I never know which fork goes where on the table. I empathize with them, clumsy people always putting you where you don’t belong. I feel that way now. As I sit across the table from Jeremey Hoyt, from my chemistry lab. He’s cute, in a non-traditional way. That’s what my mom said when I showed her his profile. I think she’s just not used to man-buns being a thing these days. Especially in Texas.

The waiter hadn’t come by in at least 10 minutes, which was frustrating because I was thirsty. Or I’d wanted a drink to keep my hands preoccupied. Or both. She finally did come by to check on us, and I all-too eagerly asked for a refill. The place was definitely nice, but not quite what I would call fancy. Jeremey had thoughtfully written a card with the words “Dinner next Friday?” intricately spelled out amongst an organic compound’s symbol, and when I slid the card back across the cold black counter I felt that my palms were warm and a little clammy.

I squirmed in my chair a little, caught myself thinking that a place like this could certainly afford more comfortable seats, but then snapped back into the moment and asked our waitress if we could place our orders now.

“Sure what will you be having tonight?” the dainty woman asked from the tableside, turning her body more toward mine. I wasted no time in saying that “I would love the herb salmon, with a side of steamed veggies, please”. You were still fumbling with your menu when she’d faced you and followed up with “and for you sir?”

In hindsight I was probably being a little impatient and was certainly being unfair, because when you smiled up at the waitress and proudly said “You know what, I think I’ll just have the spaghetti!” I was made visibly perturbed at your choice.

You had no clue, and you couldn’t have possibly known it, but spaghetti was the wrong meal to order.

Spaghetti was what Evan always ate. Spaghetti was what I’d found on the stove that afternoon before our parents got back from running errands. Even now, years later, I could still smell it on the stove. Spaghetti is what will always remind me of my brother.

I might have made it 30 seconds after he’d ordered, and tried my best to maintain composure while he droned on about the chem lab homework to me. I not-so-gently pushed myself and my chair back from the two-seater and excused myself to the bathroom. Tonight the bathroom turned into the back door and shortly thereafter the cold night. I dreaded having to try to explain myself at Tuesday’s next lab class.