Mr. Good Bad Guy

16 - Drunk & Distracted

I didn't hear him utter much of anything as we entered the restaurant. People were chatting loudly, sitting in huge groups or intimate duets, sipping wine and nursing beers. The place was dimly lit, the atmosphere warm and inviting. The aroma of various cuisines filled the air, making my stomach grumble.

"It's...homey," Dr. Acosta noted.

"Almost like being at home," I agreed.

"You come here often?"

"Not as often as I'd like. The food is to die for. Everyone's moods are always great. Sometimes I feel like I'm with my friends when random people sit with me and start chatting about nothing."

"They can do that?"

"Only if you want the company." I chuckled. "Lots of people frequent this place late at night. I, for one, like seeing a few familiar faces."

It didn't take us long to find an empty enough table. We sat at one end, while another group was at the other end. They waved at us, exchanging brief pleasantries before a waiter took our orders.

When I said it was almost like being at home, I meant that. The menu was too familiar. All the comfort food anyone could ever want. It was ideal to have a set and short menu, but when you have multiple chefs who each specialize in multiple dishes, it was easy to keep the food coming. Everything was always delicious, so I never complained about the long wait.

"You barely looked at the menu," Dr. Acosta said.

"I get the same thing every time." I shrugged. "I only glance at it to see if they added specials."

"Any particular reason why you ordered the same thing every time?"

"My mother made the best scalloped potatoes I've ever tasted. My stepfather and father are huge rib fanatics."

Dr. Acosta raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you had a stepfather."

"It's not something a lot of people know." I cleared my throat. "What about you? What was your favorite home-cooked meal?"

Dr. Acosta looked away for a moment, a faraway expression in his eyes. "...Uh, I didn't exactly have home-cooked meals. My parents worked all the time. Whenever they did have time for me, we ate out."

I felt a pang of sadness hearing that. "That's rough?" I offered.

He only shrugged. "It was okay. I had my books. I didn't really feel the lack of a home-cooked meal until much later."

"What kind of books?" I asked, curious.

He smiled. "Oh, all sorts. Science fiction, fantasy, horror. I loved to lose myself in those worlds, to escape the mundanity of reality. I think that's why I ended up studying what I did. It was a way of continuing to explore the impossible, to find the magic in the everyday."

Oh, that was sad.

For him.

The waiter arrived with our food, and we both dug in. The potatoes were crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside, just how I liked them. The ribs were fall-off-the-bone tender, and the barbecue sauce had just the right amount of sweetness. I glanced over at Dr. Acosta, wondering how he was enjoying his meal. He seemed to be quite engrossed in it.

"Are we friends?" he asked out of the blue.

I stopped chewing, my fork halfway to my mouth. "Uh, what?"

He glanced up from his food. "You heard me. Am I your friend?"

I swallowed. "I...I mean, yeah, I guess so. Why?"