Unlimited Breadsticks

“Ma’am? Can I get you anything else?”

I’d long ago finished the first basket of free breadsticks . . . and the second. I fiddled with the stem of my empty wineglass, hoping the smile on my face didn’t look as forced as it felt.

“Just a few more minutes, please.”

The waitress nodded, and I looked away from the pity etched across her face. It matched those by the rest of the staff and those sitting at nearby tables.

I poured the last of the bottle of wine into my glass, gently shaking it to get the final droplets of the ruby red liquid. I’d already shifted the clean, empty plate across from me to conceal the drip that landed on the white tablecloth when I’d poured the two glasses of Merlot nearly an hour ago.

He wasn’t coming.

I’d been too eager . . . too optimistic, ordering a bottle of wine upon arrival, hoping the first glass would help settle my nerves. A bottle because, well, I’d assumed my date would show up.

I pulled my phone out again, glancing at my screen. No notifications. I sent a quick message, hoping maybe this time I’d get a response.

Who was I kidding? He wasn’t coming.

First dates were awful. First dates with someone you’d never met in person before were the worst. Sure, I’d used a picture from two years ago as my profile picture on the dating app, the only difference now was my showing roots, but they weren’t that bad.

My phone chimed and I lurched to open it, my desperation near palpable as I swiped to open my messages. It wasn’t from him. But my heart didn’t drop as I typed back a response to my best friend, happy I had someone to check in with me.

I placed my phone facedown on the table, staring at the empty space across from me. Embarrassment seeped from me in waves, but I’d been damned if I let a good bottle of wine go to waste. It would be treason, really. Against what, I didn’t know. Perhaps against Dionysus, who was the only Greek God that mattered tonight.

I’d give myself ten more minutes. I’d finish the last of my wine, pay the kind waitress and leave a generous tip for not kicking me out long ago, and stumble the two blocks home where I could mope in peace.

The waitress returned when only the final dregs of wine remained in my glass, quietly placing the bill next to my elbow. The glass across from me still remained untouched, but I took my cue, grabbing a handful of bills from my wallet.

Dating sucked.

There was no good way to handle being stood up. No graceful way to leave a restaurant full of people who’d watched you drink a bottle of wine alone casting sidelong glances as they ate their dinners. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something had come up . . . but he’d confirmed our date only hours ago, and ghosted me when I’d both texted and tried to call him to make sure everything was okay. I told myself it wasn’t the end of the world, that this didn’t mean there was anything wrong with me. That maybe, out in the big wide world, there was still someone special waiting for me.

The door to the restaurant swung open, a deep voice cutting through the ambient chatter around me.

“I’m here. Sorry, I’m late.”

I looked up, relief sweeping through me at the familiar face and dark wind-swept hair of the man approaching me.

“Hello, love.” He kissed my cheek, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes as my best friend sat across from me, assessing the scene before him. “I’m sorry for being an awful boyfriend this evening.”

I snorted. We tried dating once before, eons ago while we were still in high school. Nothing serious, just doing what society and our parents expected—childhood best friends expected to date. It didn’t last long as we realized that I liked boys and so did he, lusting after the same people more often than not. But no matter what, we’d always been there for one another—through the good, the bad, and the ugly. We lived nearby in a studio loft, the rent ridiculous expensive even though we split the cost.

I gestured to the glass of Merlot in front of him. “That’s yours if you want it.”

He was already reaching for it before I finished speaking. “If I want it? Like I’d say no.”

The waitress looped back around, face carefully guarded as she regarded the newcomer across from me.

“Glad to see you made it.” There was a clipped undercurrent in her tone, and I wondered how many times she’d seen people stood up. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

But he turned his attention to me. “Did you eat anything?”

“I ate a lot of bread,” I admitted, my finger dancing in the lingering crumbs on my plate. "And butter."

“Better than nothing.” He grinned. “Do you want food? Dessert?”

“No. I just want to go home and put sweatpants on.”

The waitress’s face softened as she realized the dynamics between us, that it was a friend and savior across from me, our conversation an easy banter instead of the generic exchange of a first date. A hint of a relieved smile crept across her face. “Just the glass of wine, then?”

He nodded, lifting his glass to clink it against my empty one. “Just the wine.”

Thanks for reading! Cheers!