The Messy Months [EDITING]

August - 3

Thirty-two days before the incident, Donald took Marcy out.

It was weird because neither of them were picky about dates. They were both fine with just being together because just being together meant they were together. And that was good enough.

Even so, Donald announced it was time for a change of scenery. He handed Marcy his phone, telling her to scroll down.

Marcy snorted once she saw the message displayed on the screen. "You got us reservations at Pacifica? Sounds expensive. How did you manage it?"

Donald just smiled. "I expect you to be ready by five."

"The reservation is for six thirty."

"It's a long drive."

The drive was long. Marcy ended up taking her baby heels off halfway through and plunking her feet up on the dashboard as they talked. She kept her purse in her lap, hoping her skirt hadn't hiked up too far, and spent half her time holding down the edges with her fingertips than actually focusing on the conversation.

When Donald pulled into the parking lot, it was packed. He slid his ugly little Nissan Altima hybrid between a Porsche and not too bad looking Jeep. He helped Marcy out of the car, and together, they walked into the restaurant.

Marcy knew, even before going in, that she would feel out of place. But that didn't help with the small twisty feeling she got when they entered. Soft classical music played in the background, and Donald murmured his usual mock question of, "Do you think they'll take rock song requests?" It was something he asked Marcy whenever they went someplace new to eat.

When Marcy gave him a look, he backed off.

The place was lit with an electric blue tinge, giving off the kind of effect that they were just transported underwater. Marcy assumed that was the theme of the restaurant, because there were shell patterns and almost tacky topless mermaids hanging out on the carpet here and there. Everything was her favorite shade of turquoise-ish blue though, so she was hopeful.

"Ah, Mr. Don?" someone asked. Donald nodded and Marcy tried her best to stifle her snicker. After verifying their reservation, they were quickly escorted to the back of the room, slid into two mangled chairs set just far enough away from the rest of the diners so that Marcy and Donald wouldn't have to huddle together just to hear each other breathe, which was what they normally did when they went out to eat.

Marcy felt tense as she slid down into her seat, but it dissipated as the evening swept on.

It started off awkward with the waiter, who assumed we wanted wine right off the bat. Donald had to reach out and grab the man by his sleeve to keep him from getting away.

"No wine?" the man asked, looking from Donald to Marcy. "No... wine?"

Donald chuckled. "Yes, but we will take some water."

"Please," Marcy interjected.

The waiter still looked ruffled, and he walked away muttering to himself, "Alright. Water. No wine..."

The second time the man whorled toward them, they were prepared. Though Marcy knew Donald would insist on paying for the whole bill—and just by looking at the front of the menu, Marcy could already tell it was going to be high—she made the excuse that they should share a meal and maybe even split a dessert. She noticed how Donald tried not to look relieved when she made the offer.

Donald told the waiter what they wanted, extending the extravagant black menu to the man. "Share?" The man blinked at them this time, looking absolutely dumbfounded.