How not to fall in love
Answer: Don’t go to a sushi buffet.
Long answer:
It was the first time we properly met since the “move”¹. Him coming to pick me up after my lessons, picking up Mexican after didn’t count.
He was… still is* hyper-sensitive about which restaurants we go to. He’s convinced that he will win brownie points with me if he picks the nice, right ones. (It’s true!) So after our afternoon workout, we had to pick a dinner place.
After fruitlessly searching for an elusive seafood stew place, he settled on a hip sushi buffet. It was the kind of place that scaled down the hotel buffet into something not quite edible. In any case, we had to wait twenty minutes to get in. If I hadn’t been hungry walking to the restaurant, I sure was now. We set down our stuff and I promptly whisked off to grab everything on view. We got our first plates full, and then polished them off in no time. I got up for my second plate first, then sat down before he got back.
Then he returned with an extra saucer of soy sauce and wasabi.
I should explain: I’m a big wasabi fan. More like, my family are big wasabi fans. I don’t reach my mom’s levels of wasabi obsession (her soy saucer is basically green) but I err on the side of more wasabi in most cases. But that day was too much. I had underestimated the pale green (fake) wasabi of the buffet. He had noticed the subtle scrunches on my face, how often I was reaching for the napkins. He had also noticed I was running kinda low on the soy. He took all that information and returned with a new saucer with less wasabi and more soy.
It was a small gesture, yes. But it meant volumes to me. He cared enough to notice all those cues, he remembered to get it on his way back. And most of all he didn’t show off that it was a big deal. He thought it was perfectly normal to care and do things for me.
I smiled so bright, and he didn’t know why.
¹ I moved last week, and the house is still a mess. Construction still not quite done. So I missed out on the 3/9 post. But whatever.
