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“Such sincerity, wife.”
“Screw you, husband.”
The server places two plates in front of us and I dig right into mine, imagining the filet is his cold-blooded heart. The knife scratches the plate with a grating noise.
“I can’t believe you; you suck at dates.”
“Careful,cara, I might take it as you’re concerned.”
I crumple the napkin between my fingers. “I know you won’t get yourself killed. I am not that lucky.”
He cracks his neck, and if it weren’t for the food, I would have left. How dare he? Even the notion is absurd, but it’s not, is it? And why do I care?
“When did you start with jewelry?”
“Really, we’re doing this?”
“We’ve still got dessert to go.”
One moment I imagine doing the job myself and pressing the knife to his neck, the next I want to hold on to him. Such sharp longing lingers in his eyes, I forget everything. I place the napkin on the plate and lean back in the chair.
“I got myself into some trouble. I don’t even remember which one that was.”
“It was a recurring thing, huh?”
I snort-laugh, and nod. “In hindsight, I realize I was quick to react, which is stupid. But I’m a reactive type of person. I guess without some external factor pushing me, I wouldn’t go all volatile the next moment.”
“Whose attention did you want?”
So he doesn’t buy my carefully constructed image.
“Father’s.”
“And now?”
Yours.Before the beat of silence betrays me, I reply, “Now . . . I don’t even know.”
Shouldn’t dates be all about light subjects, goofier than pouring out your soul?
“You are a wild and free spirit in a world made of a well-constructed hierarchy.”
I roll my eyes at him, but he goes on.
“He wanted to protect you. But his methods were wrong.”
“You will never send our children away.”
My hand flies to my mouth while he smirks.
“Even if they inherit their mother’s sweet personality, I wouldn’t.”
“Even if they inherit the killing spree of their father.”
“Agreed then.”
“Wait, what?”
“Three to keep it balanced.”
