Deep breaths. In, one, two, three, four, out, one, two, three, four.
I'd been stood up again and was getting tired of it. Thankfully, I'd intentionally chosen my favorite restaurant so at least I got to eat what I really wanted. Besides, I wasn't humiliated to be stood up here. Nobody here cared if you ate alone or not. I did bring a book for just such a circumstance but I hadn't made myself open it yet. I felt better just watching people. Not those in the restaurant but the ones walking by outside. I was glad the hostess favored me enough to always give me the window seat. She smiled at me enough that I couldn't tell if she was hitting on me or just had a level of awesomeness I rarely found these days but at this point, I didn't even care. Points to her.
It was an hour and a half past the meeting time and it was only in the last five minutes my phone went off with the short text message saying he wouldn't be able to make it. Again. No apology or excuse though.
I wasn't surprised. I mean, I'd married the man without knowing much of anything about him but I'd quickly gotten the idea that our date nights didn't rate high on his list of priorities. That'll teach me to drink too much in public, especially around friends.
Ha, 'friend', I scoffed at myself. He and I had barely been friends. We had friends in common, which is why we had to figure out to play nice in the first place. I hadn't known how emotionally abusive he was until it was too late, and I should have just listened to my sober intuition about him. It's no wonder I had to be blackout drunk to think marrying him was a dandy idea.
From the corner of my eye I saw the hostess nod to one of the servers, who promptly came over with my bill and three fortune cookies.
I peered up at him, bemused.
"There's only me here."
The server glanced back at the hostess, uncertain, but she had a stern look to her and when her eyes narrowed he instantly faced me again.
"You get to choose," he told me, clearly uncomfortable.
Taking pity on him and hoping that if I got the oddity over with the poor kid would be free from the hostess' glare, I took the one on the left.
He bailed without looking back and the hostess hovered a bit closer than before.
I broke the cookie open and pulled out the small slip of paper, finding it was folded over three times.
Can they do this? Isn't this cheating? Isn't there a standard length to -
I looked back up at the hostess, who was beaming at me. She gave me a deep nod and went back to her post.
I stared down at the small cookie paper I'd dropped.
They'll never find his body. You're welcome. Who's next on the list?
I could only seem to process a single thought.
What had been the 'fortunes' in the other two cookies?