Page 22 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“I think it looks good,” Jess says. “Maybe there’ll be room for a fish tank now?”
“Oh yeah, great idea,” Ethan says, instantly forgetting about the toys. He goes over to assess the new space, measuring it with footsteps just like Dan would do. “Can I get a pet axolotl?”
Jess pulls a face at me, like she doesn’t know if she just helped or made things worse. “What’s for dinner?” she asks, striding toward the kitchen.
“Can I, Mum?” Ethan asks.
“I don’t know what an axolotl is,” I call back, following Jess into the kitchen. “I have a casserole in the freezer. Are you hungry now?” Watching her standing by the open fridge door, I swear she’s grown an inch in the forty-eight hours she’s been away.
“It’s an amphibian salamander. Kenny has one,” Ethan says, walking in behind me. “They eat bloodworms.”
“I don’t want to eat meat anymore,” Jess says, closing the fridge door. She looks down at her phone, and her eyebrows dip into a tense frown. “Sylvie says eating meat is causing climate change. She says if we’re not part of the solution then we’re part of the problem.”
“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” I suggest, suddenly feeling disinclined to cook. “Sunday-night treat.”
—
As we walkup the street to the vegan café Jess has suggested, Ethan asks, “How was fishing?” as though he’s only just remembered that I went.
“Fine. Good,” I say, reluctant to tell them much more about it. “We didn’t catch anything.”
“Give it a score out of six,” Ethan suggests.
“Six? It needs to be out of five or ten,” says Jess.
“Why?” he asks.
“Three out of six,” I tell him, opting not to factor in the journey home.
Once we’re seated in the café, Jess opens the menu, her eyes wide with delight. “Sylvie says this place is great.”
I feel as though I’m playing that children’s game Simon Says, where you only follow the instruction if Simon says it. With Sylvie Says it’s more of an internal game I’m playing with myself, where I must resist the urge to shout, “I don’t give a flying fuck what Sylvie thinks,” but instead smile and nod agreeably. It’s not a good game, it takes a great deal of concentration, and it is notat all fun. As I’m concentrating on playing Sylvie Says, a waiter with peroxide-blond hair approaches the table.
“Hi, I’m Caleb. Have you dined with us before?” he asks. Caleb is in his twenties and has luminous skin, jutting cheekbones, and a tattoo on his neck that looks like a smudged chessboard.
“No,” says Jess, beaming up at him. “It’s our first time.”
“This food looks weird,” says Ethan, staring across at another table’s meal.
“Well, just try it and you see if you like it, what’s the worst that can happen?” I tell him.
“So, you can choose to eat tapas style with a few small plates from here,” Caleb says, handing me an open menu, then indicating the left-hand column, “or each pick a larger dish from the right. It’s all delicious, so you can’t go wrong.” His upbeat energy is contagious, and I start to feel more enthusiastic about this Sylvie Says food. “Would you like to know the specials?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, watching Ethan turn the menu over twice, looking for something he recognizes.
“Would you like me to tell you the specials or rap them?” Caleb asks.
Jess giggles, and Ethan perks up. “Rap!” he shouts.
What follows has all of us laughing as our waiter tries to rap a list of dishes, which in no way rhymes or works as a rap. But he delivers it with such bravado, moving his whole body to an imaginary beat, that he has the whole café applauding.
“Do you always rap the specials?” I ask once he’s finished.
“Only for my prettiest customers.” He grins at me, then turns on his heel and dances back toward the kitchen.
Once he’s out of earshot, Jess leans forward and hisses, “He’s got serious rizz. You should ask him out.”
“Jess, he’s about fourteen,” I whisper back.
