Under the Table(42)

“This isn’t about the food, Zoey. Do you remember Kristin, from the night we met?”

“Hard to forget the only other woman in the room.” Zoey sighed. A good veal and cream sauce was going to go to waste being fed to that little slip of a thing. She could picture the plate coming back into the kitchen with all the vegetables being picked out and the rest of it going into the trash. Tristan was too preoccupied to catch her frown.

“I got up the nerve to call her and ask her out for dinner last week.”

He had taken Kristin out on a date. Zoey had been eating her weight in comfort food for over a week while he was out having fun. She had done so well on her little makeover project, and the final outcome was like a sudden and unexpected punch to the gut. At least there was one saving grace: she had never made her true feelings known. She had managed to save face, even if she was going to spend the next week in bed, crying until there were no tears left.

“It was a horror show. She’s educated and knows a lot about a lot of things. But conversation kept reverting back to politics and current events, stuff I don’t feel comfortable with.”

“Nobody should bring up politics on a date.” Zoey’s face scrunched up in what she hoped looked like aversion, while she was secretly pleased as punch at his misstep. “Talk about a mood killer.”

“I thought that maybe you could stay in here and if I get stumped on something, I can rush in here and ask you.”

“I don’t know diddly about politics other than it can turn any family dinner into a brawl.”

“You’ve got to know more than I do.”

He did have a point there. Zoey stuck the tip of her pointer finger into her mouth and began to chew at her cuticle. She forced her hand back to her side before she drew blood.

“This sounds like a backward Cyrano de Bergerac.”

That solicited a smile from Tristan. “It does, doesn’t it? Only there’s no love triangle going on.”

Yes, there was. He just didn’t realize it.

“Can’t you segue the conversation to art and literature? Things you know about?”

“I tried. But she’s an activity person, likes the outdoors.”

“What about golf?”

“She plays tennis. And it looks like golf is a sticking point for her to boot. All the guys at work play and she’s never invited.”

“Music?” The vision of him as his Aerosmith alter ego flashed before her eyes. She cursed herself.

“That’s a good one! I’ll use it tonight.” He brightened, which hurt her case more than helped it. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You can throw me lifelines when I need them. I felt so lost on our last date, I almost had a panic attack in the middle of dinner.”

Zoey wondered if he knew he was pulling at her heartstrings. Then she wondered if he kissed Kristin good night.

“I can’t begin to list all the ways this is a bad idea. You should start a relationship as the real you. It’s more than enough, trust me.”

He spoke like he hadn’t heard her. “Please, Zoey? You can name your price to stay. And if you hadn’t told me to not watch the news, I’d at least know some of the things she’s talking about.”

She didn’t think he had it in him to play the blame card. To remind Zoey that she was partially responsible for the mess.

“By the way, I did start watching the news this week. You’re right. It’s depressing as hell,” Tristan added. “But I don’t think it’s going to be enough. You’re my rock, Zoey. I need you here.”

Zoey tried one last time. “Okay, that’s fine. But hiding me is dishonest.”

“Not if she doesn’t know you’re here and I don’t bring it up.”

Zoey shook her head at her own disgrace. She had successfully turned a wonderful upstanding spirit into every other self-serving human on the planet. If his next sentence turned out to be “You owe me” she might start to cry. There would be plenty of time for tears. But right now, she needed some income, and that meant swallowing her pride.

“This is the first and last time I’m going to do this,” she relented.

“I just need to get one successful date under my belt.” Tristan’s optimism returned with his relief. He was oblivious to her turmoil. “If I can get through one date without breaking out into a cold sweat or passing out, I’ll be golden. Thanks, Zoey, you’re a good friend.”

“You’re welcome.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Now please step away from the fridge, so I can get started.”

He didn’t notice her curtness. She couldn’t help noticing he had already done most of the prep for the meal. She’d be spending most of her time watching pots boil and skulking behind the doors whenever they opened. She drew the line at sitting on the floor behind the island or pushing herself up against the wall. Zoey put on one of his aprons and went to work while Tristan paced the apartment. She tried to keep her head down and focus, but she would look up every time he made a lap by her, leaving the familiar trail of Old Spice in his wake. It was the only thing she recognized in the man she’d originally met.

“Why don’t you go put on some music?” Zoey suggested, mainly to give herself something to listen to other than the voices in her head telling her all the ways she could ruin his evening. Dangerous thoughts to have when handling raw meat. Or holding a knife.