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The thought had never crossed my mind, but now I’ve got Cam in my head, standing there staring at me with his arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot like I told you. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I shout. Michael looks startled by my volume. I decide it’s time to guzzle more wine and do so with gusto. The waiter reappears, asking if we’d like to order something to eat. Michael takes charge. “Yes. We’ll each have filets, rare, and we’ll share the Caesar. And another bottle of wine.” “Very good, sir.” The waiter bows off, Michael reaches for his glass, and I sit in misery, wondering how this could have gone so wrong so fast. I hate rare meat. I’m allergic to anchovies. When a man orders food for me without asking what I want, I don’t feel taken care of, I feel disrespected and honestly
- Writer
