The hostess seats Reindeer and I at a quaint table in the corner. Interesting. Reindeer doesn’t seem uncomfortable by the “romantic feel”. In fact when the waiter arrives Reindeer takes action, behaves familiarly and says, “Tap water for both of us.” There is the possibility that he’s thrifty and doesn’t want to buy bottled water. Not that I blame him, I wouldn’t either. Especially since New York City water is very clean.
Reindeer sets the J. Jill bag of plastic lids and matching containers next to him and opens the menu. Does he intend to hold my Tupperware hostage for the duration of dinner? “The ceviche looks nice,” Reindeer says. “Yes,” I reply, what’s not to like about citrus and seafood? “What will you drink?" he asks. “Hhhmm, not sure,” I lie. My intention has been to drink wine, at least two glasses on his dime.
“What about wine? I like a nice red," Reindeer suggests. Oh, so not only am I drinking again, but he is too. I lower my menu and say in a sexy-sly way, with a little hair toss, “Back on the sauce?” Holy crap and WOW! Having an awesome hair day/night is SO empowering. “Yes I started again,” Reindeer says, coy with the details. But I will not give him the satisfaction that I am curious. I do notice he ASSUMES I am drinking. “How does Prosecco sound?” Reindeer asks. Despite being a Veuve girl, Prosecco always sounds divine. But what are we celebrating? Breaking up? If so, he can bite me.
When the waiter returns it is obvious he thinks we are together because he cozies up to me, asking me if WE need more bread. Asking me if WE have questions about the menu. I see it in stores too. When sales associates fake interest in the woman thinking once they get her buy in the man will agree to the sale. “Yes, we’re ready,” Reindeer says and orders a $48 bottle of red wine and ceviche.
Over dinner (chicken for me and fish for him) we chat and it seems like NO TIME has elapsed. Did we really break up? “So Top Gun was on today,” Reindeer says. “From 1986?” I ask. “Yes, when it comes on I drop everything to watch it,” Reindeer shares. Why do I need to know this? Why does he think I care?
He finishes his dinner long before me. While Reindeer never offered me a bite of his fish, he begins to eat my fries. This seems very intimate. But I don’t protest. It is has been three months since I have seen the inside of the gym. And I don’t need the carbs or calories.
Three hours and a bottle of wine later, we finish dinner. Reindeer pays and says, “Can I drive you home?”
To be cont.