Incredible Times

Chapter 3

I glance at my watch for the third time in the last minute.

8:47. How could someone be this late?

I am sitting at a small table in the corner of Jean Michel's, a nice French restaurant on the outskirts of town. 

I tap my foot impatiently as my mind begins to wander.

Did he forget? Or is he just running really late?

'He' is the guy that I'm supposed to be meeting here for what could be considered a date. David and I met at a coffee shop about a week ago, and after a long and pleasant conversation, he asked me out.  

Now I sit here in the restaurant, mortified that nearly an hour into the date, my date had yet to arrive.

The waiter comes by the table for the fourth time, and asks, "Will your guest be joining us soon?"

I glance at my watch bitterly once again, but only two minutes have passed since I last checked it. "Any minute now, I'm sure of it." The waiter nods curtly and turns his attention elsewhere.

I'm not sure of it at all. David seems like such a nice guy, but if he really wanted to go out with me, he would have made an effort to be here on time, right?

I sigh and bite my lip. I haven't been on a date since my early college years, and my life as Elastigirl hasn't been any help in freeing up my schedule. It sure would be nice to be able to go on dates as frequently as some of the other girls I know, like Honey.

I wait for five more minutes, then decide that he's not coming. As I grab my handbag and stand, I pull down the hem of the plain black dress I had put on for the occasion. 

I apologize to the hostess on my way out for the trouble, and I walk down the sidewalk, the light spring breeze tickling my skin. 

What a horrible day. I sit on a nearby bench and shut my eyes tightly. From being unable to stop those robbers, to being antagonized by Mr. Incredible, and now, being rejected by probably the only guy that I would be asked out by for the next five years. Tears sting my eyes, but I fight them back by biting the inside of my cheek.

I try my best to figure out what I want to do now. After momentary deliberation, I decide that I need a drink after this long, pathetic day. I shuffle my way down the street until I find a modest bar that will suffice. 

After placing my order, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. A couple sits on one end of the shabby countertop, holding each other desperately and giggling drunkenly. At the other end, a man sits behind an open newspaper, deeply engrossed in whatever story he's reading. 

The bartender comes back with my sangria, and I sip it hesitantly. The liquor connects with my taste buds, and I wince a little at the harshness of the citric acid and bitter wine taste.

I don't know how long I sit there, but I continue to sip my sangria, its taste mirroring my bitter thoughts.

After a while, a man sits down a few seats away from me. I fix my eyes on the countertop as he places his order. I tilt my head back for another sip, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his eyes glance in my direction. 

"Tough day?" He says, turning to face me. His voice is deep and gentle.

I nod without looking at him.

"Hey, I get it. We've all been there."

I call the waiter and ask for a refill. Without a drink in my hands, I have nothing else to do but look at the man who is trying to start a conversation with me.