In with the New Baby

“What can I get you?” he asks.

Amanda orders a chocolate shake, raving about how good they are to the server, and I ask for just a Coke.

“Sure thing,” he says and looks at me. “Would you like something to eat? We have some wonderful burgers.”

“Sure,” I say, although I have to bite my tongue from saying, So I noticed, since that’s all you have here, other than the two flavors of shakes. “What about you, Amanda?”

“I’m all set. Just wanted that shake.”

She says it as if she’s trying to remain professional, as if ordering a burger with a patient she treats at the physical therapy center would be a cardinal sin.

I order a Molten Lava burger, so named because it comes with fiery habanero peppers and pepper jack cheese and who knows what else.

“That sounds good,” Amanda says, and I know she’s tempted.

“Come on, have one with me,” I tell her. “It’s just a burger.”

Not a wedding ring. Yet.

“Alright,” she acquiesces, and then orders a regular Pete’s Burger.

I guess she has simple tastes. But I like it.

“Thank you!” the waiter says and turns to leave.

“Someone really likes you,” Amanda says.

“What are you talking about?”

“That waiter,” she says and lifts her chin in his direction. “He’s obviously gay and finds you attractive.”

“Oh, come on,” I say.

“No, it’s true.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

Lots of people like me. Men, women, gay, straight, bi — I don’t care. In fact, I like the attention.

“But I do want you to like me as well,” I say.

That’s all that really matters to me, now that I’ve met her.

Amanda says nothing and looks down at Rex.

“Listen,” I say. “Once again, I really want to apologize for being such a dick to you.”

She says nothing.

The server returns with our drinks.

“Your burgers are coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Amanda sips her chocolate shake while saying “Mmmmm,” and it’s a turn on even though I know she doesn’t mean it to be. We look across the street, where a school bus full of kids empties out in front of some kind of hippy museum.

“That’s fine,” she says, in response to the apology I’d just issued for the second time.

I say nothing.

I watch the kids entering the museum. Chaperones and teachers make sure they adhere to the buddy system.

“It’s so nice to see kids so eager about learning,” she says.

I look over to see them, but my eyes grow blurry.

“If you mean learning about beatnik poetry, then yeah,” I agree.

“It’s an art museum,” she says.

“Oh. That’s right.”

I had seen the place a hundred times but couldn’t remember.

“Can’t you see the sign out front?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“I don’t believe you,” she says.

“No, I can.”

“What is it?” she asks and places her glass on the black marble table. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t want to say anything.

“Lincoln,” she says and puts her right hand on top of mine. “Tell me.”

I sigh and look over at the kids again. They’ve disappeared into the museum — that I can tell — but it’s all mostly still a blur.

“My eyesight is bad,” I say.

I look up at her and give her my best sad puppy-dog look, one which I hope rivals Rexie’s.

She looks at me, says nothing, and takes a sip of her shake.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” she says. “It makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

I down the rest of my drink and look around for the server to order another one. Just then he comes over.

“Hello again, sir,” he says. “Would you like more Coke?”

“You read my mind.”

“Be right back.”

Pete’s Burger Joint definitely has good service – I’ll give them that. I’m beginning to see why Amanda likes this place. There is beauty to simplicity.

I look at her and repeat my question.

“I said, what do you mean?”

“All those blows to your head,” she says. “It makes perfect sense.”

I start to sweat and feel sick to my stomach. Part of it is that I haven’t eaten, but between the knee and now my eyesight?

“Listen,” she says. “It could be that or it could be just age. Eyes wear out as we get older, just like all of our body parts. Why don’t you get it checked out?”

“No,” I say. “I’m sick of fuckin’ doctors.”

“Alright, then, it’s your loss.”

“What’s my loss?” I ask.

“Go get your eyesight checked out, and then you can ask me to dinner.”

“What do you call this?” I ask her.

“Lunch.”

I lean back and smile.

“Oh, I didn’t know I was supposed to ask you to dinner as the next step.”

“You don’t have to,” she says. “But if you do….”

The server returns with our burgers.

“Enjoy, guys,” he says, before leaving again.

I bite into my burger, which definitely lives up to its name. It is spicy.

“I’m hungry as hell,” I say to Amanda, as if to change the subject off of my bad eyesight.

Although I want to keep it on the subject of our next date, that’s for sure.