Table for two

“I don’t think I should eat, I’m meeting my friends later for dinner.” She said in a matter-of-fact statement, but her eyes darted around the different items on the menu like a predator scanning for the easiest target to prey.

“OK, but I’m going to have my coffee and my cake, perhaps ice cream”

“I’ll just have a milkshake” Resolutely, as she placed the menu down on the table in a triumphant way — having conquered temptations of the sinful desserts that screamed for her attention.

While we waited for our orders, she started putting her elbows on the table — her hands clasped among each other as she placed her chin on it. Her eyes closed, and as she breathed in the different sweet, savory smell that surrounded us — I can only imagine what it’s like for her, to finally be free.

“Here is your milkshake, your flat white and…” As the waiter placed our drinks on the table, he instinctively placed the ice cream in the middle of the table along with two identical spoons.

“Thank you” I said, as I reached for one of the spoons.

“Well, if you changed your mind — this extra spoon is yours” As I held the spoon up, and placed it to her side of the table.

Her eyes were fixed on the spoon, with her face still resting on her clasped hands — her eyes followed the motion of the spoon, her face angled slightly as the spoon finally came to rest on the table.

After I placed the spoon on her side of the table, I reached for the other spoon and started to dig into the ice cream that sat between us.

“I hate you.”

She broke her rigid posture, unclasped her hands and with a smooth motion — she grabbed the spoon that I laid, soon enough we were both taking our time enjoying for what became ‘our’ ice cream. Careful not to let it melt, conscious to make it last forever.

“I know”

And that is how; I know that perhaps I am on the mend.