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“Here you go.” Amy sets a fruit cup on the table in front of me. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says before she walks away.
I stab a chunk of watermelon with my fork and stick it in my mouth and chew. Just in time. I’m starting to feel the effects of low blood sugar. It makes me shaky and cranky to start with. It gets worse from there.
By the time I’ve finished with my fruit, I’m already feeling better. The rest of our food arrives not long after, and I busy myself with eating.
“Can I have a fry?” I ask Jason as I look longingly at the mountain of thick-cut French fries piled high on his plate.
Grinning, he holds his plate out to me, and I snag three fries.
Jason reaches across the table for my hand. “Tell me what she said to you just now.”
“Who?” I ask, pretending not to know who he’s talking about.
“You know who. Tell me what she’s saying.” He studies me. “I’m learning to read your body language, Layla. I can tell when she’s getting to you.”
“She said our server is staring at me.” It’s only half a lie, because she did say that earlier. I don’t mention the knife.
Jason laughs. “Of course she’s staring at you. You’re gorgeous.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Does he really think so?
He laughs. “To be honest, sometimes I have trouble tryingnotto stare at you. You’ve looked in a mirror, right? Surely you know you’re stunning.”
He’s lying. You’re ugly.
When I look away, he tugs on my hand to draw my attention back to him. “She’s doing it again. What’d she say?”
I figure I might as well tell him because he’s going to keep asking. “She said I’m ugly.”
He breaks into laughter. “You tell her for me thatshe’sugly. Go ahead, tell her.”
I bite back a grin as I play along.He says you’re ugly.
“Did you tell her?” he asks.
“Yes. I can’t believe we’re arguing with an auditory hallucination.” Smiling, I stick another fry in my mouth and chew.
“Hey, it’s two against one,” he says. “We’ve got her outnumbered.”
How does he do it?
How does he make everything better?
Jason reaches over and steals a potato chip off my plate. “You owe me for the fries.”
“Help yourself. I don’t mind sharing.” Still smiling, I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. For a few moments, I’m able to just enjoy myself, enjoy being with him, and not worry about what others think.
Once we’re done eating, our server returns to the table and asks us if we want any dessert. Jason catches me eyeing the display card on the table that advertises their seasonal special—strawberry shortcake with whipped topping and strawberry glaze.
“You want to split one of those?” he asks me.
He’s a mind reader. I nod guiltily. “Yes.”
“We’re gonna share one of those,” Jason says, pointing at the advertisement. “Good luck estimating the grams of carbs in that thing,” he tells me after our server walks away.
“I know it’s bad.” I do my best to guestimate the carbs in that dessert and plug the info into my device. Then I check my current glucose level, which is climbing just from what I’ve already eaten for lunch. “It’s already high. I’ll have to check again soon.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on it,” Jason says as he checks his phone.
