A waitress claps her hands right next to us, startling us both. “Is everything okay over here? Everything to your liking?”
Maggie turns and gives her a look so scathing, the waitress immediately backs up and jabs a thumb behind her. “You know, I’m gonna go check on those main entrées.”
“Thank you,” I call after her retreating figure.
Maggie tilts her head back and groans. “Well, that’s one way to get our food out sooner. My intensity strikes again.”
We avoid eye contact for a minute, and I know I’m going to have to at least attempt to help her understand where I’m coming from. “Esther does the best she can.I’mdoing the best I can. That doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing.”
Maggie purses her lips. “I’m sorry if you felt judged by my question.” She studies me before returning to her salad with a focus it doesn’t merit. She’s thinking about something that’s making her mad.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Everything. I feel like I’ve come at this from every angle, and it doesn’t help. Your ability tododge a question is legendary. I end up feeling bad for asking or just plain forgetting I asked until later.”
“What do you want to know?” I sound tired, even to my own ears. She does come at me from every angle. It’s how she processes things. But my therapist agreed with my plan to go slow, to not let my guard down with any one woman until I was sure it would be worth it. That last session was two years ago, and I felt prepared to move on with my life. But planning is different than executing. Is it time to open up when someone begs for it, like Maggie is doing now? Because this is definitely not on my timetable.
“I want to know if you’re in this.”
When I don’t answer right away, she moves on.
“You introduced me to your kids as your ‘friend.’”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what that feels like? The nanny is held in the highest esteem, while I’m temporary. I’m Daddy’s friend, who will not be in the picture soon.”
I don’t know exactly what she’s feeling, but it can’t be worse than the way I’m feeling now. I’ve always prided myself on my good decision-making, but in one sentence, she’s demonstrated why every relationship I’ve had since Esther has been doomed to fail. Maybe I wanted them to fail. I do look at them as temporary, maybe even as a threat to my stability.
I’m three steps ahead of this conversation to the ultimate conclusion: me plus love equals failure. Case closed.
She aims her fork at me again, but this time, it’s not to point out that I’ve abandoned my salad. “And don’t think I don’t know you celebrated Wyatt’s birthday without me.”
“You told me you hated kids’ birthday parties!”
“I do! But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are!” She slaps the table. “You’re so nice, Liam. It’s infuriating. Nice and completely closed off. I’d blame your parents, but I haven’t met them.”
“Would you like a free appetizer?” Our waitress is back, and she has an entourage. Or maybe a protective detail. They all looknervous but hopeful. I’m nervous for them. If they break out in song right now, I’m not sure what will happen to us. Maggie looks like she might cry, and the woman never cries. She’s the toughest person I know.
The dish is sizzling, and they warn us to stay back while they set it down. It’s a sampler platter with glazed shrimp, scallops, and little tartlets carefully layered. It’s nice of them to give us this as a stalling tactic since our entrées obviously aren’t ready. Maybe someone ordered this and then suddenly had to leave.
Maggie takes it all in and then turns to our waitress. “This is lovely. Would you please send it to that family over there with the three teenage boys? Liam here loves surprising people with big appetites. Don’t you, Liam?”
I nod. “I sure do.”
“He also loves uninterrupted conversation.”
They take the hint and quickly move the appetizer platter over to the surprised table across the room.
And just when we’re getting back to the conversation at hand, mainly that I’m not what Maggie was hoping for and all my instincts are wrong, we’re inundated with the grateful appetizer-recipient mom, dad, and grandmother, who come over to say hello and thank us. The boys do not come over. They’re busy stuffing their faces.
“It’s a sign,” Maggie whispers in my ear while I’m taking a group photo for them and trying to get the flash to work on the cell phone I’ve been handed. “I’m asking for my food to go and calling an Uber. Don’t forget to see what’s right in front of you when you get home. I bet she’d break up with her boyfriend for you.” She kisses my cheek and heads over to tell the waitress to box up her dinner.
When I go to call her, she’s already left me a text message.