Goodbye at The Yellow Tail

6 pm at The Yellow Tail was a primetime reservation. We had it booked nearly year in advanced through a connection Heather had from work. It was supposed to be our anniversary dinner.

She looked beautiful as always, so well put together and on top of every last detail. Hair, makeup, toothy grin—all working in alignment. I averted my attention down to the menu in shame, beaten down by those soft brown eyes. Looking into them made me unspeakably sad.

Once again, I did not have the answers. There were no answers, really. It had been six months and now each time we locked eyes it stung worse than the time preceding it.

“I don’t think it is any use,” I blurted out.

“Lou…” Heather paused, gearing up to speak. “What kind of an attitude is that? This will be fun. I’ve missed you.”

“It isn’t an attitude at all. It is the honest truth. This won’t change anything.”

“You promised me.”

“That’s why I am here, but goddamn it—this is pointless.”

“Oh my god. I asked for one night."

"We both know that you are not asking for one night."

"You really are a fucking asshole… You know that right?”

“Yeah, baby… We both know that too.”

She rolled her eyes—then flagged down the waiter from a couple of tables over. He asked if we were ready to order. She looked at me. I looked back down at the menu again. It was taunting me. The room started to get blurry.

“What kind of whiskey do you all have?” I asked.

“Whatever you want—we got. And if we don’t have it, I’ll run across the street to the Chinese liquor store.” He chuckled.

“Service with a smile, huh?”

“Something like that… So, what’ll it be?”

“Honestly, I don’t know why I asked. I don’t care. Bring me a double of something that’s middle of the road. I’ll also take a Bud Light… Wouldn’t want to get dehydrated now. And I am sorry… Where are my manners? A bottle of rosé for the table as well.”

The waiter looked at Heather, almost as if he were waiting for her permission. She nodded back at him—and he scurried off to the kitchen. I peeked up from the menu and she was staring right through my forehead. Two brown daggers screaming in silence.

I looked back down at the menu. My mind raced. Where was the waiter was with our drinks? How was tilapia $37? The thoughts were relentless. I wondered everything under the moon except for what she was thinking. That I already knew, the story had been written.

“What will we be having folks?” The waiter asked, while unloading our liquid fleet on the table. Heather ordered the margherita pizza. My stomach sank. I ordered the grilled calamari.

She got up and went to the bathroom. The room got blurrier. She was only gone a few minutes, but I knew what that meant. I started to feel worse.

The table was quiet while we waited for our food. I worked through the drinks, alternating between the whiskey and beer. Heather took small sips of rosé. She was being careful. That was for certain.

“I know this is hard for you,” she started, “But this is good… I am glad you're home… and I am glad we did this. I missed you. I know the trip was important for you… but—”

“Heather…”

“What—Lou! I fucking missed you.” She said, taking another sip.

“I missed you too.”

“What was so fucking hard about that?”

“Knowing that it changes nothing. What happened happened.”

Our waiter walked back over and laid food down in front of us. He watched us watch the food. Her lip tightened, she nibbled down on the inside of it. My nerves jumped. Her pupils shrunk down. They looked hollow. One can only see too much—so much—then the bottom falls out.

The tight black dots stayed keyed in on me for 10 seconds. No one said anything. She reached for the bottle of wine and I jolted my hand forward grabbing the neck of the bottle.

“Is everything alright guys?” The waiter interjected.

“Yes. I’ll take another round please.”

He looked at me and I nodded back, still holding the neck of the bottle. He waited by the table for a few moments, then slowly eased back towards the kitchen.

“Heather.”

“Oh my god… DON’T!” She exclaimed. “You are the last person I want to hear it from.”

She jabbed her nail into the back of my hand. I let her dig in for a few seconds, then winced like it hurt anymore than the rest of it and let go of the bottle.

“Okay, baby… You win.”

She glared at me and filled the glass up to the top.

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

Another pour.

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

I watched her dumped the rest of the bottle into her glass, daring me to love her right, pleading for me to be different, and begging me to give her a reason. I sat there speechless, tapping my pointer finger repeatedly on the tabletop. A dull, grey pain flashed in my mind. Still staring, she lifted the glass to her lips and tipped it back until the pink vanished.

“Okay, Heather.” I acquiesced, “You win.”

“HA!” She blurted back, “No one wins.”

Silky red dress and all, Heather hopped out of her chair and walked over to a table across the way. There was a slice of molten chocolate cake resting on an ivory white plate positioned between a presumed happy couple.

“Can I help you?” The man asked Heather.

“Yes, you can… Thanks for asking!” She snapped back, grabbing the piece of cake off the plate with her barehand.

“What are you doing?!” The man exclaimed. His wife looked on in horror.

Cake in hand she strutted back to our table. A small bead of sweat ran slipped off her head and ran down the side of her face. She stood over me trembling in frustration. I looked at what was left of my sweet Heather and my stomach plunged through the floor. The grey pain in my mind buzzed ferociously. There were so many things that could have been done differently.

I looked around the restaurant. It was a nice joint with a comfortable ambiance. There were cutesy little couple tables, maybe 10 or so, most of which detailed with a single bottle of wine or a couple of cocktail glasses. All the eyeballs in the place were on us.

Her eyes were welling up and she wailed at me, “Can you just tell me why you have to keep me at an arms distance, Lou? Why..? All I ever wanted to do was love you... And be with you… That’s it. Is that so bad?”

I opened my mouth to speak but the words evaded me. I closed my eyes and four years of ups, downs, ons, and offs flashed through my mind. I had always loved her. Truly and wholly. It was just that life—and the restlessness that chased me through it—got in the way. That’s all. She never understood me.

“Really, Louis… You have nothing to say to me? Nothing?!”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking Baby me!” She shouted back. She took the piece of cake and smashed it up against my face, smearing it in a big, miserable circle. Heather leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. “You made me do this… You made me this way. You know that? Right?!”

Now bawling uncontrollably, Heather stormed out of the restaurant.

I wiped my face down with the napkin. The waiter was motionless, standing over my table holding the tray of drinks like a statue.

“You can go ahead and put those down.” I told him. “And I’ll take the check… You know… when you get a second.”

He put the whiskey, Bud Light, and bottle of rosé down in front of me. I slugged the whiskey, then stood up and took the bottle of wine over to the now cake-less couple. I poured it into their empty wine glasses and put the bottle down in between them.

“Maybe someday—I’ll be forgiven. And I hope she will be too.” I murmured quietly to them.

“Are you okay Sweetie?” The woman asked.

“I don’t know that I even remember what okay is.”

I walked back to my table, slid $200 under the candle, scooped up the Bud Light, and made my way towards the exit. I sat on the bench out front, lit a cigarette and sipped on the beer.

A siren roared and two police cars ripped down the boulevard. I shut my eyes and took two deep breathes.

“Fuck.”