“A seventy-five-cent pineapple bun can make me happy.”
“And I like that about you.”
He takes away our empty salad bowls and goes downstairs to get more food. I sip my wine and look around. It won’t be a dazzling sunset, but there are still a few brushstrokes of pale orange and pink in the sky, and I feel like it’s just for us.
Our main course is sausage ragout over polenta.
“Would you like some fresh pepper?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He brings out the most enormous pepper grinder I have ever seen. Seriously, it’s gigantic. I wonder if he bought it just for this occasion. It puts Joey the Phallic Cactus to shame.
“Fortunately,” I say, “I know you’re not compensating for anything.”
We laugh together.
Perhaps he bought it just to make me laugh.
“Parmesan?” he asks.
I nod and he grates some on top of my food.
The food is tasty like I knew it would be, and as the sky darkens, Julian lights a couple of candles in the middle of the table. He’s very good at planning a romantic night.
You don’t deserve this, a little voice whispers inside my head.
I push it away. It’s just one night. Why shouldn’t I have this?
But it’s not just one night. I’ve spent a week and a half with Julian, and I’ve had a wonderful time. He’s an incredibly thoughtful man.
Not to mention, I’m being paid for this. I’ll get a trip to New Yorkanda trip to Montreal out of it.
I don’t deserve it, but somehow, I have it anyway. It’s like a modern fairy tale, even though fairy tales don’t come true for people like me. There are some things I just can’t have because of who I am.
I pick up a forkful of polenta and ragout. It no longer tastes right, and when I swallow, it’s almost painful. I try to smile as I reach for my wine glass, not wanting Julian to notice anything’s off.
What kind of woman gets depressed in the middle of the most romantic dinner of her life? Something is seriously wrong with me.
I don’t deserve this.
It’s a good thing it’ll be over soon. Next week, I’ll be back to my regularly-scheduled life, back to my not-so-luxurious apartment.
Back to not having Julian.
I can’t have a relationship with anyone. It’s too much of a risk. A relationship could destroy me; it nearly did before. My sister took me to the hospital, and I had to stay there for a week. I had to quit school.
But, God, I’m going to miss him. The thought of being without him causes a tightness in my chest. He’s been so good to me, and he deserves better. He deserves romantic nights on his rooftop patio with a better woman.
The thought of that woman is so damn painful, it brings tears to my eyes.
I struggle to feed myself another bite of dinner, and some of the ragout falls on my shirt. Great. Now I have tomato on my white shirt. I can’t even feed myself without making a mess like a toddler. I’m an idiot.
“I’ll get Elena to take that out for you,” Julian says. “She can remove any stain.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Depression washes over me like a giant wave, and I am swept up in it, unable to stop it. On some level, I know I’m not an idiot for getting my shirt dirty, and why shouldn’t I enjoy a nice meal with Julian?
