Page 83 of People Skills

NATHAN IS EATING barramundi, the right choice on a date—healthy, sensible, light enough you can still have dessert and also contemplate having sex—and I am eating lamb shank, an objectively bad choice—heavy, meaty, the very word shank is distinctly unsexy, and it comes with root vegetables. There is some kind of old-fashioned gender-essentialist idea that undermines us when the waitress automatically puts the barramundi in front of me and the lamb shank in front of him, and we have to say, ‘Oh, the other way,’ and laugh. But Nathan has been emasculated somehow, he’s a weak fish boy now, and, worse, I have been decried as someone who outeats him, as a woman with a big appetite for red meat and root vegetables. I am a hideous parsnip woman, which, under the patriarchy and old-fashioned gender ideals, deems me unattractive, and I have no idea why I even ordered the lamb shank. And maybe none of this matters and I just am panicking because I hate dating and I suddenly remember why.

Nathan cuts into his fish.

‘Did you like an old post of mine?’ he says.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry, that was an accident,’ I say.

‘I thought I was going crazy, I saw a notification and then it disappeared.’

‘That was me. Liking and then unliking. Sorry. I was nervous.’

‘Why were you nervous?’ he says.

‘Oh. Well. Dating makes me nervous.’ I give a little laugh, waiting for him to commiserate, and put me out of my misery, share an awkward moment he’s had on a date, but he doesn’t.

‘Are you a nervous person?’ He asks this like my therapist might.

‘Oh.’ I have never really considered this before.

I take a bite of my lamb shank. It’s very good and tender. Chew. Swallow. Answer. ‘I don’t think I’m a nervous person, no.’

‘My sister takes beta-blockers before dates, to calm down,’ Nathan says.

‘That’s honestly a good idea.’

‘I once took a caffeine pill before a date.’

I laugh, but he looks serious. I cannot tell when this man is joking. He has either told ten jokes tonight or none.

‘How did it go?’ I say.

‘I don’t know, I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ he says. I hesitate. He’s still straight-faced. So maybe this isn’t a joke?

‘I’m joking,’ he says.

His face is impossible to read.

‘Oh haha,’ I say, and give a laugh but I am fake-laughing.

‘The caffeine pill made my heart race and I actually had to get my date to take me to the emergency room.’

Now I laugh for real—this is a funny bad-date story, surely? But he’s still poker-faced.

‘Oh, sorry, was it not funny?’ I say.

‘Well, it was pretty scary actually. I thought I was having a heart attack. You can die from too much caffeine. It can be really serious.’

Why is he lecturing me about it? He’s the one who took the pill, but I nod seriously and take a long time chewing my mouthful of lamb shank.

‘Did you have a second date after that?’ I ask.

‘No, she waited with me at emergency for two hours and then made an excuse and left when it looked like it was still going to take hours.’

‘That’s rough,’ I say, but really I am thinking, good on her, I might not have made it that long.

‘I’ve actually had two first dates where I’ve ended up in emergency,’ he goes on.

‘Really?’ I’m smiling encouragingly—please let this one be a funny story.