Chapter 13 - The Dinner Bag Became Something Else Entirely
Two years after the anniversary, Bellini’s asked me to redesign their upstairs dining room.
Life has a sense of humor.
I almost declined.
Then accepted.
The owner had no idea what happened in Dante’s office.
To him, I was an architect whose work he liked.
Perfect.
I spent four months redesigning the room.
Warmer lighting.
Curved booths.
A small open kitchen.
On opening night, Maya arrived carrying a paper dinner bag.
I stared.
“What?”
She grinned.
“Trauma exposure therapy.”
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my wine.
Inside were fries from a place across the street.
“Very elegant.”
“Thank you.”
We sat in one of the new booths.
The bag between us.
For two years, paper bags had sometimes pulled me back to that marble office floor.
The sound.
The sauce spreading.
Dante saying my name.
Tonight, it was grease and fries and my sister stealing ketchup.
That was healing.
Not forgetting.
Reassigning meaning.
Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzed.
Dante.
Rare now.
CLAIRE AND I ARE ENGAGED. I WANTED YOU TO HEAR IT FROM ME, NOT SOMEONE ELSE.
I stared.
Maya watched.
“You okay?”
I checked.
Actually checked.
“Yes.”
I replied:
Congratulations. I hope you’re both happy.
Dante answered:
Thank you, Lena.
Nothing more.
Maya lifted one fry.
“To choices.”
I smiled.
“To better ones.”
We clinked fries.
May you like
Ridiculous.
Perfect.
