“N-no,” she stuttered, “I mean. I can’t do drinks. But maybe dinner? I’m not really familiar with the neighborhood. Maybe you can show me around?”
“You can do dinner but not drinks?”
“I’m–” Terri swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant. So, you know, there’s that. Probably not a good idea to mix the two.”
The window rushed open, throwing me off balance. I had to catch myself on the window ledge. I raised an eyebrow, shocked. That was not what I was expecting to hear at all. I supposed that would explain why Terri looked a little weary, though it certainly didn’t detract from her beauty. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the information. If she was pregnant, where was the father? As I looked about the apartment, there didn’t appear to be any sign of a boyfriend. Terri didn’t wear an engagement ring or wedding band, so it didn’t look like there was a fiancé or husband in the picture, either. Was Terri here all by herself? What exactly was going on here? Why hadn’t Max mentioned this to me? When he told me to back off, I thought he’d been joking. Something akin to protectiveness rose up into my throat, but I tamped it down and did my best to remain as cool as possible.
Terri started to nervously pick at her fingernails, her cheeks flushing a bright red. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t spoken for a few minutes, too shocked by this brand-new information.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, stumbling over her own words. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I’ve freaked you out. You’re freaked out, aren’t you? Shit, I’m sorry. That’s probably not what you want to hear after seeing someone for the first time in several years. Max reacted similarly. You haven’t gone catatonic, right? Oh my God, you probably think I’m an idiot. Who gets knocked up in this day and age, right? But before you judge me, just know that I don’t care what you think. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing, so there. If that makes you uncomfortable then–”
“Wait,” I interrupted, “what is happening?”
Terri worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I told you I’m pregnant and you’ve been staring at me for, like, ten minutes.”
“I’m not judging you, Terri. Okay, maybe the tiniest bit, but you’re right. You shouldn’t care what I think. Shit happens. I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been pregnant?”
“No,” I coughed, “I’ve been in shitty situations before. I get it. We’ve all got our own baggage.”
She raised her chin up and drew in a shallow breath through the nose. “Okay. Good. So what was with that awkward silence?”
“I was debating whether to take you out for Italian or Chinese.”
She curled her face up, adorable little nose crinkling as she shook her head. “How about Thai? I’ve got a real craving for something ridiculously spicy.”
I flashed her a toothy grin. “I could do Thai.”
As luck would have it, I knew of an excellent Thai restaurant on the corner of Saxville and West that was locally famous for their delightfully golden-brown spring rolls and homemade sweet and sour sauce. I knew the owner through his grandson, Tommy, the latter of which was a frequent customer of my garage. He was one of those self-starter kids, one of those who believed that if they hustled hard enough, they’d make a name for themselves within a matter of years.
He was a good kid, buying used cars which he then delivered to me to fix up, only to put it back on the market in the hopes that they’d turn a profit. I could recall an instance where one of the vehicles he’d brought me had actually been reported as stolen, but the kid swore it was a misunderstanding. Imagine my surprise when the cops turned up at the shop first thing in the morning with a warrant to search the premises. After we’d gotten everything sorted, Tommy brought me to his grandfather’s restaurant and treated me to a week’s worth of dinner as an apology, hence my intimate knowledge of the restaurant’s menu.
“If you’re looking for something spicy,” I started, reaching over the top of Terri’s menu to point at the upper left-hand corner, “you can’t go wrong with the chicken pad thai. You can always add a bit more siracha if it doesn’t do it for you.”
“Is it really as delicious as the pictures make it look?”
“Even better, actually.”
Terri and I were seated across from one another at a small table, located in the far corner of the restaurant. It was brightly lit, colorful painted murals decorating the restaurant walls. Busy waitstaff made their way back and forth from the kitchen, taking orders and dropping off hot meals as quickly as their feet could carry them. There were only twenty tables or so in the entire restaurant, but due to its small size, it appeared jampacked and incredibly busy. The scent of savory broths and a variety of freshly ground spices filled the air, wafting out from the hot kitchen where chefs angrily called out to one another for more basil and shrimp. The roar of ranging hood fans, the energetic chatter from nearby tables, and the clinking of chopsticks upon ceramic bowls filled the restaurant with life. We placed our order the moment our waiter could spare a second for us. He left with our requests as quickly as he’d come.