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The glare she shot me from across the intimate table was meant to be lethal.
“Please don’t ruin a lovely night with your nagging. Okay?” she snapped through clenched jaws.
“A single comment is hardly nagging, darling,” I replied with a sugar-sweet tone. Neither of us wanted the night to crash and burn. We agreed on that point at least. “What looks good? Do you want to share an appetizer?” I asked, trying to steer her back into friendly territory.
“You pick. The appetizer, I mean.” And then she snorted a laugh.
The sound made me laugh too while I widened my eyes to encourage her to explain what was so funny.
“Could you imagine ordering my dinner? You don’t even know if I’m allergic to anything, or if I’m vegan.” She shook her head with a big grin. “How funny would that be?”
“I could totally order for you, and it would be something you’d love,” I said with complete confidence.
“No way,” she said, still perusing the menu. “I don’t think I’d take that chance.”
“Don’t you trust me, Storm?”
She sat back in her seat before saying, “I don’t think it has anything to do with trust. Just facts.”
Smugly, I wagered, “I would bet I know a lot more about you than you think. Definitely more than you know about me.”
Well, that shut her up. She picked up her wineglass before remembering she’d drained the thing.
“Hit me,” she said and thrust her glass toward me.
“No,” I told my date, and she responded with that glare again. “With your meal. I don’t want you shitfaced when we leave here.”
“Why are you such a grampa? Do you ever just cut loose and have fun?” she challenged, and I saw right through her game. She thought by insulting me she could get me to take the bait and prove I know how to let go. Such an amateur tactic.
Fortunately, our waiter arrived to take our order. I bit my tongue and let my queen order for herself. I really wanted to prove my point but also didn’t want her to cause a scene. The wine she chugged was giving her a combative edge, and it was the last fire I wanted to stoke.
After we were alone again, I started a new conversation. “So, on Sunday, we’ll be expected at seven-thirty mass. I can help you pick a dress from your closet tomorrow so you aren’t frazzled from running late when you meet my family.”
I launched that grenade without any sort of warning and kicked myself for not having my phone out to capture the resulting look on her face.
After a long stare, she gave her head a little shake. “Do what now?”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. And really, for me, it wasn’t. I’d done the same thing every Sunday morning for my entire life. Now she would too.
“Sunday?”
“Yep, got that.” She nodded and watched me cautiously.
“Mass. As in church? You’ve been, I’m assuming? I mean, you don’t get to be our age without ever stepping foot in a house of God of some sort at some point, right?”
And why was antagonizing her so much fun? I knew it was bordering on cruel and definitely playing with fire regarding her temper. But the woman had to understand that I wasn’t a doormat, and I wouldn’t tiptoe around her volatile personality all the time.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” she said at a volume much too loud for our surroundings. At least two parties looked our way after that F-bomb dropped.
“Please modulate your voice in this establishment,” I said calmly and took a slow drink.
“Carmen, seriously. No. I’m not going to church with your family. Enough is enough.”
Uh-oh. She was legitimately pissed. Made evident by the way she balled her napkin before slam-dunking it to the place setting in front of her.
Quickly, I covered her hand with mine to hold her in place because I was fairly certain she was about to bolt.
“Look, calm down. We can talk about this more later. Or tomorrow.” I tried to smooth the mood, but she wasn’t having it.
