27. Dinner at Eight

          Later that Saturday afternoon Thad came up to me when I back out working in the yard and asked if he could take me to dinner that evening.

          “Really? And what’s the occasion?” I asked, holding my rake suspiciously. He seldom treated me; he seemed to think that was more within my bailiwick.

          “No occasion.” He smiled. “I just thought it would be nice.”

          I agreed and he smiled and went back inside.

          My raking because seriously more introspective after that.   

          We had a default Chinese buffet restaurant that we ate at on Saturday nights when he didn’t feel up to being adventurous or I just wanted comfort food. The place was a hole-in-the-wall, decorated with the typical red and gold dragons, scenic pictures of the Forbidden City, and gargantuan fat people. The restaurant was not in a very glamorous part of town, but the food was good and the Asian waitresses were always overjoyed to see us.

          “Welcome back, welcome back,” the perk Chinese server said, seating us in a broad American-sized booth.

          We went to help ourselves to the buffet immediately, coming back with overstuffed plates of lo mein, dumplings, beef broccoli, moo shu pork, pepper shrimp, and fried rice.   

          There was small talk, but it was very small. I resented him for wanting to move out. I could not overlook that, and buying me a plate of noodles was not going to change that. At least I could look at him now, albeit with hate in my eyes. I felt so disavowed, and knew through his Thadworld goggles he could not for one damn instant fathom why.

          “Hey, get this.” Thad said which a snort. “The other morning when you were at work, I was cleaning up around the house, getting ready to make lunch. And I had made the bed and was picking up clothes and just junk and throwing stuff away and throwing stuff over my shoulder and tossing things in the hamper, when I remembered that we were out of milk. And I was like ‘Oh, no!’ because I was going to  make mashed potatoes to go with the meatloaf for lunch.”

          He looked at me wide-eyed, and I realized he was now telling the dinnertime story. So not only was he buying me dinner he was also offering the meal’s entertainment. I softened, as he was trying, and I did appreciate that.

          “Yeah,” I said, giving him the green light to continue. 

          “So I was in jeans and that bright red sweater you got me in Italy, and I just slipped on some shoes and ran up to Homeland. Anyway, I walked in and the checkers all just stared at me and like there was something wrong, and then some of the people checking started looking at me weird, and I didn’t really think anything about it except maybe they were admiring my new fashionable Bettina hairdo.” He smiled and shook his head as he batted his eyes. Bettina had done some sort of horrifying Justin Bieber aberration to his head, but he loved, so I had just played along. But it made him look like he had a recently slain muppet taped to his head.   

          “Yes, it’s very fetching Clara Bo.”

          “Thank you. Bettina did a very good job. So I walked back to milk and as I was standing there one of the workers-the short guy with the big butt-you know who I mean?”
          “Yeah, the Little Big Lady Butt Guy?”

          “Yes. So Little Big Lady Butt Guy just walked by staring at me with his mouth open. And I started to think, ‘What is wrong with these people! Have they never seen a cute haircut before?’ But I didn’t say anything to him, because he and his Big Lady Butt have always scared me. And I was about to leave when I decided we needed scallions for the potatoes, so I went to vegetables and there was this little old lady smelling onions, and she literally almost fell down craning around to watch me walk by. And at that point I wondered if I had forgotten to put pants on or something, but I looked down and everything was covered. And I looked back at her and she was staring at me over a big pile of beefsteak tomatoes, and I just frowned at her as much as I could and stomped off up to the registers.”

          “Yeah?” I said, entertained.

          He smiled broadly and took a breath to continue, “So the tall hunky brunette guy was checking me out.”

          “Robert.”

          “How do you know that?” He stopped dead in his story.

          “They have name tags. He’s worked there about two years. He always talks to us when we’re there. I think you went to high school with him.”

          “I did not.”

          “Are you sure? Maybe you just forgot and you actually made out with him at a party and later tried to sell him weed out behind the band building.”

          “Oh, ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Becky never should have told your mother that.”

“But she did.” My ire was creeping out.

“Fine, whatever,” Thad said with a dismissive wave of his fork. “So lookit, Robert is checking me out, and he’s just looking at me all funny, like craning his head and bugging out his eyes, and I literally am just about to yell ‘What the Hell is wrong with you!?’ when I reach over to get my wallet out and as I turn my head I see that I have one of your giant dirty white tube socks hanging over my shoulder.”

          "You're kidding?" I burst out laughing.

          “No! And there I was,” Thad continued loudly, “thinking everyone was looking at my new fabulous haircut, when they were just looking at this filthy white tube sock of yours that I must have picked up off the bedroom floor and thrown over my shoulder and meant to toss into the hamper, but instead wore to the store like it was some kind of crazed Michael Jackson epaulette, brandished against my bright red sweater like I was an insane person!”

          We laughed uproariously.

          “So what did you do?” I wheezed between breaths.
          “I just bugged out my eyes, burst out laughing, and ran out of the store.”

          “You’re kidding? You didn’t even get the milk?”

          “No!” he stammered between breaths, “And I didn’t tell you becasue I was so mortified! But that’s why on Tuesday you didn’t get mashed potatoes with your meat loaf, just Pizza Flavored Combos!”

          “I thought meat loaf and Pizza Flavored Combos was a weird choice!”

          “I was just too embarrassed to tell you…and now I’m so mortified I won’t go back into Homeland!  I’m scarred! Scarred I tell you! All because of one of your dirty tube socks!”

          We laughed till we cried. We laughed so hard the table next to us looked over, and then the next. But I didn’t care. I had not laughed like that for a few days. It made me feel alive again. 

          “That is so hilarious…” I said once I could catch my breath. “So, so hilarious.”

          “I know!” he said wiping his eyes. 

          We both breathed heavy for a few minutes and ate a few more bites before I just blurted out, “I don’t want you to move out.”

          “I know.” He said soberly. “But it won’t be bad.”

          I looked him the eyes and saw there not a hint that he would budge. That crushed me inside. I was not going to be able to win this one no matter how much I sulked or fought.   

          “Then I guess I will just have to deal with it,” I sighed. The resignation hurt, but I didn't seem to have another choice.

          “It’ll be fun,” he said, upbeat. “Don’t worry about it. You will see me just as much as always, I swear.”

          He then changed the topic to talk about Ma’am and her latest run-in with the law: she apparently had been pulled over after running a stop sign in Nichol’s Hills, no driver’s license, no insurance card, and a Mai Tai in a big glass in hand. And somehow she got out of it with only a warning.

          As we talked, I could tell he was working to be sweet as possible, to ease me into the change. I didn’t want to, but I made myself pretend to enjoy the evening.

          All night he was charming, and all night I just wanted to cry.