Page 84 of People Skills

‘Yes, I had to leave one date early because my grandfather had a fall and I needed to take him to hospital.’

Okay, not funny, but he’s a good grandson at least.

‘Was he okay?’

‘Yes, he needed a couple of stitches, but he was okay. He died a few months later, but that was unrelated to the fall.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say.

‘Me too.’

We grind to a halt on this unfortunate topic, and I pretend to be very focused on my parsnip and try to think of some bad-first-date stories to tell him.

‘I had a first date with a guy whose parents were, by total coincidence, also having dinner in the same restaurant,’ I say.

‘Did you join them?’ he asks.

‘No! They came by the table to say hi, and he was very embarrassed and his mum told him to be careful not to drink too much wine.’

‘Nothing to be embarrassed about if it was an honest mistake,’ Nathan says.

‘No, I guess not,’ I say, my funny story deflated. But I keep ploughing on. ‘And I had a first date with a guy who I think had taken more than caffeine pills,’ I add. I’m desperate now, to get him to laugh or at least align with me, somehow. I feel like we’re polar opposites in point of view through every story. I can’t get a handle on him.

‘What did he take?’ Nathan asks.

‘I don’t know. But he was definitely high.’

‘He might have just been nervous.’

‘No, no, he was definitely high,’ I say. ‘His pupils were huge, he was sweating and fidgeting and he thought the bartender was watching him.’

‘What happened?’

‘We dated for six months,’ I deadpan.

Nathan nods, like this is perfectly reasonable.

‘I’m joking,’ I say. ‘I ended the date early and went home.’

‘This is good fish,’ Nathan says in reply. ‘You should have ordered the fish.’

‘I should have,’ I say.

Later, the waiter asks if we’d like to see the dessert menu and Nathan says yes. We both look at it and discuss what sounds good, and when the waiter returns, I order the tiramisu (another bad pick, why couldn’t I choose a light sorbet, why after a rich meal did I lean into the richest dessert possible) and Nathan, in the greatest betrayal of the night, after telling me he likes the sound of the flan and also the sorbet, says to the waiter, ‘Nothing for me, thanks.’

‘I wouldn’t have ordered dessert if I knew you weren’t having any,’ I say to him.

‘Why not?’ he says.

‘Well, just, it feels weird to be eating dessert on my own. But we can share?’

‘No thanks, I find tiramisu too heavy,’ he says. A thought he could have kept to himself, really.

‘I always get the tiramisu,’ I say. ‘It’s risky, because it can be amazing or terrible, but I like to roll the dice and hope for amazing.’

‘Well, any food can be amazing or terrible, can’t it?’ he says.

‘Yes, but tiramisu has a higher chance, I think, than chocolate cake or ice cream or something else. I feel like I never have a just-okay tiramisu, it’s either a ten out of ten, or a two.’