After what is surely the longest/most obvious eyefucking in the history of eyefucks, the skank ho-stess finally gets us seated and vacates the area. Not that I can exactly blame her, but seriously. Have some self respect. Our table is near the back of the restaurant and fairly secluded, which is pretty nice. After we're situated, Edward leans his elbows on the table and twines his fingers together.
"Ok, onto favorites." He raises one eyebrow suggestively and I compress my lips to hold in a laugh. I assume a similar pose.
"Favorites," I repeat in a serious tone. He gives a curt nod.
"Yes. Favorite color."
"Green. Yours?" My favorite color is actually blue but green kind of slipped out. His eyes are amazing, what can I say?
I'm pretty sure he's onto me, judging by the little smile on his face. "Brown." I roll my brown eyes dramatically, knowing for sure he's blowing sunshine up my skirt.
"Nobody's favorite color is brown," I inform him.
"That's my story and I'm sticking to it," he insists. I seriously can't help smiling like a buffoon around this guy.
"Fine, fine. Favorite book?" I really hope he has a favorite. I don't care what it is, as long as he likes to read. You just can't trust a person who doesn't like reading.
"Classic or contemporary?" he shoots back.
Mama like.
"Both," I shift my elbows on the table in anticipation of his answers.
"Geez, let me think about this," he says. Just as he starts to grind his gears, the hostess returns. Yay.
"Hey, your server is a little backed up so I wanted to see if I could get you anything to drink?" she asks Edward. For real. She has her back completely turned to me. I can't help it, I roll my eyes so hard that I swear I catch a glimpse of my own brain. Edward apparently sees because he cracks up and I redden instantly. I don't want him to think I'm the jealous type, because I'm absolutely not, it's just this girl is way over the top. He reaches across the table and grabs my wrist lightly, rubbing his thumb over the pulse point, which causes me to blush even deeper. Tilting his head down just a tad, he looks directly into my eyes, completely ignoring the hostess.
"Baby, do you want to start with wine?" he asks in a voice so sexy, I'm surprised Ho-Zilla and I both aren't knocked unconscious by it. I blink a few times, trying to remember which language I speak.
I have no luck with my trachea so I just nod. I don't even like wine.
He smiles this brilliant smile, probably realizing that's all he's going to get out of me at the moment, and finally breaks eye contact with me to look at the girl dismissively. He fires off some words I probably wouldn't understand even if I could think straight, though it stands to reason it's some type of wine.
She has the grace to look a tiny bit embarrassed as she nods and bustles off this time. "Some people have no shame," he jokes.
I clear my throat, hyperaware of the fact that he hasn't let my wrist go. "Tell me about it," I agree.
"Maybe we should decide on our orders before we get back to the favorites," he suggests. I nod, agreeing that if the waitress is half as bad as the hostess then it would be better to be prepared when she gets here. He flips open his menu with his free hand while shifting his other hand to lace his fingers through mine loosely, comfortably turning our hands onto their side. "Is this he ok?" he glances up from his menu shyly and I want to throw myself on the floor to praise the heavens for his attractiveness. Instead, I offer him a shy smile of my own.
"Definitely ok," I confirm. He grins big and looks back down to the table. I open my own menu and peruse it for a moment, thinking everything sounds amazing. They have a pork dish that sounds amazing, but I would rather go lick the urinals than say the word pork in front of Edward - I don't know why, but it seems like the unsexiest word on the planet right now - and so I decide on the Lasagna Primavera. Just as I make my decision, two glasses are set on our table. Before I can glance up, the waiter starts speaking while pouring our wine.
"Good evening, I'm Mike and I'll be your server tonight," says a sickeningly familiar voice. But no. Please God, say it isn't so. I slide my eyeballs up just enough to see that it is, indeed, Mike the Micropeen. My face instantly flames, I can literally feel the heat wafting off of it, and I try to think of what I could possibly have done karmically to deserve this. He finishes pouring our wine and then, "Bella? Is that you?"
Sweet Mary on a piece of toast. I briefly consider trying to say no while not looking at him, then realize that would be ridiculous on a few different levels, so I woman up and face him.
"Mike, hey," I say awkwardly. His face is a little red as well, and I'm sure he's recalling the last time we saw each other, which I know has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. I can feel sweat beading between my boobs and would give anything for a gust of wind to go blowing through this place right about now.
"Hey, good to see you again," he says, lamely. There is so much effing awkwardness crammed in this corner right now I'm surprised there is room left for oxygen. I glance at Edward, who seems mildly concerned. Probably because my head is a giant tomato at this point in time.
"Edward, this is," I falter for a second - partly due to the fact that my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth and partly because I realize there is no good way to introduce Mike. "Uh, this is my friend, Mike. Mike, this is," again with the pausing. Gah! I quickly decide to support the ruse all of the way and go with, "my boyfriend, Edward."
My ears are buzzing so I can't tell what they say to each other, probably just hello but who the hell even knows at this point? A few seconds later, they're both looking at me and I register that Mike has asked for my order. Somehow, he's keeping it together a little better than I am. I can't for the life of me remember what the hell I wanted, so I ask Edward to order first.
"I'll have the mushroom ravioli, please," he tells Mike, amusement coloring his voice as he looks expectantly back at me.
"I'll have the same," I say in a rush. Mike nods and disappears. I grab the wine glass closest to me and take a healthy swig, then fight not to make a face as I swallow it. Honestly, I do not understand how people enjoy this bitter shit. And did I just order mushroom ravioli? I have never been a picky eater, ever. I will literally try anything at least once. Mushrooms, though? Great God, they grow out of literal shit! I can't believe the events of this evening so far - amazing on one hand and just ridiculous on the other.
I sit the glass back down with a gasp, noticing that Edward is full out grinning at me now. "So, obviously I know that guy."
"Obviously," he agrees. I can almost hear the laughter under his voice, just waiting for it's chance to come out. I clear my throat, racking my brain on how to say this without sounding like a ho-bag. Yeah, no. There's really no way.
"Oh God. Ok. I just want to preface this with the fact that I am not a strumpet," I tell him. Strumpet? I just said strumpet. What the fuck is a strumpet? What is even happening right now? "But Alice hooked me up with him after the whole thing with Jake and we had a really mortifying, just horrible, experience. Just, really bad. I mean, it was just really -"
"Bad?" Edward is laughing now. "What I'm hearing is that it was not good," he chuckles. I sigh out a breath, thankful that he's so chill, and start laughing as well.
"Basically, yes." We both start laughing harder, spurred be each other's mirth and my ridiculousness.
"You got so red, it was almost unbelievable," he chortles, which triggers me into nearly breathless laughter. I'm so relieved that the encounter is over and honestly, amused at how I reacted, that it's a few solid minutes before either of us stop cracking up. I wipe at the corner of my eye gently, not wanting to mess up the make up and sigh out a couple of big breaths as we calm down.
"One day, you have to give me the details of this horrible experience," he warns playfully. A residual giggle bubbles out of my chest.
"Of course," I promise with absolutely no intention of ever divulging a single other detail to him. Ever. He attempts to give me a stern look but really it's just silly and amazingly adorable.
"So, back to our original conversation," he announces.
"Ah, yes. Books," I recall.
"I'm gonna have to go with Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller," he says slowly. I hum in approval, surprised by his choice. "Although Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn gets an honorable mention."
"Respectable choices," I commend him. "Contemporary?"
He leans back in his chair, exhaling a long sigh. "Oh man, somehow this is tougher. I'll go with Fool by Christopher Moore."
"What! You read Christopher Moore?" I don't mean to sound so shocked but Christopher Moore is one hilarious man and I have yet to meet anyone who has read him.
"Yeah, you too?" he asks interestedly.
"God, yes! He is so damn funny! I thought I was going to pop a blood vessel laughing when I read Lamb," I tell him. I'm dead serious too, that shit was hysterical.
"I know! He's so witty, it's like you can't stop reading! I have all his stuff at home."
"So do I!" This is amazing and I consider asking him if he just wants to skip all the 'get to know each other' crap and cut straight to the baby making already.
"Your turn," Edward smiles.
"Oh man, ok. My favorite classic would have to be Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen." Honestly, it's hard to name one but I've read that book at least five times and it gets better each time.
"Sucker for old tall, dark and glowery Mr. Darcy?" he jokes.
"Duh!" Is my genius response.
"What about Heathcliff then?" he asks and I'm not gonna lie, my fallopian tubes contract simply hearing that he can even allude to the characters in these books.
"Nah, Heathcliff is way too evil. I like my leading gentlemen to have at least one redeeming quality. I do think that Wuthering Heights was pound for pound a better novel than Pride and Prejudice, but it all comes down to how the book makes you feel. I mean, with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, sure there was animosity and dislike, but the story is about a girl finding herself and falling in love. Heathcliff and Catherine were self absorbed pseudo-psychopaths who ruined each other's lives as well as the lives of everyone around them. It just makes you feel bad, you know?"
He smiles slightly and nods. "Couldn't agree more. What about your contemporary favorite?"
"This is a three way tie, there's no way around it. Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, The Red Tent by Anita Diamante and One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus."
"I haven't heard of any of those, although One Thousand White Women sounds pretty interesting," he jokes.
"Oh my God, so good. Seriously, you should check it out. I read parts of it to Charlie and he even liked it."
"I will, for sure," he agrees. I smile at him, thankful that somehow I am once again completely comfortable in his presence. We continue our story swapping, sipping the nasty ass wine and just enjoying each other's company. Mike returns with our dinner a bit later and while it's still a little embarrassing, I manage to keep it together. I realize I'm famished and the food looks amazing, until I remember that I have a plateful of poop pockets in front of me. My stomach turns a little but I refuse to humiliate myself again by admitting that I ordered one of the extremely few things in the world that I hate.
Picking up my silverware, I attempt to nonchalantly cut a ravioli open so I can eat the pasta part without ingesting any fungus. Edward has no such qualms and is tucking into his food with gusto. I glance up and am momentarily mesmerized by the jaw muscles at work across from me. This man should come with a warning label.
I manage to tear my gaze away before he notices me being a creeper and get back to the task at hand. The noodle cuts easily and out slides a big gob of nasty. I shudder, quickly pushing it away with my knife. Bringing the bite of pasta up to my mouth, I try not to think about the residual slime left inside by the mushrooms. Oh man, this is so gross. I eat it anyway, trying to convince myself there are no parasites of the bovine crap persuasion in my mouth.
"So," Edward breaks the brief silence that has descended in the wake of the food. I raise my eyebrows expectantly but unfortunately am unable to look away from my plate. Dissecting this dinner is commanding all of my attention and I must remain vigilant, lest I ingest a piece of shroom. "This might be crossing a line," he hedges. His voice sounds a little uncertain so I momentarily abandon the task at hand to look up at him. "You haven't really mentioned your mom at all, though."
It takes me a beat to answer, just because I'm used to being around people I've known forever. I haven't had to explain this for a while. "Oh, she uh, passed away when I was a baby," I tell him. He looks stricken for a second and I rush to reassure. "No, it's fine honestly. I was just a few months old and I don't remember her at all. It doesn't make me sad, or anything, so don't feel bad for asking," I tell him honestly. It might sound a little callous but it's true. It's hard to miss something you never had.
"Still, though," he says seriously. "It had to be hard growing up without a mom."
"I suppose. I had Charlie, though, and he was amazing. Plus, growing up in a small town helps. Alice, Rose and Tanya all lived within a few blocks of me and their moms were great." He seems appeased and looks a little less regretful. "Why don't you tell me more about your parents?" I suggest. "How did they meet?"
He smiles at this. "They actually met in kindergarden. It's been a life long romance, they're so cheesy when they talk about it. They started 'going steady' when they were, like, ten or something."
I grin because that is too cute and really familiar. "Sounds like Rose and Emmett. They became official in sixth grade and have been going strong ever since. It's pretty cool."
"That's awesome," he agrees, popping a big old ravioli in his mouth. I suppress a shudder and grab a piece of bread from the basket between us, deciding that I'll just try to fill up on that. The conversation flows easily. We talk about everything from first cars to current careers. I explain how I, an English major, ended up working in healthcare. He tells me how much enjoys teaching, though the kids are equal parts awesome and evil. We cover pretty much every topic either of us can think of, and I tell him to warn his brother about Alice. I don't want the poor guy walking into that blindly. If he notices that I eat all of the bread and disembowel every ravioli on my plate, he doesn't mention it. Thank God.
The evening is over much sooner than I would like, although in reality it's gotten pretty late. On the drive from the restaurant, we make plans for him to come over in the morning with some clothes and things to plant around the apartment - proof of our cohabitation. He also tells me that he wants to help cook, which is swoon-worthy in my eyes. When he parks in front of my building, I wait for him to come around and open my door. We walk together quietly, but comfortably so. He leaves me with a soft, lingering kiss and when he walks away, he takes the first few steps backwards so he can watch me go inside. I float to the elevator, on a dreamy cloud, unable to believe how utterly amazing he is.
Before I can get my keys out, my door flies open and two little hands snatch me across the threshold.
"Tell me everything!" screams my little harpy of a roommate. We both screech and do a really stupid little dance around each other the way we always do when something is just too exciting to handle quietly. I know I'm not going to bed any time soon, but I don't even care. Even if it wasn't for Alice, I would stay up and relive the evening in my mind because even with all of the embarrassing stuff, it was still one of the most amazing nights I've ever had.
Thanks for reading!