There's nothing like a glass of chardonnay and pasta carbonara. Donna ordered pasta con fungi; she's a vegetarian, although once in a while she'll have fish. She told me she likes to have fish after a treatments. "It rejuvenates me," she says. I'm starting to see Donna in a new way. I'm not sure if it's completely sexual, but definitely more intimate. Like I know she chews her food thoroughly and sips her wine with her pinkie finger off the glass-- almost like an antenna. Her skin is soft and moist, and her lips are strong and knowing. As I looked at her across the elegantly dressed table, I wondered if she noticed those kinds of things about me.



She lifted her glass, "To a normal life."



"Whatever the hell that is." I hit her glass with mine and the yellow wine waved and circled the glass.



"We'll find it, I have no doubt."



"If it's there to find."



I looked up and saw Fran coming in the door. I felt bad for blowing her off and I knew I had hurt her-- but I just couldn't take her controlling manner any longer.



She saw me, too. We looked at each other, neither smiling or frowning.



"You seem pretty cynical tonight." Donna said twirling her pasta. I mumbled something and watched Fran with her friends-- friends I didn't recognize. New friends. I wanted to know who they were because a few weeks ago I would have probably been with them.



Fran continued to eye me and I wanted to smile-- to have her come to my table. I thought of apologizing but I stayed sitting, glancing back between Donna and Fran. Donna didn't know anything about Fran and I didn't want to tell her; I don't know why, I just didn't. It was too complicated.



Fran's group sat in the middle of the restaurant while Donna and I stayed at our romantic window table. Fran was obliging my request but I could tell she wanted to come over. Part of me wished she would.



I wouldn't be rude here. I would be grateful and friendly until I realized how much I wanted to tell her. How my art show went, how I didn't feel anything for Steve anymore, how I still was concerned about Hugo, how confused I was, how the shock treatments felt, and how I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. Then involuntary I mumbled, "Fuck."



Donna had been talking but heard me, "What?"



"Huh?"



"What did you say?"



"Nothing. I mean, I don't know. What did I say?"



"You said 'fuck.' Out of the blue." This bothered her to the extent of her putting her fork and spoon down and waiting pseudo-patiently for a response.



"I did? Are you sure that's what I said?"



"Yes."



"Oh, well, I was thinking of a treatment."



"Don't go there, baby. Let's just think of us."



I glanced back to Fran who was frolicking among her new conglomerate of friends.



"You're right, just you and me. It's just you and me."



Donna continued twirling her pasta and I ordered another glass of wine.