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“I don’t think so.”
Recognition dawns on his face. “Of course, I remember you. You were here the night Mrs. Wolfe went into labor. My name is Travis. I’m Luke’s friend. He was your waiter that night.”
Now what? “Yes, that was quite a night,” I say.
“How’s Mrs. Wolfe doing?”
“She’s good. The baby’s good.”
“That’s great to hear. I’ll get the drinks started now.” Travis whisks away from the table.
“You seem to know everyone here,” Lance says.
“I just happened to be here on a very eventful night,” I reply.
“Have you seen the baby?” Morgan asks.
I nod. “She’s beautiful.”
“I can’t imagine she wouldn’t be with Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe as her parents,” Morgan says.
Lance glances at the menu. “Apparently you’ve been here before, Katelyn. What do you recommend?”
“Didn’t you just say this is one of your favorite places? I should probably ask you what you recommend.”
“From the lunch menu, I like the salmon.”
“I don’t eat seafood,” I say.
“You don’t?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Morgan and I have an hour. Care to enlighten us?”
My cheeks warm, and my heart begins to race. Nerves. It’s just nerves. The truth? I can’t tell them why I don’t like seafood. That I was force-fed fish on the island, and now everything about the water reminds me of that place.
“Allergic,” I say quickly.
“Are you having an allergic reaction now?” Morgan asks.
“Not that I know of. Why?” I try to control my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
“Your cheeks are red,” he says.
I swallow and then rise, nearly knocking over my chair. “Excuse me.”
I walk as calmly as I can to the women’s room. As soon as I’m safely inside, I grab the first counter I see. The reflection in the mirror tells the tale. My cheeks are blazing. My heart is still beating quickly—so quickly I can actually see my chest move.
I’m not scared. So why am I having a panic attack?
Macy would say it’s because I was asked a question about the fish. She’s probably right.
Maybe it’s time to call Macy for a one-on-one session. Except when? I’m working full time now. Maybe she could see me on my lunch hour.
I go into a stall, even though I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I just want to hide from the world. Hide from the mirror.
Hide from myself.
How am I going to get through all of this?
Sometimes it seems so doable, but then sometimes… Times like this…
The smallest thing—like explaining why I don’t eat seafood—sends me into a tailspin.
I work hard to regulate my breathing, and then I leave the stall. I wash my hands. My cheeks are still red, but at least they’re not on fire.
Are you okay? That’s the question that will greet me when I get back to the table with Morgan and Lance.
I must come up with some kind of reasonable explanation.
And I must come up with it quickly, because the longer I stay in here, the more likely they’re going to send someone in after me.
What can I tell them? An upset stomach? No. They’ll tell me to go home instead of going back to the office. Not what I want on my first day.
I pull my phone out of my purse. If I’m holding my phone… Yes, that’s it.
I hastily walk back to the table.
“Everything okay?” Morgan asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Sorry I left in such a hurry, but I got a text from my mother. My father’s in surgery today for a liver biopsy. I just didn’t want to be here in case it was bad news.”
“And…?” Lance asks.
“Good news so far.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” Morgan says.
I take my seat. My water has been delivered, and I take a sip.
One bullet dodged.
How am I going to keep this up?
I glance at the menu. Since I don’t eat a lot of red meat, and seafood is a bust, poultry is usually my go-to. Either that or the vegetarian or vegan option.
Pasta. Pasta always works. As long as it’s not pasta with frutti di mare.
Pasta with lemon and basil. That looks amazing. I close my menu.
“You decided?” Lance says.
“Pasta with lemon and basil.”
“Sounds yummy,” Lance says, “but I’m a lot hungrier than that. I’m going to have the salmon with a Caesar salad.”
“That sounds great,” Morgan says. “I’ll have the same.” He glances at Lance.
Oh. I know that look.
Morgan has the hots for our lunch companion.
The only problem is that Lance isn’t gay. If he were, he wouldn’t have given me his card the other day on the street.
Morgan will find out soon enough.
The two of them seem to have an easy rapport, though. Which is good because it means I don’t have to do a lot of talking.
Every few minutes, one of them asks me a question. I give a two- or three-word answer, and they continue with their conversation.
Works for me.
My pasta is delicious, though I’m still not very hungry. Still, I force myself to finish the entire plateful. If I’m going to do a job and do it well, I need to be nourished.
