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“We’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?”
Remember the Friend Zone? You’re still in it.
But Ralph is like a duck on a june-bug. He’s determined to get me. “Yes we have, a long time. I’m so ready to take it to the next level.”
Thankfully our waiter appears. It’s Kenny Hartnett, one of the kids from the high school. “Good evening, Mr. Stern, Miss. Harris. Can I start you out with some drinks?”
“I’d like a margarita. A double if you have it.”
“We certainly do, and for you, Mr. Stern?”
Ralph gives me an adoring gaze. “I’ll have what my lovely date is having.”
Oh, brother.
“I’ll have Sasha bring those out for you. Any appetizers?”
We decline, and the fellow takes off. Ralph reaches for my hand again, and I wonder how long it takes to mix up two drinks. I manage to dodge the hand holding by picking up my menu.
“Looks like they’ve changed their entrées.”
Ralph frowns, opening his menu. “It looks the same to me. When is the last time you’ve been here? You never leave the house.”
He doesn’t have to be rude
about it.
“I guess I don’t get out as much. I’m usually home taking care of my dad. You know, making dinner and stuff.”
Pining over Gray.
Like an idiot.
“How is your father these days? I often think of you alone in that big old place, chained to him like Estella to an aging Miss Havisham.” He shakes his head, looking down. “Such a waste.”
Ralph is starting to annoy me. I’m not interested in his pity, and that analogy is as weird as he is… Even if it is slightly true. An older girl returns with our drinks, and I scoop mine up quick, taking a long sip of tangy lime.
“You know, Dad’s not that bad.” I take another sip, spinning what’s basically a big fat lie. “He’s doing some self-help stuff, and I’m working on grief therapy with him.”
Take that, Ralph Stern, I think, slurping more margarita.
Kenny is back at the table asking if we’re ready to order. Ralph gets the trout almandine, no surprise, but I go for the spicy, grilled shrimp salad.
“I’m glad to hear your dad’s doing better.” Ralph looks out across the room. “Would you like to dance?”
A live band is starting up on the other side of the patio. They’re playing slow beach music, Buffett and Marley. The last thing I want to do is hug up against Ralph. I only want one person’s arms around me.
No.
I am not letting my mind sabotage what could be a nice evening. Ralph is here, being somewhat tolerable, and I intend to enjoy my dinner.
“Maybe after we eat.” After I see how the rest of the meal goes.
A busboy helps Kenny bring out our entrées. Ralph orders us another round of drinks, and I dig into the salad. I’m going to have to ease off the tequila if I plan to drive myself to the lake house. It’s not far, but I won’t drive drunk.
I glance at Ralph’s almond-encrusted fish. “What got you interested in tree nuts anyway?”
Yes, I went there, but discussing almonds is better than analyzing my home life.
