Totally and Completely Fine(55)

He didn’t say anything, and when I glanced up, I found Carl—face red—staring at me.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” I said.

“You didn’t embarrass me,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

Maybe Carl was just nervous, and his coping mechanism was to be an enormous asshole.

It seemed unlikely, but I’d driven an hour and a half to get here, and I wanted a steak.

“So, Carl,” I said. “You mentioned in your profile that you’re originally from Texas.”

I half expected him to cross his arms and continue pouting, but he didn’t.

“That’s right,” he said. “Great state, Texas.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” I said. “I’ve never been.”

“You have to go,” he said, sour expression dropping away to reveal genuine interest. “Best barbecue you’ll ever have.”

Okay, now we were getting somewhere.

“What makes it so good?” I asked.

That set him on a five-minute soliloquy about the types of rub they used in Texas, and how the meat was well sourced, and how even the worst Texas barbecue was still better than most places in the country.

“And the spices?” He grinned at me. “They’re amazing.”

“Do you know what they use?”

“Paprika, I think,” he said. “But then again, everyone has their own ‘secret recipe.’ It’s considered bad taste to pry.”

I laughed.

“It’s probably from their grandma,” I said. “That’s where the best recipes come from.”

“No question,” Carl said. “No one could top my grandmother’s chili. She won first prize anytime she entered it in a contest.”

“Let me guess,” I teased. “She used paprika?”

“Precisely,” he said.

Things had gotten off to a bad start, but a guy who could talk about food was a guy I wanted to be talking to.

“Spencer—my husband—used to think that it was rude to add salt to his food, so he spent most of his life assuming that food was always bland.”

Carl’s smile fell.

“Your husband?”

I’d put in my profile that I was a widow, but maybe he’d forgotten.

“He died three years ago,” I said.

“I see,” Carl said.

Awkwardness settled around us and I didn’t completely understand why. We’d been having a good time.

When the waitress returned, things went from weird to worse.

Carl apparently had a thing about ordering food for people.

“We’ll have the Cobb salad and stuffed mushrooms,” he said.

“I don’t like mushrooms,” I said. “And I’ll have the steak and a Caesar salad.”

We were making the waitress extremely uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. “I just really don’t like mushrooms. They kind of taste like tires to me.”

A clever response might have been “How do you know what tires taste like?” but Carl just stared down at the table, like his cutlery was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

The silence just got more and more tense.

“Is something wrong?” I finally asked.

“Why would anything be wrong?” he asked.

But he wasn’t looking at me. And there was a nasty bite to his words.

“Clearly you’re upset,” I said.

“I just expected that you’d be over him by now,” Carl said.

I didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“Your ex-husband,” Carl clarified.

“Excuse me?” I asked. “Over him?”

“You said it yourself that it’s been three years.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Luckily Carl didn’t need me to respond, he was fine to just keep on talking.

“I’m sorry for your loss and all that,” he said.

And all that.

The waitress returned with our food, which was good because I was about half a second away from stabbing Carl in the hand with my fork. It was a real sharp one too—sturdy. I could have caused some damage.

At least the steak was good. I had a piece of it in my mouth when he continued his unwelcome monologue as if he’d never stopped.

“It sounds like you’re new to this whole dating thing, so I’ll give you some advice. Don’t talk about your ex,” he said. “Makes it seem like you’re still obsessed with him.”

I took a deep breath.

“I hate to tell you this, but I’ll always be ‘obsessed’ with him,” I said. “He’s the father of my child. And he’s not my ex, he’s my dead husband. There’s a difference.”

Carl sighed as if I’d just confirmed his worst suspicions.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re one of those.”

The next piece of steak didn’t make it to my mouth.

“One of those?” I asked.

“Someone who can’t let go of the past.”

“Excuse me?”

Carl gave me a look that was so condescending and paternalistic that I thought about stabbing my fork into both his hands. Maybe even his crotch.