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Quality Time

Despite being built in 2014, the restaurant was styled after an old factory. Dark wood, exposed brick, and musty vintage furniture everywhere. Somewhere, a speaker played acoustic guitar to cover up the echoey din from the duct-lined ceilings. It didn't help; all the forks dragging across custom ceramic plates and chatter was loud enough to deafen.

Our waiter scrawled down drink orders, pen scratching back and forth. I could feel a headache building in my temples.

"Would you like any appetizers?"

"No-"

"We'll take an artichoke dip," Suzie said.

I inhaled sharply, trying to count to 10. Everything here was too expensive. The waiter slipped off, scratching as they went.

Suzie turned to face me, hands folded expectantly, and blinked two or three times. I used to think the habit was cute. "You've been ignoring me."

"No I haven't." I had been.

"This is the first date we've been on in two weeks."

"I took you to the library on Tuesday."

"Doesn't count. You had your head in a book the whole time."

That was the point. I shifted on my stool, trying desperately not to fall off. "If you didn't like it, you could have said something."

She paused for a moment, biting her cheek. "I need to have a serious conversation with you."

It was finally coming. Suzie was going to break up with me. I would never have to see her again.
I tried to relax my face. "What is it?"

"I think we should go on a couple's retreat."

One, two, three... "Sorry?"

She straightened in her chair. "You've been distant lately. We both agree on that. I think what we need is more quality time together."

She stared at me, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. More time together?We had spent 47 of the last 90 days together. I had counted.

Suzie's mouth turned to a grin. "I could get us in for next weekend."

I needed an excuse. Not money, Suzie paid for everything. Not a time conflict, we both knew I had nothing better going on.

"I can't. Allergies."

Her smile fell. She bit her cheek again, harder. In the yellow-y light she looked sickly. "Why won't you just admit it already?"

Admit what? That I hate her taste in music? That every time I see her, I'm exhausted afterwards? That my stomach lurches every time she touches me?

I kept quiet.

"I don't get it. What did I do?" Her voice was breaking. She was going to start crying, I knew it.

"Nothing." That was the truth.

The first tear rolled down her cheek. She turned away and lifted her glasses to dab her eyes with the napkin. She hated crying in front of me.

The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. "I'll go. I'll get an antihistamine."

She lit up instantly, grabbed my hand from across the table. "Really?"

"Really."

She fumbled her glasses back on, beaming again. Then she leaned over and kissed me. "We'll get our chips to go and we'll eat at that Greek place you like, okay?"

All I could do was nod.