?”
