Left Drowning

“What? You’ve never been here?” Christopher’s jaw might as well have fallen open. “Good Lord, girl, we need to fix that right away. This is practically a rite of passage. You certainly can’t graduate this spring if you haven’t eaten here. C’mon. I’m buying you lunch.” He swings open the door and waves me through the entrance.

After grabbing a menu from the rack on the wall, he leads the way through the maze of tables. The way that he moves is clean, almost stealthy, and soon we are sitting at a table buried at the back of the restaurant. The room is all wood and brick with no windows, and it’s incredibly dark despite the perfect weather outside. The hard bench that I sit on gives me a good view of the space, but because I have my back to a wall, Christopher has only me to look at. I spend a full minute wishing we were sitting in opposite seats.

He holds the menu in his lap and smiles playfully at me. “So, Miss Blythe, what part of the world would you like to visit today?”

“Um … What?” What is he asking me? I assume I am missing out on a joke that most people would get. “I don’t … I don’t know what you mean.” I feel incredibly awkward.

“Pick a country. Where would you like to go?”

For God’s sake, I barely leave my dorm room on most days, so the idea of foreign travel is not exactly at the top of my fantasies. “Greece?”

“You don’t seem very sure about that.”

I fidget with the zipper on my sweatshirt. “Greece,” I repeat more definitively. “Santorini.”

“Pick one more.”

My zipper digs into my hand as I pull it up and down. “Brazil.”

“Ah. Carnival.”

“Yes. Carnival.”

He flips open the menu. “I’m not sure if we can get as specific as Santorini, but you never know here at crazy Artemis Piccola.” He scans the page in front of him. “Ahhh. Based on your choice of locations, you will be having a gyro followed by the feijoada.”

I reach across the table and take the menu from his hands. What kind of place is this? The menu is a freakish collection of dishes that have nothing whatsoever to do with one another. Spicy tuna maki is listed right after vegan lasagna, and the specials are an African curry (choice of meat!) and a bacon-mushroom bison burger. I clear my throat. “And where are you going today?”

“Nowhere.”

I look up and frown. “Why not? Is the food that horrible?”

Christopher leans back in his chair. “No. I’d rather stay right here with you.”

“Oh.” I feel heat rise in my cheeks—although I can’t quite place the emotion. Excitement? Embarrassment? Whatever the feeling is, it’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Feelings this intense make me undeniably nervous. I wonder if there is any chance that they serve liquor here. A shot or five of ouzo to go with my gyro might help me. I glance down. “So something local then. A cheddar cheese omelet and … what else? A whole cow? Is that Wisconsin-y enough for you?”

“Perfect!” He snatches the menu and makes a rather loud display of snapping his fingers while he calls out, “Waitress! Waitress!” He leans in conspiratorially. “The service here is atrocious.”

I cringe as he begins banging his fork against the water glass. And just when I thought he might be perfect.

“Do you have to do that every goddamn fucking time you come in here?” A thin young woman with closely cropped black hair appears at our table. Her voice is level, but the cursing makes her irritation obvious.

“Yes, I do. Otherwise you might ignore me and let me simply pass out at the table from hunger.”

She sneers. “If you weren’t making such a racket, I’d be more than happy to let you fucking collapse. What do you want?”

“I don’t want to hear my little sister say fucking, and I do want to introduce you to somebody. Estelle, this is Blythe McGuire. Blythe, this is Estelle. My eternally cursing sister.”

Estelle puts her order pad and pen in one hand and reaches out with the other. “Pleasure to meet you. You must have incredible strength of character to be out dining with Christopher.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” I say, fully aware of my messy hair and baggy sweatshirt. Especially next to Estelle, who is positively stu

“Are you two hungry?”

Chris starts to order, but is interrupted by a booming voice that comes from the entrance. “Christopher Shepherd! Have you stolen my girlfriend already?”

Chris shuts his eyes and laughs. “Go away! Go away!”

Sabin storms his way to our table with the fakest angry look that I’ve ever seen. “I ca

Chris rolls his eyes. “Hi, Sabin. How are you?”

“How am I? How do you think I am? I’m devastated, that’s how I am!” He pats Estelle’s arm before sliding into my booth and throwing an arm over my shoulder, glaring at his brother. Sabin drops his head onto my shoulder and lets out an exaggerated sob. “When did you get your nasty claws into my sweet girl? I was not expecting to have been so wronged by both my brother and my lover at once. I must try—no, I will win her back, you scoundrel!”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Sabin? As of earlier this morning, weren’t you in love with someone else?”

He pulls away. “Was I?”

“Yes. Chrystle, right?”

He slaps his forehead. “How quickly one forgets when caught up in the beauty that is Blythe. Yes! The fair Chrystle. I shall thus return my sights to her and leave you to the clutches of this less-than-dashing knight.”

Chris folds his arms in front of him. “Dude, get a grip. And don’t date anyone whose name sounds similar to mine. It’s creepy.”

“Well, shit, I hadn’t thought about that. Chris, Chrystle… .” Sabin pauses and frowns before regaining his theatrical air. “Oh, the tragedy! Clearly I ca

Estelle taps Sabin’s foot lightly with hers. “That’s enough. Leave Chris alone. You’re wrecking his perfectly nice date with a very tolerant girl.”

Sabin swings his head my way again. “My apologies. But I must warn you. While Sir Christopher may have an excess of charm, he will most certainly break your heart.” Sabin looks at his brother, serious for the moment. “I guarantee it.”

Chris gives him a warning look before his face softens. “Knock it off. Blythe and I are friends having lunch. Stop being hysterical.”

I reach for my water glass. “We just kind of ran into each other at the lake. And then we ended up here.”

“Whatever you say. So this means that Blythe is fair game again,” Sabin teases. “Okay, kids. I’m going to blow this international joint and get a giant pizza from Gia

“I won’t. I promise.”

Sabin high-fives Chris and kisses Estelle on the cheek before hurtling out the door.

“I’d apologize for him, but it’s just hopeless,” Chris says to me as he hands the menu back to Estelle. “So I think that Blythe will have the gyro—”

“Nope, sorry. Didn’t you see the sign? Today is Irish food only.”

“Again?” Chris groans.

“Anya, the owner, is a fan of themes,” Estelle explains to me.

As if on cue, the lights dim and hymnal music blares through the speakers. A flash of light causes me to blink, and as I ease them open again, I find myself just inside the edge of a projected image coming from an old film reel. I peek to the left to see grassy hills and views of an Irish landscape floating across the wall, as well as my face and body.