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“Well, I love the nickname,” Judith said. “It sounds so romantic when he says it.”
“Everything sounds more romantic in French,” I said, with a smile.
“I don’t think it’s just that it’s French,” Andria said, raising her water glass and half pointing, half toasting at Jean-Claude.
I smiled and knew it was one of those half-dopey smiles you get when you’re talking about the person you’re in love with.
“I’m so happy that you found someone to love, Anita,” Judith said.
“I know I should be happy if you’re happy,” my dad said.
I looked at him across the table, though technically he was across from Jean-Claude, and I was sitting across from Judith, but it wasn’t hard to glare across the table at his unhappy face. “I know you’d rather see me alone and miserable for the rest of my life than happily married to Jean-Claude.”
“I do not want you miserable, Anita.”
“I don’t believe you, Dad.”
He looked startled, though I didn’t know why. “Of course I want you happy, I want all my children happy.”
“But only if it’s a type of happiness you approve of,” I said.
“That’s not true,” he said. His blue eyes looked so sincere.
“I believe that you believe that, Dad.”
“What does that mean?”
“Fredrick, let’s pick our food so the waiter can do his job,” Judith said.
The waiter was beside our table again, attentive, face pleasant, as if there was no problem at our table at all. He had probably seen a lot worse than our little squabble. We told him we needed a minute, and could he come back. Of course he could, but would we like to hear the specials first? Yes, we would.
The waiter recited the specials, two mains and one dessert. The mains included fish, sustainable of course, and a beef tenderloin dish on a bed of pasta. The fish was being served on a bed of couscous. Judith said yes to the fish special; the rest of us passed until they got to the dessert special.
“In honor of you gracing us with your presence tonight, our pastry chef has prepared a trio of traditional French desserts with a presumptuous modern spin.”
“How could we resist such an offering,” Jean-Claude said. “Ma petiteand I will share the trio.”
“We’ll share one as well,” Judith said.
Paul the waiter turned to Andria. “And you, mademoiselle?”
“Thank you, but I don’t have anyone to split it with,” she said.
“Take it back for Josh,” I said.
She smiled at me, then said to the waiter, “Yes, please.”
“The pastry chef will be most pleased.”
We all smiled and nodded, and then he left us to our menus and picking the rest of our meal. “Does that happen often?” Dad asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Chefs making special menu items for you?”
“Occasionally,” I said.
“Why would they do that for a vampire, when they know that he cannot eat any of it?”
