A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,21
entertain me with conversation that bores you. I really do not want you to ever be hungry again for the sake of maintaining social norms. Thank you for picking a restaurant you know I love, but you have to get something out of it, too.”
“I am getting something out of it. I want to make you happy.” That is all I have to go on. None of my old script applies to Olivia, apparently.
She squeezes my hand that she is still holding. “I already told you exactly what will make me happy.”
“We cannot both be happy at the same time,” I argue.
She blinks at me. “Why not?”
So many reasons. Best to use a tangible, easy example. I gesture to the table. “You like Brussels sprouts. I do not. You enjoy fine dining. I prefer a quieter atmosphere without the scent of seafood fouling the air. You want me to do what makes me happy, but I have learned not to be selfish. If I give you want you want, then I will be acting like a bad person. Like last night.”
Like the last fourteen years.
She makes a groaning noise that does not sound at all pleasurable and throws her head back so that it is lolling behind her chair.
A few of the other patrons glance at her with frowns.
“Olivia,” I whisper. “You are not being socially appropriate. Please sit up.”
She straightens immediately, wearing a frown of her own. “What if we compromise?”
I am eighty-two point three percent certain she is not suggesting we take turns being happy. I have already pointed out how that plan will not work. In hindsight, I might have been too hasty. It would defeat the purpose of doing whatever I must to make her fall in love with me if we both cannot be happy at the same time. If I achieve my goal, then we will both be happy at the same time. If I do not achieve my goal, we will at least share a child together, so we will still be best friends until death do us part.
“Oliver.” Olivia taps my thigh where our joined hands are resting. The waiter has already cleared our plates. “I’d like to stay for dessert. It’s the whole reason I love this restaurant so much, and I want to share it with you.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. This situation I am very familiar with. Women often want dessert, but they do not want to appear gluttonous, so they insist on sharing. I choke down a few bites to maintain appearances, but they usually enjoy the rest.
“Of course, Liv. Whatever you want.” I mean this genuinely.
Her eyes sparkle with happiness, so I am happy again, too.
She places her order for a disgusting concoction called an angel food grilled cheese sandwich.
I am a fan of grilled cheese sandwiches. Just not for dessert.
I remain silent and keep my questions to myself because it is my own fault that I am ignorant. I did not even glance at the dessert section of the menu.
Olivia does not try to fill the silence between us with small talk. She stares out the windows again. But when the waiter places the admittedly beautiful appearing plate in front of her, I can see her muscles tremble with visible excitement.
It is a smorgasbord of various colors and textures. Berries, ice cream, slivered almonds. Lo and behold, it does resemble a sandwich with two slightly browned slices of angel food cake surrounding what appears to be a cream filling.
Olivia scrapes away the almonds and berries and slices into a pristine white piece of the confection. She holds the loaded fork up, dangerously close to my mouth.
I am in unfamiliar, dark waters again. No woman has ever tried to feed me, and I am grateful. My tastes favor blander food, and certain textures have the unfortunate power of making me gag.
“You’ll love this, Ollie,” she whispers. “I promise.”
“Feeding each other is inappropriate behavior,” I whisper in response.
“It’s not,” she assures me. “It would make me very happy if you’d at least try a bite. If you don’t like it, you can spit it into your napkin discreetly. I won’t be offended, and I don’t want you to lie about it.”
Liv has never lied to me, so I owe her the courtesy of the same. With much trepidation, I open my mouth then close it around the offered morsel.
The typically gag-inducing cream is offset by the slightly crunchy cake. It has a delicate flavor—not too sweet and