“You got it! Nice to see you,” the server said to Josh, going off to put in their drink order.
“You know her?” Sarah asked.
“I’ve run into her a couple times. We use the same vet. Also, Providence.”
“Can’t swing a cat without hitting someone you know.” Sarah settled back. “Don’t you hate when they say, ‘Are we ready to order?’ Like it’s the three of us having dinner?”
“I never really noticed.”
“Drives me crazy. ‘How do we like our dinners?’ ‘Do we want dessert?’ I feel like I’m three and my mother is saying, ‘We love broccoli! It’s our favorite veggie!’” She laughed and after a second, Josh smiled.
The waitress came back with their drinks on a tray, set Josh’s wine before him, then slowly, slowly attempted to get Sarah’s cosmo to her without spilling a drop. It was filled to the rim, and Josh stared, hypnotized as she lowered it closer and closer to the table. The pink liquid shook, but didn’t spill. Would she be able to manage the surface tension of the liquid?
No. As she set it on the table, it sloshed just a bit.
“So close!” she said.
“Um, I hate to be a pain,” Sarah said, “but I said very faintly pink. Do you mind taking this back and getting me another one?” She was already handing the glass back to the waitress.
“No, no, not at all. I’m really sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s the bartender’s.” Sarah smiled, though Josh could tell it wasn’t a real smile. Once, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Lauren had taught him so much. The waitress went off to replace the drink.
“So,” Josh said. “Any . . . summer plans?”
“Other than visiting your place? No.” She flashed a smile. He hadn’t planned on inviting her to stay just yet. The house was a mess at the moment. Would it be rude to tell her no?
It would be. He nodded, forced a smile and wished he’d brought some index cards.
“How was Singapore?” she asked. “You only said that it was a good trip. Tell me about it.”
And so he did, and he tried to give details, the way Lauren had once instructed him. He told her about the beautiful city, the impressive Chiron headquarters, the orchids of the botanical gardens, the food.
“I would love to go there someday,” she said. “I’m not really well traveled.”
The server was back, and this time, the drink was neither spilled nor too pink. “Are we ready to order?” she asked, and Sarah gave him a wink.
“I’ll have a Caesar salad, no anchovies,” Sarah said.
“There are anchovies in the dressing,” the server said.
“I know that. I just don’t want little fishes lying across the lettuce.”
“Got it.”
“And I’ll have the petite filet, medium, which means I want it pink and warm in the center.” Yes, Sarah was a woman of firm opinions and clear instructions.
“And your sides?” the server asked.
“Instead of the crispy potatoes, I’d like the mashed, and a side of asparagus.”
The server scribbled furiously, then turned to Josh. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the grapefruit salad and the salmon,” he said.
“Great choices. How are we doing on drinks? Oh, gosh, I just brought you yours. Sorry. Um, let me know if you want wine with dinner! Okay!” Off she went again, her long ponytail swinging.
“She’s nice,” Josh said.
“A little chirpy,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. She took a sip of her drink. “This is not Grey Goose,” she sighed. “Is it really that hard?” But she smiled.
“Tell me about when you were a little kid. Did you always want to be a social worker?” It was a dumb question.
“How are our drinks?” said the waitress, there again.
“They’re great,” Sarah all but growled. To her credit, it hadn’t been thirty seconds since the drink was delivered.
“Super!” The waitress was like Tigger, bouncing off. Josh and Octavia had watched a Winnie-the-Pooh movie last week when he babysat the older two kids. That had been a fun night.
“So you were asking if I always wanted to be a social worker.” Right. He should be talking with Sarah. “Truth is, I didn’t really know what that was when I was a kid. In high school, I wanted to be a psychologist, but the money for a PhD was too much, so I went for the master’s of social work. Did an internship for social services. I loved it. I hated it and I loved it, you know? I mean, no one who works in our department totally loves their job, but—”
She kept talking, and Josh nodded in what he hoped were the right spots.
Lauren thought this would be a good idea, he reminded himself. First dates always sucked.
Well. His and Lauren’s had not. But comparison was the thief of joy, as Teddy Roosevelt had once said (and Lauren had often quoted him). She’d loved that guy. Who didn’t?
“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked.
“Oh. Uh, Teddy Roosevelt.”
“Am I boring you?”
“No! Sorry. Just . . . never mind.”
Sarah seemed to be done talking about her job. Maybe she’d ask him about something. It was kind of her turn.
“Watched anything good on Netflix lately?” she asked. The waitress brought their salads, smiled and left.
“No. No, I don’t watch much TV.” He used to, when he was married. It had been cozy then, sitting on the couch together, making out, handing Lauren tissues when she cried, because she loved the sad, sappy movies. He opted not to mention his first two months as a widower, when he’d watched thousands of hours of television. Still, he should say something. “The Great British Bake Off and Star Trek reruns, mostly. The original TV show.”
“Are you kidding?” Sarah asked. “Oh, Josh. They’re so hokey! The new movies are so much better. That one with Benedict Cumberbatch? I loved that one.”
The old series was not hokey, but he didn’t want to get into an argument about it.
“How are our salads?” the waitress asked.
“Fine. Great,” Josh said, though he hadn’t had time to pick up his fork.
“Excellent.” She beamed and left.
What had they been talking about? “Have you seen anything good lately?” Josh asked.