He watches me, uncharacteristically stony—his poker face. Then he drops his cards on the pile.
“Damn it!” I cry. “Where’s your gumption?”
Mr. Terrance Knight smiles and starts collecting the discards. “Gumption’s a ticket to the poorhouse.”
“What’d you have?” David asks me.
I grab my cards to show my triumph but Mr. Terrance Knight catches my eye. In real poker, when everyone else folds, your cards are like a magician’s secrets, never to be revealed.
But this hand’s too good! A rare and wondrous thing!
Damn it.
I slide my cards into the pile. “Guess you should’ve paid to see ’em.”
“Sha-ZAM!” Mr. Terrance Knight laughs. “Our little Mel is growin’ up!”
Ms. Li’s eyes crinkle.
*
Not surprisingly, I’m first out. I move to the couch and obey the rules of when to talk and not talk, and what to say and what not to say when out of the game. From here I can see David’s cards, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out his tell. He runs his fingers through the hair above his forehead when he’s bluffing. I think Mr. Terrance Knight figured it out, too, because he always calls David’s bluffs, and soon David’s also out of the game.
When he stands, Ms. Li presses something into his hand.
“Take her to dinner.”
The fact that she doesn’t need to say my name makes my skin flush.
“We … already ate,” David says.
“You had salads. Time for a main course.”
There was a “soy loaf” option at dinner but it looked like something you’d find in a petting zoo feeding trough. The real meat loaf looked good but I skipped it and made a salad. Not to pretend I’d turned vegetarian; I just saw David’s nose twitch and thought I’d spare him the smell.
I check my phone, partly to hide my face. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“Olive Garden’s open till ten,” Ms. Li says. “I recommend the manicotti.”
Mr. Terrance Knight tries to suppress a grin. Dr. Jordan hides behind his mug of tea.
David looks to me again, noticeably self-conscious. “Are you even hungry?”
There are two ways to get through this awkward scene: slowly peel off the Band-Aid, or …
“Starving.” I jump to my feet. “And I love manicotti.”
He grins wryly and tries to give back the folded bills. “I don’t need money.”
“Go!” she says. “So we can do proper buy-ins and stop playing for plastic like children! Don’t hurry back. I need concentration to take down Iron Face.” She gestures vaguely toward Mr. Terrance Knight and this segues into waving David away. “Go!”
It didn’t take long for Ms. Li to settle in. I see again where David gets his disdain for preliminaries and formality. I lead him outside.
“Thanks,” he says. “You really are starving, aren’t you? If you could bluff that convincingly, we’d still be in the game.”
We? Did he throw the game to get out right after me?
“Yep,” I say. “Genuinely starving. You must be, too. Your salad was weak. But I was just helping you out in there. Don’t feel obligated.”
“Oh … so …” he says. “Do you want to go, or …?”
I feel bad—I guess I’m giving mixed signals. But I do have mixed feelings. I like him, but I can’t imagine letting him get close enough to qualify as a boyfriend.
Not to get ahead of myself. It’s just dinner.
“No—I mean yes, I do want to.” I point at myself. “Starving, remember? What about you?”
He smiles. “Also starving. And she won’t let me give the money back. And it wouldn’t be right to use it for anything else.”
I wince. “Olive Garden?”
“Only if you want to.” He retrieves keys from his pocket. “I’ll eat anywhere you pick as long as it’s not some place called Meat, Meat, Only Meat. My tank’s almost empty. Am I going to need gas?”
I shake my head. “You won’t even need keys.”
HAMSTER IS RUNNING
HUMMINGBIRD IS FLYING
HAMMERHEAD IS CRUISING
HANNIGANIMAL IS UP!
We walk back from Thai Fu Son along the beach trail, full of noodles and sushi. The dunes to the right block our view of the highway but not the sound. The white noise of cars is not much different from crashing surf; it’d be hard to guess our direction with closed eyes. Without a moon, all we have are foot lamps to give us enough light to stay on the path and out of the sand.
David says, “You’re in a good mood today.”
This makes me smile. I bet he doesn’t track my moods like I do.
“Any particular reason?” he asks. “Or just glad it’s Friday?”
“You fishing for a compliment?”
“Hardly. You were already charged up when I got there, singing more than usual—”
“Sorry.”
“—and getting that game started. You were bouncing around before any of my witty dinner conversation or buying you Asian fusion.”
I smile again, though it’s dark enough he might not be able to see it.
“In case you didn’t realize it,” he says, “that place represented just about every Asian tradition except mine. I felt left out.”
“We got fortune cookies.”