Page 13 of Bad at Love
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll tell you mine,” I tell him. “I’ve never actually been dumped! Can you believe it? No, you probably can’t.”
“You’re very lucky,” he says, his words measured.
“Lucky?” I laugh. “I’m not lucky. It just means I’ve never actually been in a proper relationship. Can youbelieve that? I make it to the third date and then guys just ghost. You do know we’re on our third date right now, don’t you?”
He clears his throat, looking totally uncomfortable. “I am aware.”
“Right. So after this, you’ll ghost, you’ll do what they all do. You won’t even tell me that you don’t want to see me anymore, you’ll just stop returning my calls and texts, and if we finally do speak and I bring up plans, you’ll be busy. That’s the way it goes. Look, okay, sometimes I’ve gone on more than three dates but it always ends the same way.”
He stares at me in such a way that reminds me of my aunt when she was trying to deal with my panic attacks. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
I laugh. “I’m fine. Seriously. Too much coffee is what it is.”
I reach for my glass but he puts his hand out to stop me. “Marina, it’s okay. We’re just having dinner. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Nervous?” I squeak. “Who said I was nervous?”
Okay, I’m aware I’m starting to slur a bit. I attempt to correct it. “I. Am. Totally. Fine. And. Sober,” I say, extra-enunciating my words. “This. Is. A. Great. Date.”
Then the waiter comes by, putting down our plates of pasta.
It’s like I’ve never seen food in my entire life. I start wolfing it down, going through the linguine like I might never eat again.
Until…
Until…
Ohmigod.
The pasta is not going down.
It’s stuck in my throat.
Ohmigod, am I choking?
I glance at David with wide eyes.
Keep calm, keep calm, see if you can get through this without anyone knowing.
“Marina?” David asks.
I nod, my face going red, cheeks puffing out, trying to swallow down the pasta but shit, shit, shit, it’s not moving.
I’m choking.
I point at my throat as in,a little help here?
“Oh my god!” David exclaims, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to look at me and erupt into murmurs of “Good gracious!” and “I think that girl is choking!” At any moment I expect Mrs. Doubtfire to come running across the restaurant to tackle me.
But instead it’s David, who, rather calmly I might add, comes around the back of the chair, pulls me to my feet, and starts doing the Heimlich.
Thanks to his skills, it only takes two thrusts of his fist into my abdomen before I’m choking up the linguine all over my shirt.
On one hand, yay I’m alive and I think my date just saved my life.
On the other, everyone is staring at me expectantly. The entire restaurant is in a hush. I start picking off the linguine like it’s lint and then turn to face everyone with a big smile. Because I’m fine.
