A Table for Two

She taps her foot on the floor at an anxious pace, seated alone at a table set for two. Despite the fact that every aspect of this restaurant's environment has been fine-tuned to ensure a totally relaxed experience--from the light seventies soul playing unobtrusively in the background, to the dim warm light emitting from crystalline chandeliers hanging high above on mirrored ceilings, to the leisurely pace at which the handful of present servers make their way about the dining area, carrying bottles of Pinot Grigio and Zinfandel with which to refill their patrons' glasses--the performative quality of it all somehow contributes even more to the nervous knot which has been forming in her stomach since she first stepped inside the establishment. Three years at least have passed since she has been active in the dating scene, and it is looking like her first attempt to reenter is going to result in another no-show.

She checks her phone for what she figures is probably about the twentieth time in five minutes. It is nearly a quarter till eight. The reservation was booked for seven o'clock, and she hasn't heard a single word from her date in hours. Setting her phone back down, she tries to play it cool as she wipes off the excess sweat from her palms onto her skirt. Her server approaches.

"I see you're still waiting on your friend. Would you like a glass to go with that?"

"You know what? Screw it, I think I will." She picks up the wine list and scans the offerings. "Let's see...I'll have the Washington Merlot. A bottle."

"Right away," the server says with a knowing wink and departs.

A bottle? What does she need the whole bottle for? But after a moment of thought she decides she doesn't regret the decision. If her date never shows up, at least she got something good out of the night. She'll have a couple glasses of Merlot and enjoy an appetizer here, head back home, maybe polish off some more of the bottle there, and then dance the night away with some Whitney Houston until she crashes from sheer exhaustion. She's certainly had worse nights than that.

"Hi! Oh my god, you look great!"

She almost jerks in her seat at the unexpected greeting, but after turning around she sees her date now standing before her. He's still in his work clothes, a dark three-piece suit with a maroon silk tie pinned to his shirt by a silver clip. She breaks out in a smile.

"Thanks, you too! You sure took your time getting here," she teases.

"Oh, it was a disaster," he elaborates as he takes his seat across from her. "They needed me to stay in at work a tad late today. I was fine with it because I was still going to make it to dinner on time, but since I decided to head straight here instead of stopping at the house, I didn't have my phone charger on me. I didn't even realize my phone was about to die before I was already halfway here, and then the cherry on top of it all was getting stuck at a railroad crossing for literally over half an hour."

"Quite generous of you to construct such a detailed fable for me. But I probably still would have forgiven it had you just admitted you forgot." She grins.

"The brilliance of your humor is even more evident in person," he replies, grinning back at her. She tries to refrain from blushing, but she's not sure if it is working. He certainly looked like no slob in the pictures on his dating profile, but now as he sits before her she realizes she is already developing a little bit of crush on this man. Is it his hair? His smile? The fit of his tailored suit? Her own desperation?

"Your bottle of Merlot." The server has returned and now sets down two glasses on the table. "Ah, glad to see you made it here after all," he adds, acknowledging the newer guest and presenting the bottle of wine to the couple. "Can I interest either of you in a glass right away?"

"Please," both answer simultaneously. The server uncorks the wine and pours their glasses. Appetizers are ordered by the pair and the server steps away.

He reaches for his glass and has a sip. She follows suit, taking a moment first to catch the aroma of the Merlot before she puts it to her lips. Just like a true wine snob, she thinks to herself. She almost feels silly for it, but the scent of the drink is actually quite pleasing. After taking a sip, she decides she likes it and has another.

He sets his glass back down and picks up the bottle to admire the label, which features an image of a red devil dancing about in flames over a black background. Strangely, absent from the label is any mention of the winery that produced this bottle. "Huh, a little fruitier of a flavor than I expected. Oh, it's a Washington."

"Hey, any wine is good wine by my book," she proclaims, raising her glass.

"Except Riesling. I'd rather off myself than down a glass of that nasty stuff."

"I don't even know what Riesling is," she admits sheepishly. They both break out in laughter.

"So I realized I haven't said it to you yet," he says after each has taken a few more sips, "but you look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Why thank you." She averts her gaze momentarily, tucking her hair back behind her ear, and then looks back up to lock eyes with him. "I'm just going to come straight out and stay it. You're a total stud. Like wow."

He rolls his eyes and suppresses an awkward smile. "Please."

"Oh god I'm sorry, that must have sounded weird. I promise I didn't have any to drink before you got here. This Merlot must be like a twenty percent or something! I swear I'm not usually like this."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's been a while since either of us have been on a date. This can be a mutual practice round."

"I like that, a practice round. Certainly doesn't apply any additional pressure to the situation."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that--"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" she reassures him with a smile. "In all honestly I could use the practice."

"As could I, I'm sure," he admits with a humble smile. "My sincerest apologies, but before we continue our practice round I first need to find the restroom. Do you know which way it is?"

"I believe it's over there," she points.

"Thank you, excuse me." After he has left, she eases into her seat a little and basks in the moment. So far, this is on par to be the best dinner date she's ever been on. Not that there is a lot of competition for that slot in her history. But she finds herself feeling truly happy, something she honestly was not expecting out of this night. All she knows is, it's been a long time coming. She congratulates herself with another sip from her glass of Merlot and really savors the taste this time, trying to pick out all the different flavor notes as listed on the bottle before she lets it go down. About half the glass has disappeared by now, and she is already feeling a pretty decent buzz from it. Picking up the bottle, she takes her turn admiring the label and the image of the dancing devil. It is almost as if she can feel the same flames burning within her now, derived from some combination of the wine with the anxiety and the romance of the whole evening. This night has been too perfect.

But then a certain detail from her date's story now presents itself once again to her consciousness. He mentioned being stuck at the railroad tracks--what railroad tracks? She has lived in the area for many years and has passed this restaurant more than once. She knows where the nearest railroad lies, practically in the next county. Sure, it makes sense that he would create some fib to cover for his tardiness, but why would he run with such a specific and inaccurate lie? And now a wave of nausea suddenly hits her as the very thought of railroads and trains and flashing lights at a crossing make her sick to her stomach with a particular sense of dread, though she couldn't say why. If this railway doesn't even exist, why does the idea of it fill her with such an impending feeling of doom? Her date has not yet returned from the bathroom, but she desperately needs to be out of this place now. She takes her purse and is about leave her seat when their server returns to the table.

"Hello miss, I see you have been enjoying the wine. Would you like another bottle?"

She looks at the bottle and it is completely empty now. Her drunken mind spins into confusion as she tries to stand up from her chair, holding onto it to keep her balance. She knows she didn't drink the rest of that bottle. Something is not right here. She needs to get back home.

"Please miss, have a seat," says the server calmly, ushering her back into her seat. "We must not disturb the other guests. I can see you are not well, I really think another glass would do the trick." He shows off another bottle bearing the same hellish image on its label.

"I really can't, I...must get home," she slurs. "My date will get...the check, please...just let me go home...."

"I'm sorry miss, but you are home! Don't you remember?" He uncorks the bottle of wine and begins pouring her a glass.

She slumps down in her seat, weighed down by overwhelming exhaustion and sickness. She is home. He's right...the railroad tracks....

"I'm sorry, but what's done is done!" the server informs her cheerily. "The moment you die you get reassigned to your eternal fate immediately, no do-overs. If I were the one making the rules I would certainly do things differently, but you'll have to take that up with the big guys at the top. Although based on your record I don't see a very good chance of reassignment. They tend to take driving under the influence pretty seriously up there."

The blare of the train's horn screams in her memory. It was just another lonely night, another couple bottles of the cheap stuff, another midnight joyride to the dive bars on the other side of town . She hadn't even wanted to die that night. If she had been attempting suicide, she could have found an easier way to do the job. Now killing herself isn't even an option. She gazes once more upon the fiery image of the leaping devil on the bottle as he pours.

"Have some! You'll enjoy this one, I promise," he tells her when he has finished. "It's a better year." She takes a cautious sip, expecting it only to add to her sickness. Instead she finds her mind clearing after taking it in, and her vertigo rather begins to dissipate.

"That's very good, thank you!"

The server nods and moves on to the next table. She has more of the wine, and her mood begins to improve drastically. Whatever had her a worrying a moment ago has completely fled her memory, and now all she can concentrate on is the dinner awaiting her. She checks her phone. Nearly a quarter till eight, and she hasn't heard from her date in hours. She taps her foot anxiously and takes another sip from her glass of Merlot. Dating is hell, she thinks to herself and laughs.