Pass the Meatloaf

“Your eyes are the color of meatloaf.” Crap. That came out wrong. I clear my throat and tuck my shaking hand under a shakier leg. “I meant to say, can you pass the meatloaf?” Smooth as a bucket of nails.

Mike’s smile is dimply and crooked in that horrifyingly charming way that would make you do anything he asked. Do the chicken dance right here and now? Done. Leave my husband and run away with you to Mexico? The car is already packed.

“Of course. It’s freaking delicious, thanks again for inviting us over.” Fingers brush on orange Pyrex and my heart bursts into a million monarchs. “I was just telling Kendra about where we met.” A memory of my now-husband Jake crushing beer cans onto his chest and smearing a sloppily painted red bear sears across my mind. “They threw some huge ragers on game days.”

Jake snorts like a hog and pounds his meaty fist on the table, sending silverware jumping for cover. “You pansy, you never came to those parties. You were too busy reading or getting good grades or some crap.” A kernel of corn dangles on his beard as he wipes a useless napkin across his greasy lips, and I resist the urge to dunk his face into a glass of water.

I sneak a peek at Kendra as I glop a spoonful of meat onto my plate. She’s pecking demurely at a piece of lettuce, a diamond necklace sparkling with the effort. She reminds me of an elegant pigeon. I push away my plate and offer a meek smile. “I always liked the campus library, it smelled like mildew and coffee.”

My body is suddenly thrown dangerously close to a bowl of mashed potatoes as Jake slaps my back. “You never went to the library! I don’t think you even knew where it was. I sure as crap didn’t!” My eyes lock onto a spot on the tablecloth as Jake guffaws and slaps my back like he’s bringing me back to life. My cheeks are hot. The spot on the table is a dead fly. Mike touches my shoulder and sends me to heaven on a rocket ship.

“I’m pretty sure I saw you there a few times.” He gives a reassuring squeeze before reaching for the bottle of wine. “Upstairs was definitely mildewy, but if you got there early enough in the morning you could get a table by a window and air it out a bit. Tricks of the trade, as I’m sure you knew.” He sends a wink my way and it sticks straight between my eyes. Jake is spewing something horrendous about my intelligence, but I can’t hear him over the music rising in my ears. I trace the shape of Mike’s lips with my eyes and everything goes fuzzy.

A quartet is playing a light concerto as we dance under a veranda in Paris. My petal pink ballgown is swaying across the rose petal strewn cobblestones as he dips me in a perfect waltz. Champagne fountains bubble to life when his meatloaf brown eyes meet mine, and as we kiss, we are lifted into the air by cartoon bluebirds. The fading purple and red sunset bids us “bonne nuit!” as we dance atop the Seine, tiny ripples of water tickling our feet. He’s smiling all dimply and crooked. “I’ve always loved you, you smart and elegant- “

“What the hell?” The bubble pops and I’m at my dinner table, three pairs of eyes and a dead fly staring back at me.

Crap, was that out loud?

Silence said it all.

I clear my throat and tell my heart to stop hammering my chest so hard. “I meant to say, can you pass the corn?”