Heather and Raven

You're So Weird

This is by far the fanciest restaurant I've ever set foot on, and it's kind of throwing me off. I'm constantly worried about doing something wrong or inappropriate, like tripping and falling face-first onto the enormous piano that's perched in the corner of the room for whatever reason. Seriously: why would a restaurant need a piano?

It's the sort of place with marble floors, and polished, honey-brown furniture, and pristinely white tablecloths, and a ceiling so high it'd make a cathedral jealous. It reminds me a bit of how I used to imagine ballrooms in fairytales when I was a kid. There's a candelabra (not a single candle, but a full-blown goddamn candelabra) in the center of our table, that makes it rather difficult to see Raven, especially considering I'm not that tall to begin with –I can barely scrape the floor with my toes.

Raven, for his part, looks like he's regretting the hell out of this. He shuffles uncomfortably on his chair and then stage-whispers to me: "For how classy this place looks, I at least thought the chairs would be comfortable."

I lean forward to the best of my abilities and whisper back: "I can't even reach the floor properly."

"Dwarf," he teases. "Should I just start calling you Gimli, or-"

I don't let him get any further than that. I ball up the napkin that's neatly folded in the shape of a swan and toss it at his head. It hits him right between the eyes, and a burst of laughter escapes me before I remember how quiet it is in here. Raven looks less than pleased when he peels the napkin from his face, and I have about half a second to realize my mistake. Then the napkin hits me in the cheek. But it gets better. Because the napkin obviously doesn't defy gravity, so it slips down from my cheek, right beneath the neckline of my dress and into my cleavage.

I sit there, stunned, while Raven's cheeks are as red as my dress. He looks mortified. I feel some of the people at the surrounding tables stare at us –at me– and I don't know if I should make a break for the restroom, or if I should just start laughing.

"I was going to fake a migraine to get us out of here if you wanted to," I tell Raven, not bothering to keep my voice low because people are already staring anyway. "But I have a feeling we're about to get asked to leave anyway."

Raven gets up from his chair and comes around the table to help me up. With all the dignity I can muster, I fish the napkin out of my bra and look over at the waitress that had been coming over to our table, presumably to politely tell us to fuck off.

"You don't mind if I keep this, do you?" I sweetly ask. A little baffled, she shakes her head. "Amazing! Thank you! Have a wonderful evening!"

It's not until we're back at the car that the past few minutes really register.

"Okay, what the fuck just happened?" I ask, climbing into the passenger seat.

"I tossed a napkin into your- uh..."

I roll my eyes. Guys get so weird about the female anatomy sometimes. The only exception known to me is Justin, and he pretty much had no choice considering we were each other's only friend until middle school. If I had to listen to him bitch about how much taking a basketball to the nuts hurt, I had every right to bitch about my period. Thinking about Justin sends a sharp pain through my heart.

"Cleavage, Raven," I say. "It's called cleavage."

"Right. Well, I tossed a napkin into it, and we almost got kicked out of that restaurant," he says. "So I guess we should probably just hit up the diner if we still want to eat something tonight?"

Before I can reply, my stomach rumbles. Grinning, I say: "God, yes. Can you imagine if we were still waiting for our food in there?"

"Is this the hypothetical scenario in which you didn't fish your napkin out of your cleavage? Or is this a scenario in which all of that happened, but we didn't leave?"