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Quick trigger warnings: this story has mentions of starving yourself. If you're sensitive to that, don't read this story.
The doors to the restaurant “Crème de La Brooch” led to extravagant tastes. There was so much to explore in this quaint area in Kent, England. Mark and I were officially on our 50th date together as boyfriend and girlfriend. That didn’t stop the anxiety coming from the deep edges of what was inside of my panic attacks. They started when I was seventeen years old. My mother, Lorraine, helped me by chanting Yoruba rhymes and making sure I did yoga as well. I couldn’t get help from my father. Luke was just a person who cared about himself and only what benefitted his life. My Mom and Dad had an on and off again relationship. Surprisingly, that didn’t interfere with my relationship with Mark. I was smart enough not to repeat my family’s banal love story.
The restaurant had green foliage, signs that read: “You have the right to remain sexy!” and “Don’t tell me to keep calm!” The waiters and staff were all in good moods as well. This was a sign that maybe my anxiety would be under control and I wouldn’t throw up like I did as a teenager. Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself, reader. My name is Samantha and I’m a 34 year old Black British woman. There is so much to share with you, but I’ll write in my diary later. Describing what the restaurant looks like is calming me down and putting me back in the present!
I also noticed an Asian man writing down receipts to give to the other customers.
“Sam, do you want to sit down? I’ve noticed you’re quieter than usual.”
“Yes, let’s go get our seats.”
We walked towards the Asian man. I noticed that this name was Huan.
“Can I help you two?”
“Yes, two seats in the Crème de La Brooch”.
“Certainly.”
The atmosphere continued to satisfy me. I also repeated my own mantra. You love food. Food nourishes you. Food is delicious. And I believed it after the five years of being in psychotherapy. My mother put me in that too. Don’t ask.
All I had to do was eat a simple meal and focus on Mark’s sexy face.
“This all looks appealing. What do you think you’ll have, babe?”
“I think I’ll have the shredded chili venison.”
“That sounds delicious. I think I’ll have that as well.”
“Hello, lovely people. My name is Mary. Is everybody ready to order?”
“Yes, I think we are.”
“Sam, you go first!”
“Okay! I want to try your shredded chili venison.”
“Anything to drink with that?”
“Yes, Coca-Cola.”
“And you, sir, what would you like?”
“I’ll have what she’s having, but make my drink water please.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
The waiter walked away. Mark held on to my hand with force yet gentleness at the same time.
“Samantha, I want to say that I’m so proud of you. You haven’t thrown up in seven months.”
“I know. I hope that the only time I throw up is when I’m pregnant.”
Mark arched an eyebrow. “You would need a pregnancy test for that.”
“Trust me, I’m not pregnant. I don’t even experience the other symptoms: swollen feet, backache, etc.”
“Let’s just focus on having a great meal.”
“Good idea.”
We both ended up scrolling through our phones. Not to disconnect from each other, but to text each other. Since we’re both on the autism spectrum, sometimes it’s easier to understand each other through writing than it is through verbal instructions. Unfortunately, our families think it’s stupid, but we don’t give a shit about what people think about us. Plus, I would never admit this to Mark, but I preferred gravity to the space. Every sci-fi movie I saw about space was either tragic, scary, or both.
“Why do you love space again?” I asked Mark.
“Because of its vast nature. To know that there could be other planets, hell, other life forms living on those areas….it’s fascinating to me.”
Mark was handsome in his clothes. He was wearing a Calvin Klein suit with a watch from Kay Jewelers that I gifted him for his 39th birthday. For my 39th birthday, he gifted me a Bulgari bracelet. We were, and still are, the luckiest people in the world.
“Okay, guys, here are your meals.”
“Oh, boy! Hot damn, those meals look good.”
“Enjoy!”
Mark dug into his meal immediately like a dog going through a meal.
I went to my brain mentally and remembered what my psychotherapist told me. “Samantha, chew slowly and think of a beach that is right in front of your eyes. You’re enjoying the meal. There is no need to throw up.”
“Thank you, Dr. Elizabeth Schneider.”
“What did you say?” Mark still had a piece of meat in his mouth.
“Just a mantra, sweetie. It’s no big deal.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just food, for crying out loud! I don’t understand why a grown woman like yourself can be so scared to eat food in public.”
“Babe, I told you. It had started when that guy rejected me in high school. He was a player and that changed my life forever.”
“Okay, Samantha, I understand that, but that was years ago. You and I are almost in our forties. Can’t you see what you’re missing? Socialization.”
“Why do you always have to be so condescending to me? I work my ass off every day to make sure I’m the ever loving girlfriend, daughter, and quasi-daughter-in-law to your mother.”
“Now you’re taking offence to my words.” Mark started to get up and leave.
“No, wait. I’m sorry. It’s still triggering for me when people bring up my past. I don’t know where I would be without you. How could I ever travel so far? How would I be without you?”
Mark laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m pretty sure that you just quoted a popular song at the end of your two questions.”
Then I started laughing. “Oh my God, I definitely did. Who sung it? Celine Dion?
“No, maybe it was LeAnn Rhimes.”
The laughter subsided. We gazed at each other like a goofy couple again.
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