The restaurant was above a shop that sold hats and handbags and the food was rich and tasted like it did in Naples so far away. It was located down a side street with the lamps flickering at night and the smell would go out the vents and through each row of flats, calling to the residents loudly, converting them with its savory, sweet scent. The maitre d’, middle aged and with a round body, sat the couple at a table in the corner knowing it was their favorite place. She smiled and left them with menus though they always ordered the same dish, the cannelloni and clam sauce, with garlic bread and salad and cappuccinos afterwards. She knew this too and had already placed the order to the kitchen. The maitre d’ was an old and wise woman, and the couple liked her and missed her when she had the night off and was not there.
The couple was young and affluent and seemed happy though no one ever really knew. They ate slowly and had what looked like a polite conversation, about work and school and movies they had seen. The dinner was finished and they moved to dessert and the coffee, and it was then that the young lady excused herself, full from the meal, leaving the man alone sipping at his drink. She came back after a prolonged absence and lowered herself gently into her chair, her eyes glassy and her face red and puffed out. The man noticed instantly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Just fine. Why? Do I look like I’m not?”
“Well, you look strange. I mean – your face is all red. You haven’t been crying, have you?”
“No, I’m fine, but, yeah, maybe I do feel a little strange.”
“Let me get you some water.”
He waved the waiter over, asking for more water. A pitcher was brought forth, and the girl’s cup was filled. She took a long sip.
“Thank you,” she said as the waiter left them.
“You’re sure you are all right?” the man asked again.
“I said so, didn’t I? Fine, just fine.”
“Well good.”
The man looked down at his drink and back at her again, at her blue eyes with tears almost falling and her perfect nose and her perfect little chin. He leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped, resting on the table uncomfortably, looking closer until he knew it was so, that it was true. He wanted to say something, but the words would cause trouble as they always had so many times before. It had been such a nice meal, he thought, and it was an even nicer night outside with the light breeze coming off the water and the smell of wood burning in fireplaces, and he did not want to spoil any of it. He could not stop it though. He went over it in his mind, weighing pros and cons as if they were placed upon a scale, and finally, the urge took over him, and he spoke to her, starting quietly and sounding innocent as a newborn lamb.
“Look, I don’t mean to say anything. I mean, it’s hard, but I have to ask. Is it…well…is it happening again?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You know – It. Is it happening still?”
“Oh, no, not that? Not for a long time. I told you it was under control. I wouldn’t lie. You don’t think I would lie to you? Do you?”
“Well no, of course not. It’s just…you leave and then come back and now you look all red and your eyes are glassy and…”
“Oh, shut up!” she cut him off, “I would tell you if it happened again. I mean, can’t I go to the bathroom without getting the third degree? This is perfect, you know, my own boyfriend saying I’m look like crap in public. That’s really flattering. Thank you very much. I don’t want to hear another word!”
“Yeah, of course – I’m sorry, but you can see how it looks.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Well fine then, be that way! I’m just being concerned.”
Their voices had grown loud, and the attention of the restaurant rested upon them, looking to see what was the matter. They tried to ignore the glances and continued their meal in silence. It was close to the time to leave anyhow. The waiter was passing with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The man waved him over again, stopping him in his tracks.
“Can we just get our bill please?”
“Certainly,” answered the waiter.
The man and woman would so much as not look at each other, choosing instead to take in the paintings on the walls and the street scene below. The air hung apprehensive, thick with tension, and finally the man spoke, breaking the fragile silence with his words.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, and I’m sorry if I did. It’s just that I worry. If you say it isn’t happening, then I believe you. I do.”
He said the words without meaning them. He didn’t believe her in truth, but it was better to leave happy than to have the hurt still looming between them, and he knew it would do no good either way.
She had been crying. She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her napkin, and a streak of black mascara left it cut in half. Her eyes looked naked without the dark shadows to shape them. The restaurant had forgotten them already, but the couple still felt the looks like a film upon their skin. She let out a deep breath.
“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry – I know you care, but I’ve worked so hard to get rid of this thing. It’s just so damn hard.”
“I know. I know it is.”
“But I’ve been good. I really have. It hasn’t happened for a while now.”
“I’m glad.”
“You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Honestly?”
“I believe that you’ve been trying.”
They paid their bill leaving a handsome tip and walked down the narrow stairway leading onto the street. They could still smell the restaurant on the walk home. It stayed with them until they reached the apartment, but it did not smell as good from the distance, leaving a bitter taste in both of their mouths. The man held the woman close to him as they walked slowly upon the crumbled pavement, so small next to him, so delicate and so skinny and frail.
“You know you’re beautiful,” he said to her. He meant it fully.
“Am I?”
“Yes, yes you are. You are very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she answered unconvinced, and they unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and left the night behind.
Text_RYAN SEAGRIST
