“Of course,” she said, leaning over him and pointing at his menu. “On this side are our craft beers, brewed right here in our brewery. We also have local Virginia beers. So, if you like Bud Light which a lot of people that come in here do, I’d say go with the Golden Export. It has a clean, crisp finish.”
“Sounds good,” Bishop said.
“If you don’t prefer it, I can always give you some samples of a few others that I think you’ll like. The Birdnecklace is new. It has a citrusy taste to it that everyone’s loving this summer. I’ll run grab your drinks while you look over the menu,” she said all this while she cleared several empty wine glasses and tiny white plates from the table.
“Excuse us. Guess we’ll be going.” The study-guy stood so fast, bumping the table hard enough to make the few items on top clang loudly.
Bishop gave him a stony glare that the kid had a difficult time holding. When he dropped his gaze and blinked at Royce like a wounded puppy Bishop lost any potential respect for the guy.
“Yeah. See you in class tomorrow.” Royce didn’t look at his classmates as they passed.
He’s embarrassed of me. Bishop cleared his throat and tried to give the waitress an appreciative expression when she placed an ice-cold glass of a honey-colored brew in front of him and an even taller glass of water.
“Did you want to order any food?” She waited with her tray cocked on her hip. She had on a conservative gray blouse and form-fitting black slacks. He’d never been to a restaurant where the servers dressed so nicely. Her hair was pulled in a tight bun and held with at least a dozen slender metal pins.
Bishop flipped the menu over, feeling Royce’s eyes on him the entire time. He searched for the familiar words that he’d come to recognize on most menus. Chicken. Shrimp. He was confident that any dish that had one of those two meats would be fine for him. But for some reason this menu was crazy. Is this even English? Bishop stared at the long, foreign words that he couldn’t even sound out. Gorgonzola, Caprese, Schnitzel. Fuck. There wasn’t one single illustration of their dishes except for the nasty-looking pretzel sampler on the table tent. “I think I’m good with the beer.”
“You sure?” she asked, slowly easing her hand towards him for his menu.
No. I’m starving. “I’m sure. Thanks.” Bishop waited until she was gone before he took a long swig to quench his parched throat. “I was gonna ask to take you to Golden Corral tonight. Remember we used to get high and go raid the buffet right before they closed so we’d be nice and full for the club?”
“I don’t eat at that janky place anymore.” Royce pfft’d, unamused. He finished the rest of his drink and used the black cloth napkin to wipe at nothing in the corners of his mouth.
“I see.” Bishop tried to meet Royce’s sharp eyes but he wouldn’t let him. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, trying to appear elegant as if this was exactly where he belonged.
“What are you studying in school?” Bishop asked, trying to come up with a safe topic.
“Poly sci.”
Bishop thought for a moment. He didn’t recall hearing of a major like that.
“You know you didn’t have to do that in front of my friends. I was only trying to help, Bishop. I know the menu is weird, this is German-inspired food. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Royce blurted.
Bishop had a hard time believing that Royce couldn’t see the obvious. “Why do you think I’d want you to read the menu to me like I’m five years old?”
“Because that’s the level you read on.”
“Fuck,” Bishop huffed, the blow taking him by surprise. The quickness and stinging brutality of it piercing the hell out of him.
Royce rotated in his seat. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Bishop. It’s just… you make me crazy. Seeing you right now is a lot.”
“You agreed to meet with me. If you didn’t want to you should’ve just said so.” Bishop drank some of his water, no longer wanting any alcohol. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I thought maybe we’d catch up. I just wanted to see that you were good… and now I have.”
When the waitress walked by, Bishop asked for the check.
“Are you two together?” she asked.
“No,” Royce spoke quickly.
Bishop stared at the man he used to be head over heels about. But he wasn’t his anymore. He didn’t know this man. He was someone Bishop would never be good enough for. “It’s all good. It’s on me,” he told the waitress.
“Aww. Such a gentleman.” She smiled and moved over to her next table.
“Bishop I have a friend in my Ethics class that volunteers at the Adult Learning Center. I can give you his—”