Mussels Have Feelings

“No, Ellie. Not that black dress, the one with the thin straps. It really draws attention to your collar bones…and distracts from your glasses.” Caroline curls her legs underneath herself and sips her mug.

“You act like wearing glasses is a choice when it’s quite literally the only way I’m able to see life.”

“Wearing glasses is a choice. You could wear contacts like the rest of society.”

“Oh, but you know I hate things touching my eyes. Plus, why would I want to conform to society? Being unique i—”

“Is what makes us individuals. Yeah, Ellie. I know.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “You’ve only been saying that since 4th grade.”

“Well, at least I know you listen.”

“You really give me no choice.”

Ellie returns to her closet and pulls the knee-length black dress with thin straps from the hanger. She shimmies her way into it, brushes her hair over her shoulder, and walks back into the room toward the mirror. She does a spin, placing her hands over her stomach and flattening the wrinkles.

“Yes, bitch! That is the one! What are you smoothing out? You’re thinner than a piece of paper.”

“Caroline,” Ellie sighs. “You know how I feel about calling me a bitch. It’s so, so…” she waves her hands in a circular motion. “Degrading and derogatory. And commenting on someone’s weight is rude.”

“I seriously don’t know how I’ve been friends with you for so long. You are such a prude.”

Ellie gasps. “Rude! You are so rude!”

“Okay, well then I’ll be rude. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a prude.” Caroline sips her mug again. “I’m honestly surprised that you swiped right on someone.”

Ellie braids her red locks into a side pony and lets it fall onto her shoulder. She clips her side bangs with a barette and places her diamond studs her mother gifted on her 21st birthday into her ears. “Well, he’s 28 with a PhD, he has a dog that looks just like Bailey, and his smile is pretty nice.” She blushes.

“What?! Ellie Franks gives a comment about physical appearance?! Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I’d never see the day.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “He just seems like he’ll be able to keep up with conversation, and I won’t have to spend half the time talking about favorite colors and animals and all of that stupid stuff.”

“Oh, no totally. You’ll probably talk about why the sky is actually blue or the DNA of fire ants…such fun things to discuss!”

“Absolutely fun things! You’re right.” Ellie smiles, ignoring Caroline’s sarcasm. “I think maybe I’ll even drink a glass of wine tonight.” She whips her head toward Caroline to see the shock on her face.

Caroline’s brows raise to meet her hairline, her mouth drops revealing her perfectly aligned teeth that Ellie has always envied. “Shut up! A drink?! Ellie who even are you? You’re showing out tonight.”

Ellie curtseys and head for the front door. “I’ll be home later!”

“Text pineapple if you need saving! And let me know you got there safely! Don’t scare him off by being too Ellie.” Caroline giggles to herself.

“There’s nothing wrong with me! Weird is good. I’ll be right down the street. If I’m not back in about two hours track my location and retrieve me. I have to study early tomorrow morning!”

“Get out, Ellie. Go have fun for once and stop acting like a middle-aged woman. You just turned twenty-two. Please start acting like it.”

Ellie blows a kiss that Caroline steals from the air and places on her cheek. She takes the steps two at a time and lets the cool of the early evening nip at her ankles. The last time she went on a date was over two years ago, and she hated it because Dave couldn’t articulate why he enjoyed the color red so much. Ellie interpreted his lack of explanation as a lack of cognitive awareness. She left him a note written in her clean, block lettering saying

We aren’t compatible because there’s an absence of reasoning

with you. I hope you meet a woman who enjoys red

“just because.”

Thank you for the tea.

xx Eleanor

and left before he returned from the bathroom. Another thing she disliked because public bathrooms are foul and anyone who uses them is dirty. Dave kept the note as a memento and framed it for his entryway décor—a talking prompt for all his guests and a story that humors many and leave most in disbelief.

Ellie, by definition, is a normal woman with red hair and black-trimmed glasses. People often regard her as Ms. Frizzle, a comment she is quick to rebut because her hair “does not have the same pattern as Ms. Frizzle, therefore, the accuracy is off.” She stands at 5’4, the average height for women and weighs in at 111.11 pounds, a number she obtains because of its symmetry. While physically she appears normal, it is her words that leave people wondering if she’s all the way present. She finds small-talk useless, jokes impractical, and lack of common-sense infuriating. Many find that their words go over her head, but Ellie is often uninterested in the conversation and waiting for something to spark her attention.

She opens the door to the restaurant, texts Caroline to let her know she made it, and informs the host that she’s made reservations under the name Eleanor Franks.

The host smiles. “Yes, ma’am, right this way. You look lovely tonight.”

“Are you allowed to comment on your guests’ appearances? I find that rather strange,” Ellie says, clutching her purse.

The host clears his throat and guides her to a table toward the back.

“Actually, do you think my party could sit toward the front where there’s more lighting and perhaps more windows?”

“I am unsure if that section is available right now.”

Ellie looks over her shoulder. “It appears as if it is.”

The host’s mouth pinches into a single line before it forms a smile. “We just may not have an available waitress if I sit you there, ma’am. That’s what I mean.”

“I’m not a ma’am. That implies one of two things. I identify as a woman, which is accurate, but you should not assume my gender identity. And two, it implies that I am either older or married, as it’s a contraction for madame, and I am neither. You may call me Ellie, and my party and I will be sitting toward the front where there’s more lighting and perhaps more windows.” Ellie’s lips do not curl into a smile. If it did, she’d mistake her statement as a joke and jokes do not reside in her world.

The host looks past Ellie at the line forming and sighs under his breath. “Of course, Ellie,” he says, “you can follow me this way.” He grabs two menus and exchanges a side eye with his coworker.

Ellie sits on the side with the chair, so the setting sun touches her skin. She does not understand why restaurants design half booths and half chair seating. It makes no sense. Plus, booths collect an immense number of germs that can be carried back to your home should you sit on that side. She avoids them at all cost. Ellie unfolds her napkin and places it on her lap, smoothing out the creases until it lays completely flat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of Merlot will be fine, thank you.” She pulls her ID card and places it on the table. “I’m twenty-two,” she says with a smile.

“I’ll be right back with that glass.”

Ellie interlocks her fingers and rests her chin on top them. The orange and red of the sky, though beautiful, make her stomach churn. Can’t it just be one? She shakes her head. Of course not, that wouldn’t be scientifically accurate.

“Here you are,” the waiter says placing the glass to the right of her. “Would you like to order anything while you wait for your party to arrive?”

“No, thank you. This will be all.” She looks him in the eye and picks up the glass. “How adventurous tonight,” she giggles mostly to herself.

The waiter nods and walks away, peering over his shoulder toward the strange redhead he’ll be serving tonight.

Ellie sips the Merlot and winces. “This is disgusting,” she whispers.

“It tastes much better when you’re eating a well-seasoned steak.” The man places his hand on Ellie’s shoulder and slides into the booth.

Ellie’s eyes expand past her frames. “Thank you for the advice. Could you please get up? I am waiting for someone.” She shifts her weight into her right hip.

“Lukas, right?” he smiles and takes his blue suit jacket off.

“Yes, Lukas. You sir…” she looks him up and down. “…you are not Lukas.”

He laughs. “I am Lukas,” he says. “Lukas Senior, that is.”

Ellie stares.

“I know, I look nothing like that photo. That’s my son, Lukas Jr.” Lukas smiles again.

Ellie looks at his white button-down, annoyed that a small stain rests on the left side of the button. The Lukas she matched with does resemble the Lukas that is sitting in front of her. He has short brown hair, though much thinner, dimples on both cheeks, blue eyes embedded between thick eyelashes. This is what Lukas will look like when he reaches 50, she notes.

“You look similar to the photos,” she says through gritted teeth. “But much older.”

Lukas Senior pours water into his glass and sips. He looks from Ellie’s braid to her eyes then down to her dress. “You look like yours.”

“Because I am who I say I am.” She places the wine glass to her lips but does not drink. “I am waiting for an explanation.”

“Just as witty as through messages.” Lukas Senior wags his finger. “I knew I’d like you.”

The back of Ellie’s neck grows red. Should she text pineapple?

“Lukas Jr. or Lukas, as he goes by, is the profile you matched with. It’s all true. 28, has a PhD, a dog, owns a house…but he doesn’t go on dates with the women he matches with. Not the first several ones, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Should we order an appetizer, do you think?” Lukas Senior pulls his glasses from his pocket and places them on the bridge of his nose. “I know this place has very great mussels.”

“Why?” Ellie places her hands on the table.

He puts the menu down and peers over his glasses. “Well, it’s simple. I think any parent would do it this way.” Lukas Senior clears his throat. “I need to ensure you’re qualified to date my son.” He waits for Ellie’s eyebrows to raise or for her face to shift, but neither happen.

Ellie stares blankly. “Qualified?”

“Yes, qualified.”

“And that means what to you?”

“It means that you’re good enough for him, that you have the characteristics that will compliment his. My son is a very bright man and deserves the best, don’t you think?” He sips his water again.

“So, to ensure such…you go on the date first…so he doesn’t waste his time?”

Lukas Senior smiles. “You’re a very brilliant girl, Ellie. That’s exactly it!”

“I’m a woman.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be.” Ellie takes a sip, forcing herself to keep a straight face, though she finds Merlot nauseating.

“I should be what?”

“Sorry.”

“And why is that?”

Ellie wipes her mouth with the napkin in her lap and rests it on the table. “Firstly, I am a woman and you called me a girl—”

“Well, you are—”

She places a finger in the air. “I am speaking.” Ellie puts it down. “I am a woman. Secondly, you are wasting my time with your presence. Your son is not qualified to date me. You have just made that clear.” She scoots the chair from the table and stands. “Thirdly, you are a sorry boy for going on dates for him. I think you may be sick up here.” She taps her brain. “Fourthly, you left the house in a stained button-up. How utterly unprofessional.”

Lukas Senior looks down to find the stain. He looks up to rebuttal, but instead feels the splash of Merlot on his chin and down his shirt.

“It’s wrong to eat mussels. They still have feelings,” Ellie says on her way out the door.