The Second Menu

Plans fell through at eight.

I was already dressed.

I went anyway.

The host walked me to a table for two

and reached across — without looking,

without a word — and took the second menu

before I'd even sat down.

Just like that. The assumption made

before any question was possible.

I watched her hand do it.

The faint dent in the tablecloth

where the menu had been.

I ordered the fish.

The man at the next table

was explaining something about a lease

to a woman who was listening

with a particular kind of patience.

I ate slowly. I didn't look at my phone.

The waiter refilled my water without asking.

A small mercy, or just his job.

The dent in the tablecloth stayed

the whole time. I thought about

reaching across and smoothing it out.

I didn't.

I paid. I left.

The night was still early enough

to have meant something

if I'd known what to do with it.