Your hands are limp on the wooden table. It’s like you don’t know what to do with them, dude, like suddenly they’re snakes. She doesn’t notice because she’s picking the capers out of her salad. You’re both looking down, but I’m looking right at you, neck strained and eyes wide so if you happen to glance up, you’ll get the hint. I’m trying to scold you. This is supposed to be a date!
It’s too quiet, guys. I’m next to you and maybe you’re cool with it, maybe you’re all “comfortable in the silence” and Zen, but I’m sweating watching you. I can’t even enjoy my tempeh burger.
I want to hear laughter and secrets. I want to hear talk about date #2. I want to feel hope for you as a couple, feel the affection simmering on a low heat, and by the time I go, I want this place to be on fire.
The whole meal, you barely speak. The waiter comes with the check; he’s given up, too. But you throw everybody off, surprising her so much that she gasps, by ordering a molten lava cake (good choice). Her eyes meet yours. They glimmer. Here is your chance. My frustration morphs into softness, it spreads through me because I caught this moment. A connection being made.
Now you’re vulnerable. Now you’re saying yes. Now you’re scared, because there is something on the line. It’s harder when you’re open, I know, but it’s the only way. And you look cute together. And this could work. And I’m nervous also!
And now you won’t shut up. You’re all stories and giggles. I take a big bite of my lunch, and tune in to your voices. It’s almost enough to drown out the lastima I feel for this brand new love.
p.s. When in doubt, go chocolate.
p.p.s. Neither of them had their phones out. So they were paying attention when the spark happened.