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The city lights blur as we drive past, ribbons of color against the darkening evening sky.
“Hey,” I say, reaching over to still her leg with the gentle pressure of my hand on her knee as if my touch can calm her anxiety. “Tonight is about forgetting all that.”
She flashes a half smile in my direction.
She won't have to fake it for long. When we pull up to the sushi place I chose, it's all muted lighting and modern decor. A current of elegance and affluence underscore the establishment.
I park the car and lead her inside.
“Wow,” she breathes the word, her eyes wide as we're ushered to our table.
“I thought you might like this place,” I say, watching her shoulders lift as if some of the weight has come off them.
Lila smiles, her cheeks dimpling, and I can't help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment spread through me. “You order; I don’t know what is good here.”
I smile and nod, placing an order for various dishes including Nigiri, Maki, Uramaki, and Inarizushi. Her gaze stays on me as I thank the waiter with a smile and turn my attention back to her.
“Thank you for this,” she says, her hands meeting mine across the small table between us.
I nod, happy to be a source of joy that she so desperately needs. As we sit in the center of the bustling chaos, surrounded by the smells of delicious dishes and the chatter of happy patrons, I find myself wanting more time alone with her. The sparkling fairy lights strung above us cast a magical glow on her face, flickering in her eyes and shining on the glossy curve of her lips.
“Thank you for coming out with me,” I say, and her smile widens. I want her to know how lucky I feel that she’s here, but my heart sinks as I realize she likely feels like this is part of the fake facade she agreed to.
I don't have time to vocalize my thoughts as our waiter brings delicious looking food on the table before us with a warm expression.
“Oh, this looks amazing,” she says, taking in the different sushi rolls laid out so elegantly before us. “What’s this one?” she asks, her gaze ticking to mine and nearly making my heart stop.
She’s gesturing at Nigiri, and I tell her to try it. She eyes me, and I offer a simple explanation. “It’s raw fish over vinegared rice.”
To my absolute surprise, she doesn't even hesitate before popping a bite of sushi in her mouth. Her eyes roll back in her head as she lets out a moan of pure pleasure. When her mouth is empty, she blushes, meeting my gaze. “That’s not what I expected, and I love it.”
We settle into our food, my mind working a million miles a minute on a plan to twist my future into the future I want rather than the one I feel I’m facing.
She’s all joy and sparkling excitement, doing a little happy dance in her chair as she tastes, tests, and enjoys. And I watch her as she savors the flavors with a look of pure bliss on her face.
“Try this one,” she says, picking up a piece of Maki with adorably wobbly chopsticks and bringing it to my lips. Laughter bubbles from her throat when I pretend to bite her fingers instead.
“Very funny,” she says, but her eyes are dancing with mirth and an excitement that echoes within me.
“Life's too short for not having fun.”
We talk easily, effortlessly, avoiding heavy or painful topics. She tells me a story about Alex trying to cook dinner that ends in a disaster with lasagna on the floor, a cutting board melted in the oven, and so much cheese it took them forever to clean up the mess. I can't help but laugh at the image of her brother, crutches askew, surrounded by red sauce like he’s in a kitchen war zone.
“Your laugh,” she says, shaking her head. “It hasn’t changed, I swear.”
I go quiet, memories of our time together as teens flowing back into my atmosphere. But those times are gone, so I shoo them away.
Instead, I feed her a bite of Inarizushi, watching her expression change at the slightly sweet flavor. She’s the cutest damn thing I've ever seen. She catches my look and covers her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh and make a mess.
“Good?” I ask, both worried she might choke or that she won’t like the flavor and texture combination.
“Sho good,” she says, unable to speak clearly around the bite.My low chuckle mingles with the soft clinks of dishes and hum of conversation around us.
In this moment, I see a flash of a life where this isn’t a facade. A life where she’s mine without pretense, without secrets. The thought hits me hard, right in the chest.
“Thank you for this,” she says again, her hand reaching for mine as I move closer to her. “I needed it more than you know.”
With pleasantly full bellies, we talk about her plans for the future on the way home. She’s excited to see how far she can take the flower shop, and now that she’s working in tandem with the delivery service, she’s worried she won’t be able to keep up.
