Page 55 of Ambiguous
“As a head-on collision. I don’t like pie.”
“Are you un-American?” he accuses, then chuckles. “I guess you are. Well, pretend I’m force-feeding you pie. What would you do?”
“I’d eat some, to be polite.”
Sam scowls and massages his temples. “No!”
“Why not?”
He throws out his hands. “Because if you genuinely don’t like something, you shouldn’t have to eat it.”
“Okay. Then I’d lie and tell you I was full.”
Pursing his lips, he gives me a mock glare that makes me laugh. “Do you really think that’s the right answer?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “No. I’d just say no, thanks.”
He slow claps. “Right. Was that so hard?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I mean, the public. Anyone.”
“Pretty sure that’s unrealistic.”
The waiter comes and puts our starters down. We pick up our forks, and Sam says, “Okay, you don’t like pie. You might be the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t like pie. What else?”
“Pancakes and maple syrup.”
His mouth drops open. “You are so different.”
“I’ll eat them if forced, but I’m choking them down. Or, I guess if I’m following your advice, I should politely decline instead.”
“Wow. So, your tastes are not the same as mine.” He shakes his head. “What’s something not food-related that you don’t like.”
“I’m not a big fan of cynics or critics. Or when everyone else is drunk or stoned and I’m not.”
“Okay, I agree with you about all that. What’s something you like?”
I answer him, and we pass the time easily, enjoying our entrées and chatting. Until he looks at his watch.
“Sorry, Jules. I have to head back to the office. I can put this on the firm card.”
Which reminds me that this is a professional lunch. And I remind myself that he’s dating someone else.
“I’ve got it,” I say. “I invited you.”
“Then thank you.” Sam’s eyes are sincere, and they make my heart ache and confuse my brain. He stands up to go and then reaches down, squeezing my shoulder. “This was nice.”
“Yeah, it was.” I look up at him and manage a smile.
If only he would admit he’s taken.
If only I could ask.
He leaves, and I watch him go, then take out my phone and start typing into my notes app.
There. That’s a much healthier way of coping with disappointment.
My phone buzzes.
