The waiter comes with menus and asks for our drink order, but not before wishing Yazmine a happy birthday. She can’t narrow her smile as she thanks him.
“We still waiting for two more people,” Yazmine cautions as she looks over her shoulder, presumably for Rayna.
“We can start with our drinks,” I state. “I’ll order for them.”
I’ve been spending enough time with little Erin to know she’s an apple juice head. Because it is after hours, Rayna will indulge in pinot noir. And I order a bottle purposely to get her twisted. Those racy text messages have me riled up.
“Oh, here they are,” Samantha announces as the waiter walks off.
Rayna holds Erin’s little hand as she crosses the dining room, wearing a fitted dress that falls just below her knees with black leather Monolos that she’s inclined to wear to work, saying they are the most comfortable. As she struts in, I notice her thighs are broad, stomach is flat, but her breasts look more bountiful in this number. Her face is set to a scowl and there’s purpose in her strides. I stand as she approaches.
“Hey,” I greet her when she arrives to the table. I catch a draft of her Cool Water. I place my mouth to hers and pull her bottom lip as I withdraw. In a flash, I see her eyes darken before they go back to their usual browns. It’s good to know I still have that affect on her. “You okay?” I’m a little concerned about her frown.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs. “Just hungry.”
Rayna then turns to the table to greet Yazmine and Samantha and I go to do the same with Erin.
“Little E!” I call out, using the nickname I hear Rayna refer to her as from time to time. “You ready to pay up?”
“No, Uncle Mir,” she pouts. I’m quite comfortable with the title she’s given me all of her own volition. It’s very endearing. “You owe me ten dollars. Caillou is not Hawaiian! He’s French Ca…Ca…” she struggles with it.
“Canadian. He’s French Canadian,” Rayna assists Erin from over her shoulder as she chats with the ladies.
“Canadian!” Erin boldly exclaims. “See, I told you, you didn’t know Caillou.”
Rayna directs the tot to her seat before taking her own next to me. She then pulls the breadbasket closer to her setting.
“Okay, you got me,” I play along as I pull out my wallet. “Here you go. You’ve won the bet, fair and square.” I hand her the money.
“Azmir, that’s a lot to be giving her,” Yazmine admonishes. And while I know, I give a stubborn shrug.
My eyes arrive at my gorgeous wife who is downing a piece of buttered bread as though it’s her last meal. I don’t think she chews it before swallowing and going for another to butter as she carefully examines the dinner menu. From across the table, I observe Samantha’s pensive stare at Rayna. Yazmine is chatting with Erin when the waiter arrives with our drinks.
“Yes!” Rayna cheered under her breath. “I’m starved.”
“Erin, would you like spaghetti or chicken fingers?” Rayna asks Erin, knowing that although the restaurant doesn’t have a children’s menu, Mario, the sous chef, will fry Erin chicken fingers and fries.
“Spaghetti,” Erin answers.
We all place our orders and nothing’s unusual except for Rayna’s request for so much food. She orders fried ravioli and calamari for an appetizer, and chicken francaise, as well as eggplant parm for dinner. That’s enough for two people. No one mentions it and I wouldn’t dare question her need of such heavy foods. However, I do notice Yazmine giving Samantha a knowing smirk in passing before continuing her conversation with an animated Erin. I sit back and sip my drink.
Women are peculiar creatures.
We chat while we wait for our food and well into dinner. Rayna’s digging in her meal, seemingly preoccupied with consuming every morsel. Yazmine and Samantha offers their appraisals for the food, which delights me.
“So, Azmir, honey, you own ‘dis place?” Samantha inquires.
“Partly,” I share. “The other owner is the head chef.”
“Oh, nice!” Samantha beams with joy.
“What made you buy ‘dis Italian place, beloved?” Yazmine asks.