“My food’s still pretty hot,” said Pete. “I think I’ll wait for it to cool off.”
“Me too,” I said.
We both took some more bread, nibbling on it and staring at the wall.
“I’m Cassie, by the way,” said our waitress. “I might have already told you that.”
“Nope, I don’t think so,” said Pete.
“I’m Emma,” I said, “and this is Pete.”
Pete chewed his bread in silence.
“So are you two married?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you the guy from that vacuum cleaner commercial?” asked Cassie, a sudden spark of recognition in her eyes.
“No,” Pete said immediately, stuffing more bread in his mouth.
“You aren’t? Yes you are! You totally are. If you aren’t, then what do you do? Answer me quick.”
“I’m an IT guy.”
“Oh,” she said. “Listen you two, I have to go before I get caught sitting here or before one of those fucking fiddle players tattles on me. Just flag me down if you need anything. Can you pay soon? I’m going to try to leave early.”
“Yep,” said Pete.
She removed herself from our booth, ignoring our empty drinks, and disappeared into the ladies’ room.
Pete flagged down a different waitress and ordered another round for us, and then, finally, we each took a bite of our meals.
“Worth the wait,” I said, savoring a chunk of carrot covered in rich, peanuty deliciousness.
“Do you want to try mine?” Pete asked.
“I don’t eat meat,” I told him.
“How did I never know that?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Do you want to try mine?” I asked him.
“I’ve had it before, but thanks.”
I cringed a little, waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions about what had made me do it: Were my family members all vegetarians? Was I raised in a cult? Was I grossed out to see people eating meat? Could he finish his meal or should he order something else? Did I consider fish to be meat? What about chicken? Were those real leather shoes I was wearing? Yes? Then why didn’t I just eat meat if I was going to wear leather? Did I think I was superior to meat eaters? Maybe just a little? Did I sneak some when no one was looking? Were my reasons for health, or the environment, or religious, or spiritual, or ethical, or something carnivores hadn’t even thought of yet?
To my relief, Pete just took a bite of his goulash and said, “That’s cool.”
“Uh oh, here she comes again,” I whispered, as our waitress came slinking our way.
“Listen you two,” she said, “I’ve got to go now.” She lowered her voice and added, “It’s time.” She reached one of her arms over her shoulder, twisting and cracking her back. She repeated the motion with the other arm.
“No problem. Could we have our bill?” asked Pete.
“Didn’t I give it to you already?”
“No.”