My fingers anxiously drum against my thigh, eyes scanning the horizon for her, back and forth, back and forth. The waiter comes back for a third time, this time not so subtly hinting that it’s time for me to order. To appease him, I ask for a salad.

“What kind?”

“Any kind. I don’t care.”

I barely notice him walking away in a huff, still searching the crowds. I do notice the shake in my hands as I go to raise my water to my lips, the clamminess of my finger pads.

“Hey.”

There, behind me. She had come in the back entrance while I was staring down the front.

Its a moment of tense eye contact before I say, “Hey,” and she sits down across from me.

For a second, we both sit there in silence, eyes locked coolly on the other. I can see the disgust, the anger, the disdain in her gaze.

But she’s here. She came.

It’s a start.

The waiter reappears then, presenting a chicken Caesar salad to me with a small flourish. He then turns to his new prey and demands, “what would you like to drink?”

She flaps a hand irritably at him. “Nothing.” We both ignore the sound of his stomping feet as he storms off, eyes locked once more on each other.

I’m the first to break the silence. This was, after all, my idea, and I feel obligated to kick us off. I steel myself, mustering my courage, gaze locked squarely into her eyes.

“We need to talk about what happened.”