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But as I do so, I realize that I can’t think of another thing I have in common with this woman other than this Turkish restaurant. A cold chill runs down my back, and I look around for the waiter, hoping that he’ll bring the bottle of wine sooner.
“So, what shall we order?” she asks me.
I stare at the menu but my throat seems to be constricted and painful now. Coming here is proving to be a mistake. Every item on the menu reminds me of Emmy and all the times I came here with her. How much she enjoyed this food, how we laughed, all the conversations we had. How I told her about my dreams, my expectations for my career, how she shared so much with me. And now…
I look up at Carol. Her face seems vacant as she is still perusing the menu, distant and cold.
“I don’t know, Carol. I’m not that hungry anymore. I just want something to drink…”
“Are you feeling okay? You didn’t catch something at that wedding, did you? You did look kind of pale the whole day. And you didn’t talk that much. Maybe you—”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t know, Evan. You look like you have some kind of bug,” she insists, irritating me.
“Carol … thank you for your concern but I don’t have a … bug.”
“How can you be so sure? You don’t have an appetite. And then, during the weekend, at the wedding, you looked like you were going to throw up and—”
“Carol. I’m a doctor, remember? Are you seriously going to argue with me on this? Or try to tell me how I feel? Or both?” I answer, running out of patience.
“Fine, fine,” she replies and raises both her hands as if she’s giving up. “Excuuuuse me for caring about you. Fine. You’re the big, important doctor. You know best.” She crosses her arms and looks away.
I rub my eyes vigorously, feeling more tired than ever.
Maybe when I open them again, all of this will have disappeared.
And everything will be exactly the way it used to be.
“So, what do you want to do for your birthday tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, Carol. I don’t think I’m really in the mood to celebrate.”
“Wow, are you that upset about turning thirty? I thought it was a milestone birthday or whatever.”
The waiter finally arrives with the bottle of red wine and pours some for us. “Thank you, sir. Can you also bring me a scotch, please? Neat. And make it a double,” I tell him. “Anything else for you, Carol?”
“Are we not eating, then?”
“You’re welcome to eat. Order whatever you’d like,” I reply.
“I don’t want to eat if you’re not eating!”
“Why not? What’s stopping you?”
“I just … how can I eat by myself?” she asks indignantly, while the waiter watches in silence.
“But you’re not by yourself. It’s not like I’m going out into the parking lot to drink, leaving you here by yourself. Go ahead and eat while I drink my scotch. What’s the problem with that?”
“We have to eat together! That’s why we’re here! That’s why we’re a couple!” she whines, her voice getting louder and more piercing.
“We’re here, spending time together, at the same table. Why do we have to be doing the same thing?” I refuse to back down.
“Because…”
“Why don’t I give you two a moment?” the waiter finally says, getting tired of our bickering.
“Now look what you did. You drove him away!” she says.
