“Good memory?” he asks.
I shrug and place the glass on the table. Truthfully, it wasn’t. It was an apology dinner for something I’d witnessed earlier that day.
He watches me for a moment before we both look at the menu. We order the same thing, fried cod with fries and one bottle of wine to share.
“Calories, Mabel.”
Shove it up your ass, Mother.
A low chatter hums around us as others talk amongst themselves. A basket of fresh bread sits in front of us. Azrael grabs a piece. “Have some butter,” I say, sliding it close to him.
He does so and bites into the warm bread. He groans. “I’m starting to understand why you humans eat so much. The food here is a pleasure.”
I laugh. “It is, but unfortunately, it doesn’t sit well with some of us.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I mean, if you consume too much and don’t exercise, it can cause you to gain weight.”
“Right,” he says. “And your mother chooses to stress over that.”
“She does.”
“Has she always?”
“Yes.”
I recall that moment in JCPenney’s fitting room. A memory I wish I could forget.
“You look perfect to me.”
I feel my cheeks burn. “Thank you.”
“Why does receiving compliments make you uncomfortable?’
I swallow, grabbing my wine glass. “I don’t know.”
“You’re beautiful, Mabel. Certainly, men fall at your feet.” His expression turns cross again, and the color of his eyes, if possible, darkens even more.
“No, Azrael, that has not been the case in my life.”
He lifts his glass, taking a sip. His eyes lighten. “This is interesting,” he says, licking his lips.
I smile. “It is a good wine.”
“It is, but I was talking about the men not falling at your feet.”
“Oh.”
“I believe you just haven’t noticed.”
“I think I would notice something like that.”
He leans in. “Darling, I nearly ended some of these men’s lives early because of how they stared at you.”
My eyes widen, and I look around the room, noticing a few men looking at me.
I swallow and wring my hands, and then a thought occurs.Why would Azrael want to end their lives because of that?