15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

bad habits for the next several months.”
The waiter returns with a dessert cart. “The chef gives all expectant
mothers dessert on the house,” he says. “Congratulations.”
“He does?” Allysa says, perking up.
“Guess that’s why it’s called Bib’s,” Marshall says. “Chef likes the
babies.”
We all look at the cart. “Oh, God,” I say, looking at the options.
“This is my new favorite restaurant,” Allysa says.
We pick out three desserts for the table. The four of us spend the
time waiting for it to be served discussing baby names.
“No,” Allysa says to Marshall. “We’re not naming this baby after a
state.”
“But I love Nebraska,” he whines. “Idaho?”
Allysa drops her head in her hands. “This is going to be the demise
of our marriage.”
“Demise,” Marshall says. “That’s actually a good name.”
Marshall’s murder is thwarted by the arrival of dessert. Our waiter
places a piece of chocolate cake in front of Allysa, and steps aside to
make room for the waiter behind him who is holding the other two
desserts. The waiter motions toward the guy placing our desserts
down and says, “The chef would like to extend his congratulations.”
“How was the meal?” the chef asks, looking at Allysa and Marshall.
By the time his eyes make it to mine, my anxiety is seeping from
me. Atlas locks eyes with me, and without thinking, I blurt out,
“You’re the chef?”
The waiter leans around Atlas and says. “The chef. The owner.
Sometimes waiter, sometimes dishwasher. He gives a new meaning to
hands-on.”
The next five seconds go unnoticed by everyone at our table, but
they play out in slow motion to me.
Atlas’s eyes fall to the cut on my eye.
The bandage wrapped around Ryle’s hand.
Back to my eye.
“We love your restaurant,” Allysa says. “You have an incredible
place here.”
Atlas doesn’t look at her. I see the roll of his throat as he swallows.
His jaw hardens and he says nothing as he walks away.