Dinner for Two

It was to be the perfect dinner for two. That was my grand plan anyway. Incorporating the extravagance of a restaurant with the intimacy of ‘just the two of us’ was my goal. The wobbly table in my small apartment was covered with a leftover white with pink polka dots table cloth from my niece’s sixth birthday party and two grey, cloth placemats I’d packed some of my dishes in when I moved out of my parents place almost four years ago and had just never returned. Plates from my mother’s old set marked out the two places and I had bought wine glasses specifically for this occasion. They would only hold grape juice this night, however, though one day might serve their true purpose. The light above the table had burnt out last week, but the two white candles I kept stashed for emergencies in the center of the table, made for perfect mood lighting. Probably. They were a little small for the candle holders I’d found, so they refused to stand up straight despite all my efforts to balance them, but it seemed barely noticeable once lit. On each plate was a poorly folded paper napkin crane, the only origami or napkin folding I had any experience with, and both were also white with pink polka dots, like the table cloth. It was far from the grandiose, je ne sais quoi atmosphere I had been going for when I imagined and planned the dinner but that’s how it goes when dating on a budget.

But I knew she’d appreciate it.

That was why Lauren and I went so well together, why we were perfect for each other. She understood my need to prioritize due to limited finances and when dates or special little presents for her had to be cut, she took it in stride with grace and forgiveness. Best of all, we both loved food and understood that, when it came to a special dinner, food was what deserved the most effort. That was why I’d splurged a little on getting everything I’d need for my mom’s famous Chicken Parmesan at the best quality I could find. While it cooked, I darted between the stove and the table to make sure everything was set as perfectly as possible and the smell wafted around my apartment making my mouth water. Lauren absolutely loved my mom’s Chicken Parmesan.

I absolutely loved Lauren.

That was why this dinner was so important to me. I had saved up for months, hording every extra dollar I could, even, a few times, talking Lauren down from more costly dates and gifts, to make sure I’d have enough for this dinner and the small silver ring I had hidden in my night stand under loose papers and probably two old chocolate bar wrappers. This dinner would change my life forever and it had been so hard to monitor every text I sent, every word I said, so as not to spoil it.

The time cooking, the time waiting, crept along agonizingly slowly, until it was almost six o’clock. I’d invited Lauren over for six exactly, telling her I wanted to talk and we could make some dinner, maybe watch a movie. I could barely peel my eyes from the clock, watching it slowly change from minute to minute as I put the finishing touches on the Chicken Parmesan and transferred it into my nicest serving dish.

Six o’clock hit and I put the dish on the table, covered to keep it warm until Lauren arrived. Beside it was a basket of dinner rolls I’d baked fresh that morning and hidden amongst them was the ring, safe in its little black, velvety box. With some finishing touches on a generous Caesar salad, I was ready and sat down in my place at the table to wait.

6:15, so she was a little late. I remained patient and vigilant. Her work often went long, so fifteen, even thirty minutes was nothing really. Though, usually she’d text to say she’d be late…

6:30, rather strange, but unperturbed, I practiced. I mimed my surprise when she found the ring in the bread rolls and how to slide out of the chair gracefully to ask on one knee. It took almost six tries, nearly falling on my face each time before I finally got it right.

6:45.

I texted her, asking if she remembered our dinner. There was no reply and I began to worry. I wasn’t sure what could be keeping her. As seven passed, then eight, she still hadn’t even looked at the message. Neither had she seen any of the six subsequent texts I’d sent nor answered any of the three calls I’d made.

The food had long gone cold and I wasn’t hungry any longer, so I brought it all back into the kitchen, and started to pack it all away into containers, checking my phone in between. Finally, two and a half hours after I’d sent that first text, I noticed that Lauren had read the messages. A prompt three minutes later, I had her response.

It would seem that Lauren and I weren’t so perfect for each other after all.

Candles burned down and extinguished, the food cold and put away, the ring in its black, velvety box placed mindlessly on the counter, I dropped into the better of my two lounging chairs. I missed the sunset, missed the last rays of light brightening my room through the window and that stupid burnt out light wasn’t helping. What I could see, in the light that made it from the porch through the small living space was the framed photo I kept on a small shelf across the room. In it, my parents smiled, as though mocking me, my mother in her beautiful, white wedding dress and my father in his sleek suit. That picture memorialized the day that began their rocky at times but solid thirty years of marriage.

They had been perfect for each other.

What they had, had been what I had wanted for Lauren and myself. Even the ring I had bought for her had been similar to the one my mother had shown me when I was younger.

So now u wanna talk? You’ve

barely said two words to me for

months! It’s like uv been playing

cat and mouse with me and I’m

done. We r over. Hope whatever

it was that was more important

than me was worth it.