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And David was wary now. His therapist, the few times he’d gone to see her (“You can call me Debbie,” she’d said the first time they’d met. “Just Debbie, and I’m here for you, David, okay? This is a big step and I am here for you.”) had told him that he wasn’t a person anymore, that he’d pulled away from living, hiding behind an impenetrable armor meant more to shield him from the world than to protect him. “You’re a knight,” she said, a rueful grin on her face. “But a lonely one.”
He’d scoffed at her, sure. Because therapy was for nutjobs, right? Crazy people. People who were losing their minds. David had never been saner, and that was his biggest problem. He could see things with such startling clarity that it hurt. He wasn’t asleep. He’d never been more awake. And if he needed to shield himself, well. No one could blame him, could they? Anyone in his position would have done the same.
It was fine.
Her office had called three times after he skipped that last appointment.
Left three voice mails.
He’d deleted them all without listening to them.
He was fine.
Except now his armor was in danger of cracking, like it was an old, rusted thing that had stood strong all these past years but was finally starting to break.
All because of cod and shrimp and a seafood shack in the Keys.
His fingers tightened on the menu.
He looked down, forcing himself to focus on the words.
He heard Phillip sigh, but didn’t do anything to acknowledge it.
He was lucky, then, because Melissa came back, a glass of wine carried artfully in her hand. She set it down next to Phillip, then stood beside the table, arms behind her like she was at parade rest. “Gentlemen,” she said, as if this was the happiest she’d ever been. David never understood how they could pretend to be so joyful all the time. David thought he’d go mad within a week. “Have we had a chance to look through the menu? Our special tonight is a grilled halibut with peach and pepper salsa. It’s a flaky white meat with a firm texture, and the sweet and spicy salsa pairs perfectly with the smoky flavor of the grill.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Phillip said. “But I think I’ll go with the swordfish steak if it’s fresh.”
“Of course,” she said with a nod. “All our fish is same day.”
“Good. Please go easy on the lemon if you could. And I will have the potatoes and the vegetables.”
She smiled beatifically, taking Phillip’s proffered menu before looking at David.
“The same,” he said because he couldn’t order the cod now. It’d be too much.
Her smile never faltered.
He could feel Phillip’s eyes on him.
He handed her the menu.
She said, “I’ll put the orders in. Please let me know if there is anything else you need,” and then she was gone.
“The same,” Phillip said finally.
David shrugged, fingering the receipt with the phone number written on it. “Felt like trying something different.”
Phillip snorted. “Sure. You could call him.”
David’s neck felt a little stiff. “No.”
“No?”
“You know I don’t do stuff like that.”
Phillip looked a little sad when he said, “I know.”
Silence again, after that. David didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as if he had nothing to say. It was that he had too much. All these words about breathing and aching and living and the little deaths. He had so many things to say, but he couldn’t find a way to say them. It was dangerous, like the reminiscing, and he didn’t want to scare Phillip away, not while they were face to face for the first time in a long time.
