by Alona Jarden
"No, thank you." She smiled at him.
"And for you, Don? Your usual order?" He turned to me.
"Your usual order?!" She widened her beautiful eyes with spectacular rage toward me. "I thought this is your first time in this restaurant."
"Um... Well, maybe it's my second or third time here. Definitely not a regular thing." I looked back at the waiter. "Yes, kind sir. I'd love to have my regular dish. Do you remember it? Chicken salad with fat-free vinegar sauce on the side, remember?"
"No, that's not it!" His confused look disappointed me. "Don’t you usually order spaghetti with meatballs in creamy"
"No, you're wrong," I interrupted him. "I always eat the chicken salad with fat-free vinegar sauce on the side, because it's healthy."
"No, you don’t. Since when is that your regular order? I'm willing to bet that—"
"You know? There's a reason why I haven't learned your name yet. It's because I'm not really sure you're in the right profession. How many times do I have to order the same freaking salad for you to remember it, huh? Chicken salad with fat-free vinegar sauce on the side, please." I winked exaggeratedly at him.
"Ah... Okay." He finally got it.
"And no croutons this time. Please make sure there are no croutons in my regular chicken salad," I said to him aloud as he walked away. "A man is trying to adopt a healthy lifestyle, and people keep pushing croutons in every dish he orders." I returned my attention to Michelle. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"
"Don, I'm not stupid," she said, stating the obvious, but I let it slide. "And you don't have to change yourself for me. If this is your favorite restaurant and you want to eat spaghetti and meatballs like you usually do, please eat it. If that’s what makes you happy, there is no reason to avoid it."
"But you said I could see you only if I took on a healthy living lifestyle, right? Well, there you go. Chicken salad with fat-free sauce on the side."
"Yes, but—"
"I know, I know. Those dammed croutons..." I nodded as if irritated. "But as you heard, I told him to leave those out."
I was so glad I got her laughing again. It seemed that everything was working according to my plan. She showed up, she sat down, she smiled and even laughed. Everything worked according to my plan, until suddenly, without any warning, I completely lost control of the situation.
"Don, I'm sorry, but I probably led you on."
"Oh, never apologize for that. Wherever you lead me, I'll follow willingly."
"I shouldn’t have set conditions for you to be my date, because love isn’t really an option for me. It was a mistake to hint that it was, and this date is a mistake as well."
"I disagree, but if that's your opinion, I won't argue with it."
"I really am sorry for that," she murmured quietly.
"You have nothing to be sorry about, Michelle. We tried. We gave it a shot, but do you know what they say about mistakes?"
"What?"
"That you should never make the same mistake twice."
"And what does that have to do with our situation?"
"If this date is a mistake, we probably shouldn’t repeat it. And if this is indeed our last date, I think we should take advantage of this evening until its unavoidable end, don't you?"
"I'm sorry, Don. You're adorable. Really, you are, but I have to go." She stood up and avoided looking directly into my eyes as she continued to break my heart. "I just came here to tell you that I wanted to cancel our date. There's something about you that makes me do the opposite of everything I decide to do, but I have to be strong. I’ve decided. I’ve decided to live a healthier life, and it starts with me being true to myself."
"And you can't do that sitting down?"
"I can't do that sitting across from you. I'm sorry. It actually has nothing to do with you, but I must go now, and I'm sorry to say I intend to refuse any such offers coming from you in the future. I have to walk this path of mine alone." She left me speechless, turned away, and started toward the exit of my favorite and regular restaurant.
Chapter 11
Michelle
On the one hand, I was proud that I did what I went there to do, without getting confused by him. But on the other hand, I was so disappointed that I gave him some poor and cowardly excuse instead of telling him the harsh truth.
Every time I took two steps forward toward finding my true voice, I sent myself one step backward, silencing it. Two forward, one back. Though it's a beautiful dance, it wasn’t going to get me closer to achieving the goals I was determined to achieve.
I thought I was going there to find my strength. I believed that by coming out of my comfort zone, I would face my true powers, but I as hard as I tried, I continued to revert to old habits. I did exactly what I always did and said what I always said.
I wanted to confront Don and walk away with dignity and integrity. I could have stayed home and continued texting him, but I chose to face him proudly and speak my mind aloud, yet when the moment came, I replaced my honest truth with a gentler one for fear of hurting his feelings or for fear of him thinking badly of me. I said what I thought would be easier for him to hear rather than simply explaining that on the journey I intended to take, I couldn’t concentrate on anyone but myself.
Why did I have to mumble something confused about my ability or inability to be true to myself? I must have made him realize I wasn't who he thought I was. Damn it!
"Thief!" Don screamed at the top of his lungs like the insane guy he turned out to be, just seconds before I left the restaurant. "Stop her! Stop that drop-dead gorgeous woman! She's a thief!"
"Madam?" The hostess raised a suspicious eyebrow at me.
"I... Umm… He…" I tried to build my stumbling words into a sentence in my head and failed.
"She's leaving without paying! She ordered some dishes, yet there she goes. Arrest her right away! She's a danger to society!"
"Have you completely lost your mind?" I growled at him, embarrassed and stunned, then turned my gaze to the hostess. "We both know I'm not a thief."
"Even so..." She looked amused. "I'm going to have to ask you to stay."
"Look, I understand that he’s a regular customer here," I said, shaking my head in frustration, "and if you've known Don for more than five minutes, you've probably learned that he's an idiot."
"I definitely know Don. I know him very well, but I don't think he's an idiot, ma'am." She smiled calmly and didn't at all make me feel that I was being accused of something. "I'm sure there's some kind of misunderstanding or confusion."
"There's none of that. He's just talking nonsense. He just doesn't want me to go, and I really want to go, do you understand?"
"I do. Really, I do, yet if you'd be willing to sit back at the table, I'm sure we'll get to the source of the problem."
"Please don't make me go back there," I whispered and walked closer to her so I could explain my position in as much privacy as possible, taking into consideration the fact that I stood at the door of the restaurant, and all eyes were on me, for being called a thief. "I finally found the strength to walk away. I just broke up with him, and I'd rather just go home, so now, do you understand?"
"Yes, sure." She signaled with her finger to the security guard standing outside the restaurant, and he folded his arms demonstratively, blocking my way out. "Why don’t you come with me. Please sit back and talk to Don a bit. I believe you'll soon be able to go home, or maybe change your mind and decide to stay." She winked at me.
"I can't believe it! Are you guys working together? Did he plan this delusional scene with you in advance?" I was surprised that an amused smile stretched across my face.
"Oh, my dear, scenes like these can't be planned. This is pure Don Denver magic, and you don’t seem like a stupid woman to me. I'm sure you figured out that I'm trying to stop you from doing something you'll regret later. Be smart, cutie. Go back and sit with my favorite customer, because getting up and leaving now would be a really stupid act. Are you stupi
d?"
I don't know for sure what made me walk beside her, back to Don's table. I guess I gave in to her request or maybe deep inside me, I really did agree that going home would be a mistake.
"Hi, Michelle," he greeted me as if I had just arrived for our date, and the whole evening was still ahead of us. He smiled so casually as if I hadn’t said I chose to leave him just a moment before and as if he'd never burst out in a loud and embarrassing scream accusing me of stealing. He just sat and smiled, bright and happy, as if I wasn’t glaring at him with tremendous rage mixed with an involuntary smile.
"Hi, Michelle? Is that all you have to say to me right now?"
"Yes. Hi. That's what came to mind and now... Now it's your turn."
"My turn to do what?"
"Now, you say something. I'll probably respond with a reply full of funny wit, and you'll formulate your snarky response, then we'll get to the inevitable stage of our date where we get to know each other better. Whether if at the end of this date we'll fool around a little in my car or not, is entirely up to you."
"You publicly accused me of stealing, and 'Hi Michelle' is the best you came up with?" I cleared my throat and sat down at his table for lack of energy as I gave up on my attempts at running away.
"I realize it's not as witty as your 'It's not you, it's me' bullshit, but I'm standing firmly behind my choice of words. So... Hi, Michelle." His smile broke my last hope to maintain a serious facial expression, and I allowed myself to roll with laughter.
The waiter placed the dishes we ordered on our table, and Don did as he promised. He told me a little about himself. I listened to the way he spoke more than the words he said and was filled with admiration for him. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how he did it. How could he feel so secure in his body? He must have weighed at least—
"...And I know this will make you sad, but I must announce that for now, that's all I'm going to say about myself. However, you'll be glad to hear that it's your turn to decide what we'll talk about next. Ask me anything."
"How much do you weigh?" The lightness with which he was handling himself made me feel that my question would not be perceived as impolite.
"The last time I stood on a scale, I weighed two hundred and thirty-one pounds. That was a great question, Michelle. I really feel like we're learning more about each other. Now, ask me something else. Anything."
"How did you get to be such a moron?" I giggled with a relaxed feeling that was different and pleasant to me.
"My mom says it's genetic and that I got it from my dad. I have to say, I really like where this conversation is headed. I'm feeling very positive about the short canoodling session at the end of the evening. Seriously, I have a good feeling about this date, Michelle."
"It's not a date and stop calling it that. It's freaking me out. You might have set a date unilaterally, but I canceled it."
"You did?"
"I did."
"So, you're claiming we're not on our second date at this very moment?"
"We most definitely are not."
"Hmm… Let's think this through. Don't you usually sit in a restaurant on a date?"
"I don’t go on dates, but if I would have, then, yes, though that doesn’t mean that—"
"And is it true that on such dates, one does not order what one wants to eat, but rather what one wants others to see him eat? Something like a chicken salad with fat-free sauce on the side, no croutons, and no flavor whatsoever?"
"Those aren't the only characteristics of determining if this is a date or not."
"Oh, I got it! I know what will determine if this is a date or not! Tell me, Michelle, is it true that most of the time you spend at my company, you feel embarrassed and look for appropriate places to bury yourself?"
"That I do! That is an exact description of my current situation." I smiled.
"Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but it sounds to me like you're on a date." He nodded dramatically and added, "And if that's not bad enough, you seem to be on this date with me!"
For a good few minutes, the conversation between us flowed without any difficulties.
None of my questions appeared to make him self-conscious or upset, and even as I found myself stuttering and contemplating which parts of my life I wanted to share with him, he knew how to help me escape with grace and changed the topic with incredible sensitivity.
"Why are you fighting what's happening between us so much?" he asked, providing yet another example of his direct and ego-free behavior, sliding his tongue across his fleshy lips, while I was trying to figure out when exactly did I start noticing his beautiful facial features.
"Because I'm fat, Don. That’s why. And I feel the need to say it so bluntly since you don't seem to have noticed that about me."
"I actually did notice that about you," he replied so casually.
"Did you? Did you really? Because I got the impression that you're completely blind in everything regarding external appearance."
"Oh, no. Rest assure, Michelle, I'm not blind. I see you very clearly."
"But how can that be? How can you see me, and my appearance not be an issue for you?"
"I didn’t say it wasn’t an issue. It is. Your appearance is of utmost interest to me, just not the type of interest you're probably used to hearing."
"What does that mean?" I was wondering if that was a good time to be offended.
"You know how when you look in the mirror, you don't dare to look at your lower body? You just try as hard as you can to focus on your face, and only glimpse at the rest of you?"
"I do." I was amazed to hear him share some of the typical behaviors of overweight people because until that moment, he seemed to be unaware that he, too, suffered from obesity.
"So that's what happens to me when I look at you, Michelle. I can't see anything past your beautiful mesmerizing eyes."
"Oh, that's is a terrible cliché." I blushed.
"It may be so, but it's the truth. Of course your appearance is an issue. It's just that I really like what I see."
"I wish I could see myself through your eyes," I suddenly blurted out.
"Me too."
"How are you talking about these things so frivolously and without any ill feelings?" I looked down for a moment and continued without making any eye contact. "My appearance haunts me through each moment of every day. But you..." I smiled and took a deep breath before I finished my sentence, "You act like you're not fat at all."
"Am I? Fat? Do you really think I'm fat?" He slid his palms on his big belly and chuckled.
"Don!" I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm trying to be serious. You know you're fat."
"Really? Do you honestly think that about me?"
"Oh, God, please tell me you're messing with me. Please tell me I didn’t just hurt your feelings by calling you fat."
"May I ask at what age did you start to gaining weight excessively?"
"What does that have to do with—"
"Humor me." He stretched his arms out to the sides of his big body.
"It started to become noticeable in elementary school, but basically, I've been fat for as long as I can remember."
"So, I'd be correct to say that you grew up as a fat person?"
"You would be an asshole to say that, but a correct asshole." I didn’t like the taste of my own medicine, but I also didn’t have the right to complain about it, so I just played along, hoping this topic of conversation will soon change.
"So, you're actually fat." He stated the obvious.
"Well done. Way to hit me back, Don. Your conclusion of me is simply amazing. Say, would I be correct to say that you grew up with no manners?"
"No. You'll be wrong to say that. As a child, I was actually very polite. While we're speaking of how I was raised, I guess now is a good time to mention that I didn't grow up as a fat person." I opened my mouth to give him a nasty piece of my mind, but he rushed to continue and didn’t allow me to utter a single word. "Listen carefully to w
hat I'm saying, because I'm answering your question, Michelle. I didn’t grow up as a fat child, I wasn’t a fat student at university, I didn’t get married as a fat guy, nor did I get widowed as a fat guy."
Okay. If I ever felt obnoxious and insensitive at any time before in my life, this was the moment that topped them all. The moment when I called a charming and vivacious man who lost his wife “fat,” while he didn’t see himself that way.
"Um... This is an embarrassing moment, so I'm just going to pass over it." I wrinkled my chin and went on. "Were you one of those skinny boys I hated to see?"
"Oh, I wasn’t skinny, Michelle. I was finger-licking hot!" A proud smile snuck onto his face, and I could already imagine him capturing the hearts of any young girl he desired. "I know you probably can't see it now, but I swear it's true, and It's still what I see when I look at myself in the mirror."
"You know what..." I tilted my head to its side and placed my hand gently on his. "I believe you. It actually explains a lot of things that were puzzling to me."
"I'm not sure what you got from my short story, but if it made enough sense for you to place your hand on mine, and indirectly invite me to a short make-out session in my car at the end of this evening, I'm glad."
"This is not an invitation to anything." I quickly pulled my hand away and smiled ear to ear. "I just mean that... You know how there's a saying that being fat is a state of mind?"
"Yes. I've heard it once or a million times before."
"Well, ever since I met you, I couldn’t understand how you didn't have the behavior of a fat person."
"Is that a compliment or...?"
"It's a compliment, Don." I smiled. "It explains a lot of things, and it's definitely a compliment."
I had never felt as comfortable with a guy as I did when I sat across him.
His eyes focused flatteringly on mine in a soothing kind of way. There wasn't a moment of awkward silence between us, and if I hadn’t been ashamed to admit it, I would have told him that some fooling around in his car no longer seemed like such a bad way to end that date or whatever I chose to call it.