Page 41 of Book and Ladder
“That’s … wonderful,” I say.
I scan the menu for whatever will take the least time to eat.
Blaire reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of Patrick’s.
My eyes lock on the spot where her thumb caresses his knuckle.
“... Daisy?” Franklin’s voice snaps me out of my accidental voyeurism.
“I’m sorry. What?”
I’m being a horrible date.
Then again, this disaster deserves a spot in the bad date hall of fame.
His mom is here. And I’m next to Patrick while Blaire looks at him like he’s her appetizer and dessert. But I don’t have to make the situation worse. I steel my resolve. I’ll make the most of this.
“I was asking what you were going to order.”
“Oh. I was thinking of soup and salad.”
“Oh. No, dear,” Denise says. “Franklin’s between jobs, but by choice. He’s got plenty of money. You can get a steak. Or I do recommend the pot pie.”
I smile at her. “I’m honestly not very hungry.”
She nods.
We order and I try not to listen to Patrick telling Blaire about his role in the barn fire. She seems exceedingly impressed, but also polished, so it’s hard to tell if she’s really complimenting Patrick, or if she’s just overwhelmed with the idea of him.
I’ll admit, the idea of Patrick is overwhelming. It’s the reality that’s so surprisingly disappointing.
Franklin takes his phone out and checks something.
“Emails,” he says looking up from his phone. “They’re never-ending.”
The wordemailsreminds me of BTTP. A smile breaks across my face.
“Put your phone away, dear,” Denise says. “You’re on a date.”
I wish I could say Patrick is so engrossed in Blaire’s description of the redesign she did on a home in their childhood neighborhood that he doesn’t catch that word coming out of Denise’s mouth.
But his head pivots and our eyes connect.
He silently tells me,This is your date, Clark?With his mom?
And I silently tell him,And this is yours? Miss Coordinated Fabric Samples?
His amused grin tells me my silent retort landed.
I turn back to Denise and Franklin.
Focus, Daisy.
Franklin checks his phone twenty-seven times before the meal arrives. I keep track as a sort of mental game. Denise scolds him regularly. He apologizes and tucks it away, but then it’s out again.
“Have you seen this meme?” he asks, flashing me a picture of a wild muppet-like character.
The caption says,I don’t know what my spirit animal is, but I’m confident it has rabies.
