Chapter 3
Zach and Becca finished their shared blackberry cobbler that’d been crowned with what must’ve been a double portion of rich vanilla ice cream. This finale on top of the preceding gargantuan feast was what it was intended to be—too much. That was after all the point, not only of the dessert or even the entire meal but of the whole experience: the rare pleasure and privilege of over the top over-indulgence.
Becca paid the bill with five crisp twenties she’d withdrawn from the bank that afternoon. As they waited for Shelley to return with her change, Sam suddenly appeared with an instant camera and a big sly smile directed at Zach.
“You didn’t think you were going to sneak away without at least one little old keepsake, did you?” she said with the sweetest Southern drawl.
“Maybe I’d hoped,” Zach said, then glanced at the beaming Becca before looking back at Sam. “But now I see I never stood a chance.”
“You two lovebirds snuggle up and smile pretty.”
Zach slid his chair beside Becca’s. He tucked his arm around her waist, she leaned her head against his shoulder. The smiles both presented the lens were perfectly genuine, perfectly happy, perfectly in love.
The camera flashed then spit out the print. Sam caught it in her hand and set it on the table. All three watched as a couple slowly emerged from the black background, turned into Zach and Becca snuggled close, turned into a portrait of singular harmony and hope.
“Aww, aren’t you two sweet?” Sam purred. “Happy birthday, Zach,” she said and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead. She slid the print into a slot in a card with the restaurant’s logo on the front and handed the card to Becca. “Keep it safe,” she said.
Becca said, “Don’t worry. I will,” and tucked the card into her purse.
“Good night,” Sam said. “Thank you for spending this special evening with us.”
“Thank you for making it so special,” Becca said.
“Our pleasure,” she said, then turned and left.
Shelley dropped off Becca’s change, Becca left a generous tip, and they were free to leave.
But neither stood. They were held in place in part by the sheer weight of food they’d consumed, in part by their muscles locked in place, their bodies molded to the comfortable chairs. But they were also held in place by a shared sense of not wanting to let this moment go, not wanting to rise and set the clock moving again. It was almost as if they were holding their common breath, releasing their rights to the future in favor of the guarantee of this ideal present. Zach kept his arm loosely around her waist, Becca her head lazily on his shoulder.
Then, without a word, they both stood in unison. Becca picked up her purse and Zach grabbed the small box with his complimentary birthday cake inside. They exited their window-table home—royal setting for a king and his queen—by opposite sides. They walked the length of the restaurant with her arm in his, not speaking or looking around but seeming intent on getting outside before their will faltered and they returned, for good this time, to their refuge of total contentment.
Once outside in the cold damp air, they felt they could breathe easier, move more freely. Becca let go of his arm and did a little spin on the walk leading to the parking lot, threw out her arms to the sky then closed the gap to Zach and hugged him from behind.
“I love you, Zachery Sandstrom; but you’re not allowed to have more than one birthday a year.”
Zach nodded. “Don’t worry. I couldn’t handle it.” He spun around and faced her. “But thank you for the extravagant gift. It was perfect.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.
She smiled and nodded to him in the silver glow of the lot’s lone light directly overhead.
Zach suddenly felt queasy, quickly handed Becca the box with the cake, then jogged to edge of the lot and bent over beside some bushes, his hands on his knees. He felt sure he was going to lose the whole wheelbarrow-full of rich food in one giant purge. He hoped Becca would look away or close her eyes, but there was nothing he could do to insure that. His gut was in command now, and his gut was commanding that he clean house. He took a couple short breaths and waited for the explosion to come.
But it didn’t. And the nausea gradually passed and his breathing slowed and his head cleared and he cautiously stood upright again.
Becca had her hand on his shoulder. “Zach, it’s all right if you throw up. I’ll still love you.”
He turned and looked at her with a pallid face appearing all the more sickly in the streetlight’s silver glow. “Even if I hit your shoes?”
She instinctively slid her feet to one side, out of the line of fire. “Missing the shoes would be nice.”
“But would you still love me?”
She made him wait a moment as she thought it all through, then smiled. “Of course.”
Zach nodded in gratitude. “I knew you would.”
“Besides, they’re old shoes.”
Zach sudden laugh burst forth along with a rumble from his gut.
“Are you sure you’re O.K.?”
“I think so,” he said. He took a couple deep breaths then let his whole body relax. “I think I’m just perfect.”
“Tell me if there’s anything I should do.”
“Like run if I start to heave?”
“I meant to help you.”
“I could use a mint or something.”
She laughed and held her purse up to the light. She reached in and pulled out a stick of gum, past the photo of the beautiful couple smiling into their future.
The End
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