Glennise Pinili
The restaurant sat at the end of the pier overlooking the sea. Framing it were large windows and weathered columns of wood. Under the roof hung white lanterns that danced with the wind and lit the night sky.
Inside, tea candles flickered with Amelie’s dainty movements as she peeled off her coat and sat beside the window. She watched how the ocean’s waves rose then subsided like gentle breathing. She looked as calm as the ocean, but her subconscious fiddling with her now-void wedding ring, said otherwise.
Amelie took long sips of her red wine and let its smoothness roll to the back of her tongue. Already a ball of warmth lined her lower stomach. How is it that a ten-year marriage can be ruined by a one-month affair? And how did he think her so oblivious? The whispered phone calls, strange excuses … late arrivals.
‘Amelie.’
It was Matthew, her supposed husband. He was dressed in grey business pants and a crisp shirt. The loosened tie, however, was questionable. He cautiously pulled out the seat opposite her as his blue eyes carefully searched hers for cues other than her blank expression.
Matthew opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He finally settled on, ‘We should probably get something to eat.’
They flicked through the menu but found it difficult and conflicting. Four options of pizza. Steak with sauce options but no sides. Pasta, but only in red sauces …
A young bubbly waitress spotted signs of their unattended table—menus faced down, hands fiddling with cutlery, water glasses lifted out of boredom. She scribbled down their order on her notepad, but eyed Matthew unusually before she left.
‘Is there something you wanted to tell me, Matt?’ said Amelie. Matthew had his half-full wine glass at his mouth and finally set it down.
‘I uhh … I was seeing someone else …’ his words raced. ‘But it’s definitely over between us. I promise. And I want to apologise, Amelie. I want to make—’
‘Make it up to me? How?’
‘If you let me have a second chance I’ll show you.’
‘You want a second chance, after one month of—’
‘Porterhouse, medium, mushroom sauce?’ The waitress placed Matthew’s food in front of him and turned the plate to its centre.
‘And the entrée spaghetti bolognaise with meatballs and shaved parmesan? Would you both like another drink?’
Matthew hinted to the waitress that nothing else was necessary. Frustrated, Amelie stabbed a fat meatball and managed to twist red strings of spaghetti around the fork, like a ball of yarn. It was saturated in sauce and the melted cheese seemed to create a thick layer unnecessary for garnish.
It seemed that her entrée-sized order had been upgraded to a main size, with extras.
She tasted it and felt that her mouth drowned from the thickness of the sauce. The sweetness of tomatoes and onions were also lost, while the meatballs were oversized and dry. Yet the trademark red of bolognaise wooed the eye.
Matthew however, effortlessly slid the knife through his evenly cooked steak. It looked plump and tender inside. Its ashy chargrilled aroma reminded Amelie of summer barbecues. In satisfaction Matthew swept a piece of it along the trail of mushroom sauce on the side of his white plate.
‘It’s OK, we can figure it out, Amelie,’ he said too easily.
He reached over into the breadbasket which had two pieces left. Matthew offered one to Amelie. She declined while he happily buttered his piece, ran it along the leftover mushroom sauce like a child, and bit into it. Amelie watched him then paused and unravelled spaghetti from the defeated fork as if it were a knotted thought. She looked up from her bowl of unappetising red squiggles.
‘You know what Matthew, you’re right. So just take my ring and leave … now.’
His face turned pale as he chewed his meat slowly, swallowed hard and wiped his mouth with the napkin.
Amelie slipped off her ring and held it in midair.
‘So … we’re over … like that?’
Unwillingly he held out his hand and let her drop the ring in his palm.
‘And for the record, I know it was that waitress who served us.’
Amelie listened to him move out of his chair and ruffle into his coat. He felt him pause, but she refused to look at him. His footsteps left and for a moment she cried.
She sniffed her tears away and tucked her chin-length brown hair around her ear. She wondered if anyone witnessed what happened between her and Matthew. It must’ve looked ugly.
Amelie looked up and around the restaurant for the first time that night. She realised how alone and defeated she felt in a zoo full of people.
A couple flirted and held hands tightly while their pizza shrivelled in abandonment. They whispered and laughed at their in-jokes as though they were the only people in the room. It felt strange to her that she used to be a part of something similar.
A group of young women gossiped over champagne. Families laughed, took photos, talked loudly and ate with gusto.
Even two lone diners across from her didn’t seem alone. One was a middle-aged man in jeans and a pressed business shirt. While on the phone he laughed and poked at his grilled fish like it was being prepped for surgery. The other was a woman in her fifties. She was reading a novel and savoured each bite of her berry cheesecake. She slid the teaspoon slowly off her bottom lip while flicking back to previous pages in the book.
Amelie felt awkward as the wild sounds of restaurant activity overwhelmed the dull picture of herself eating vanilla ice-cream. She thought it would help her nerves but its plain taste and colour just added to her loneliness.
She licked the last spoonful and looked across the table where Matthew had sat. The last ten years of married life ended with his scattered breadcrumbs, a glass of rich red wine, a scrunched white napkin, an empty plate, and a pulled out chair.
Amelie placed her coat over her arm and pushed her chair in to leave. She blew out the tea candle on the table and tapped out of the restaurant in her black heels. Uneasy, her hand searched her pocket for cigarettes. Instead she found a photo of her and Matthew. It was taken a few years ago at the beach. They both glowed with happiness, feeling invincible.
Amelie put the photo away. She wasn’t ready to deal with her first chapter of unmarried life.