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“It definitely did. But…”
“But what? You don’t have enough space for a hundred lip balms?” he jokes.
“It’s not that. I guess I’m just surprised that you still remember such a small detail about me after so many years,” I tell him.
“How could I forget? It was the first time I ever saw you. That memory will stay with me until the day I die.”
“What did I do to deserve you, Evan?”
“You … were my friend,” he says. “When I needed one the most.”
There’s a pause in the conversation. I have a feeling that he’s thinking about our marriage pact and might like to bring it up. I don’t know how I would react if he did.
“So, what do you think? Shall we grab lunch? I have a break in my schedule and could meet you somewhere,” he says.
“Oh … umm … I can’t. I’m actually meeting Carol for lunch today.”
“Oh no, problem! That sounds fun. Well, maybe we can get together at the end of the week?” Evan asks me.
“It’s a date!”
I put down the phone and stare lovingly at my present.
It seems that I was the only one who was thinking about the marriage pact.
“How do you still look so amazing even though your arm is in a cast?” Carol blurts out as she finally makes her appearance.
I’ve been sitting at this Turkish restaurant waiting for her for over an hour.
“Hi, Carol! How are you? All good?”
“Oh, yes, yes! But tell me about you!” she squeals and takes a seat across from me, without even acknowledging the fact that she’s late.
“Ummm … I guess this is still the most important piece of news about me,” I say, lifting my left arm a little bit, showing her the cast.
“Yes, of course! It’s been … how long now? Two weeks? Oh, Mr. Doyle has been absolutely grilling me! He won’t let it go that I dropped that dang perfume, so now he hovers over me every time I stock the shelves. And he refuses to hire someone else until you come back, and I have to do all the work, of course.”
“I’m so sorry about that, Carol. It must be such a hassle,” I tell her, and I mean it. “But I’m not able to come back right now.”
“I know you’re not, Em. That’s fine. He’s paying me extra, that old goat. So, at least there’s that. Let’s order, shall we?” She pulls the menu closer. “What is all this?”
“Oh, it’s Turkish food. I figured you might like to try it. Evan and I love coming to this restaurant. It’s one of our favorite places, really. We’ve always talked about going to Istanbul but … I guess life got in the way.”
When Carol hears Evan being mentioned, she looks up from the menu like a dog whose name has just been called. “Is that so? Evan likes this place? What does he like to eat?”
“I guess … the Lahmacun, we always share one of those. It’s like a pizza, but thinner. The kebabs, of course. I swear, he can eat like a million at a time. I don’t even know where he puts it all. The Imam Bayildi, that’s my personal favorite. Eggplants fried in so much olive oil that you think you’re in heaven—stuffed with sweet tomatoes, garlic, and bulgur. Oh, and the Dolma, of course! Let’s get some of those! Stuffed vine leaves with rice and minced meat. Mmm, my mouth is watering already!” I tell Carol as I scan the menu.
She has a strange look on her face. “Stuffed vine leaves? Is that even edible? I mean, who came up with that?” She wrinkles her nose and pushes the menu away.
“Most of the food is traditional and authentic—the dishes have been served for hundreds of years. I think it’s pretty interesting to eat something that has so much history behind it,” I reply.
“Yuck … I’m good, thanks. I think I’ll just have some coffee,” she says.
I’m baffled by the fact that she’s refusing to even try the food. Not to mention how rude she’s being—especially considering she was an hour late to lunch and didn’t even apologize.
“Have it your way. I’m ordering,” I tell her.
She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “So, tell me. How’s Evan?”
