Speak of the Devil

“Here you are.” The twin broadcasted to us as he painstakingly held the trey and served us our drinks at the same time. As soon as he placed the shimmering glass of water on the table I clapped my hands around the glass that indubitably began to condensate and I chugged down the liquid to the last drop. Monte blankly beamed at my empty glass.
“May she have more?” Monte requested.

“Yes, sir.” The waiter poured my glass to the edge with crisp, bleak, piercing to the touch iced water.
“Thanks.” I hooked onto the glass and began drinking as much as I could. The waiter scurried away before Monte could order more. I gasped for air once I got through that glass. My breath mellowed out.

“Thirsty, huh?” Monte questioned with a chuckle.
“Yeah, I don’t know why, my mouth is just so dry.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
“And how would you manage to do that?”
“Well…” He started, but stood up straight, adjusted his tie, and leaned over the table. His face was inches away from mine, and we nearly kissed until-

“Ahem.” We glimpsed at the waiter who had stopped and stared at us reaching for a kiss. Monte separated from me and sat himself down, pestered by the waiter’s appearance.
“Sunset Orzo with…Spanish shrimp?” the waiter casually asked. He had to be kidding me. He had to remember who ordered what. And how was the meals cooked so quickly? This waiter dude was pissing me off. I wonder where his twin dashed off to. Who cares?

“Me.” Monte claimed his food as the waiter passed the dish to him.
“And shrimp linguini Alfredo, madam.” The waiter transferred my piping hot dish to me, which I almost dumped on my lap. My fingertips burnt so much but I didn’t want to scream the pain out. I gave my best shot to slide my fingers away from the heated area of the dish…Until it got hotter.

“Shit!” I shrieked as the plate crashed to the table. Surprisingly, the plate didn’t leave a crack. Monte, the waiter, and the rest of the customers ceased their meals and eyeballed me and my branded fingers. Silence clogged up the room. I didn’t move a muscle as I darted my pupils from one side of my eyes to the other, just to see how many were watching. I rose out of my seat.

“Sorry! Just, um…sorry!” I called out to everyone and sat down nonchalantly.
“You alright? How are your fingers?” Monte instituted once I was settled.
“They’re fine. Just burnt them.” I explained as I dipped my fingers in my glass that only contained ice. How ladylike. Monte giggled at my impolite act. How adorable! I should burn myself more often.

“How rude…Idiot.” the waiter coughed under his breath.
“Excuse me sir?” I didn’t know why people found angry people entertaining. “Did you have something to say to me?”
“No madam.”

“You know, I’ve been called ‘madam’ for the last twenty minutes from you. And you piss me off. I’m trying to have a good freakin night and you’re muffing it up. And if taking care of your bullshit with your manager is what I have to do, then that’s fine with me. So if you got anything to say to me, say it to my face.”

“I have absolutely nothing to say to you, madam…miss.”
“Thank you sir.”
“Hope you enjoy your meal.” I nodded my head as he ambled away. I lowered my eyes down at the food that was neat and proper until it was dropped. Now it looked as if someone just threw it down on a dish. Oh well. I cautiously picked up the fork and gripped it in my hand. The fork felt so painful against my burnt off fingerprints. I jabbed the fork into the pasta, twirled the utensil counter clockwise and gingerly lifted it to have a perfect forkful of macaroni. I slid the fork in between my lips and lathered my tongue in Alfredo sauce. I was more than convinced that this was a well made dish.

“Nice standing up for yourself with the waiter.” Monte acclaimed.
“Thanks. I have a way with words don’t I?” I gabbed boastfully and laugh with a mouth full of food. Damn. I rapidly chewed up the rest of my macaroni. Monte giggled with a snort. That made me feel so radiant inside.
“I’m sorry; I forget to mind my manners sometimes.”

“Ha, you’re not alone.” Monte said as both he too, spoke with food in his mouth.
“I can tell.” We both laughed. I twirled another forkful of pasta and shoveled it into my mouth. “How’s yours?”

“It’s really good. Not as good as my Mom’s, but still really good.”
“I’ve never had it, but it looks quite appetizing.”
“Wanna try a bite?”
“Sure! Thanks!” How did pasta, vegetables and shrimp excite me, I did not know. Monte pricked down several vegetables and shrimp and twisted some pasta around the fork.

“Here you go.” He said as he brought the fork toward me with a hand held under it. He fed the forkful of food in my mouth and pulled out a clean, silver utensil. I gnawed and ruminated on the blend of food. I gulped it down. That was one hell of a bite.

“So? How is it?”
“Excellent, I really like it.”
“Cool, glad you do.”
“Did you ever try this?” I buzzed pointing to my pasta.
“Nope.” My jaw dropped.
“You never had linguini Alfredo?! It’s an Italian classic!”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t eaten Italian food in so long.”

“Here, have a taste.” I pecked the plumpest shrimp on the plate and spun an enormous amount of linguini on the fork. I fed the fork into Monte’s mouth, which he couldn’t fit, and chomped down. He made it visible that he was swallowing a huge lump and finished with an ‘Ahh’ of delight. He paused and licked his lips without a sound.
“I love it.” He asserted. I smiled widely.

“I’m so happy you liked it! My mother will be very excited to hear that! She cooks it all the time and it’s unbelievable.” I bragged as I gorged my mouth with pasta.
“I can’t wait to try that.”

“Yeah, she’s quite the chef in the family. She does all the Italian cooking and my father’s side does all the Greek cooking.”
“You’re father doesn’t cook? Mine did the majority of the cooking in my house.”
“Nope…” I toned down with a frown.
“Did I say something?”
“No, I just…” I sighed with the thoughts of despair and misery in my head.
“What? I’m really sorry if I did say something, but…What exactly did happen?” Explaining my feelings ought to be enjoyable.

“Just the thought of my father makes me feel dreadful…He died when I was eight and I haven’t been the same girl since then.”
“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“Thank you…I’m fine, I just never think of him any more and whenever I do, it just brings me down.” I clattered the tips of my fork on my plate, trying to make some sort of distraction.

“That really sucks, Carly, I’m still so sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Monte huffed out a sigh and tapped his fingers on the table.

“Want anything else? Coffee, dessert, anything?”
“No thanks, I’m really full.”
“Gotcha.” We abided for our waiter to come around and drop off the check, but we waited what seemed like an eternity until he reported to us with the check. He left it in the center of the table for us to fight to the death for it.

“I’m paying!” We both argued with each other until Monte tore it out of my hands. He crowed with an evil laugh. Oh how I adored that laugh. No matter how evil it sounded. Monte preceded the check to the waiter.

“Thanks for coming, have a good night.” The waiter ushered us out of the door. I curved my arm around Monte’s as we headed back to my house.
“Thank you so much for dinner. But next time I’m paying!”
“Well, thanks for the offer, but I’d still like to pay.”
“Thanks for taking me out though.”
“You’re very welcome. Thanks for joining me.”

“Ok, I think we got enough thanks.” We convulsed together and sauntered away. I loosened my wrap around Monte’s arm and sprawled them up in the air.
“I am so full.” I slowly moaned out.
“Me too.” Monte agreed as he patted his stomach.

My arms descended leisurely to my sides as we trotted in the complete and utter noiselessness. Monte’s hands grazed against mine and I lazily let him brush against me. Once we were a measly four inches away from each other, his hand hit mine. My hand became numb with irritation until my hand was comfortable in the softness of something undefined. I brought down my attention to my hand-which Monte was holding in his.