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I tilt my head curiously. “You don’t agree?”
“No. I don’t agree,” he answers convincingly, still wearing a grin.
His disagreement irks me, yet for some reason, I find myself believing him. I purse my lips, sifting through my memories for instances where Randy was particularly harsh with me. But then I start to wonder how he interacts with Sarah, Rita, and Pete? Or any of the other employees, for that matter? In the midst of our own tumultuous interactions, I’ve neglected to notice how he consistently behaves with others.
“So, why do you say my cousin’s an asshole?” Jeremy’s question feels like a match to my fuse of pent-up frustrations.
“Where do I start? The beginning, middle, the end?” I retort, feeling a mix of anger and relief at the opportunity to unload.
Jeremy’s eyebrows rise in surprise as he keeps his focus on the road. “Wow. That bad, huh?”
I nod vigorously, primed to spill every detail about Randy’s behavior—a side of him that Jeremy seems oblivious to. And with that, I dive into my story, starting from the very beginning, laying out the sequence of events that led me to form such a strong opinion about his not-so-perfect cousin.
* * *
As we walk together through the quaint cobblestone courtyard toward the restaurant, I’m aware of how much I’ve been talking. It’s a lot, even for me, but Jeremy did ask why his cousin is such a jerk, and somehow, I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface in making my case against Randy. My mind is still racing with scenarios as the hostess leads us to our table, which is a bit of a shame because I usually revel in the ambiance of Blue Tavern the moment I step inside.
The restaurant always welcomes patrons with its charming atmosphere. Rustic tables are topped with candles nestled in glass orbs that resemble snowballs. They cast a soft glow throughout the enchanting space. The warmth is tangible, not just from the candlelight alone but also from walls painted in an antique blue mixed with delicate gold flecks that catch the light and cast a rich, inviting glow throughout the dining room. It’s an effect I would usually take a moment to appreciate fully. However, tonight, my focus is elsewhere. Seated now, with our drink orders placed and menus in hand, I feel an urgent need to continue my story. It seems important that Jeremy understands this side of Randy.
“Did you know he actually tried to lecture me on the ‘right’ way to clean a table? Talk about harassment,” I continue, my frustration laid bare. “And the irony? He leaves the kitchen counters a disaster after he’s done cooking. We’re always cleaning up after Mr. Big-Time Manhattan Chef. I mean, I get that he’s a celebrity chef, but there’s a limit, right?” I place my menu down, aiming to catch Jeremy’s full attention, which seems partly caught by his own menu.
“Right,” he says as if he’s placating me. Then he asks, “Do you know what you want to order?”
Cold air douses my eyes as they grow wide. I really need him to listen and grasp the entirety of my experience with Randy. It’s important that he understands my perspective is rooted in genuine evidence. “I’m having the maple-glazed salmon.”
Jeremy’s attention is still glued to his menu, which makes me want to rein in my rant about Randy. Yet I find myself unable to stop, even as a sliver of reason suggests I should.
“So, Gina, do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, his eyes still buried in his menu. Well, that was a curveball he just threw.
“Of course I don’t have a boyfriend,” I reply, a bit bewildered. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I did.”
Finally, I said something that made him look up from his menu. His eyes meet mine with a spark. “Oh, then I have a chance?”
What he just asked kind of registers, but it kind of doesn’t either. I’m not ready to shift gears just yet. “Can I just finish this story?” I insist. It’s still important to me that Jeremy understands my viewpoint on Randy, especially since he doesn’t seem fully convinced yet.
Acknowledging my persistence, Jeremy finally sets his menu aside to give me his full attention. “Which story?” he asks.
I think he’s a little annoyed, but I don’t care. He must understand how I arrived at my viewpoint about Randy. So I revisit the story about how Randy critiqued my table-cleaning skills, suggesting absurdly that my method could lead to the restaurant being shut down because I was spreading bacteria.
“That’s not even a thing,” I say, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
Okay, so I’m all worked up now and shaking my head as another memory about Randy comes to mind, one way worse than the table thing, and I must share it.
Chapter 4
Off Limits
Gina
Waking up this Friday, I’m relieved the week is nearly over, but I’m also troubled by a nagging regret. I realize I wasn’t the best company for Jeremy during last night’s first date. I couldn’t seem to steer the conversation away from Randy, and now I’m worried I might have overshared. Jeremy was so quiet on the way home that I’m left doubting if there’ll be a second date, let alone a third.
And then there was that moment he asked if he had a chance with me. He was so sincere. Truthfully, I don’t know the answer. It’s not that I’m not interested; it’s just that I’ve always struggled with making clear choices.
Take my college years, for instance. I spent four years working toward a biology degree, fighting through every test, paper, and lab. Finishing with a 2.7 GPA, the dream of becoming a doctor—of making a meaningful difference in people’s lives—faded when my academic advisor suggested delaying graduation to retake courses and improve my GPA. Sigh…
Just like that, the reality hit me. Was I really cut out for a life spent diagnosing and treating others? At age twenty-one, despite four years of college, I found myself more uncertain about my future than ever.
Helping Naomi study for the LSAT and then taking the test alongside her as a gesture of support brought an unexpected twist. Once again, I was on my way down what I thought would be another solid career path. I scored 160, a surprise to both of us given Naomi’s impressive 176. Yet, it didn’t take long, only about a year, for me to realize that the law wasn’t for me either. Still, I went through the motions, even attempting the bar exam three times. Each time I stared down at that test, my mind went blank. Plus, the idea of standing in a courtroom and debating legalities felt utterly foreign to me. I was indifferent to winning or losing legal battles?
