Reality Bites

My best friend is never late. She’s not just punctual, she’s the “if you’re early, you’re on time; if you’re on time, you’re late” sort of OCD punctual. So, when the clock struck 8:01, I knew there was a problem.

Our date was for 8:00 at our favorite restaurant, Reality Bites.

Having arrived early (for I am of the same mold as she), I had been reading a book at our corner table while I waited, so I didn’t notice at first that something was amiss.

“Do you want to order a drink while you wait, hon?”

“No, that’s okay,” I said, glancing up from my book to smile at Gayle, our waitress.

“You sure?”

I checked my phone and noticed the time. 8:01. “Wow! I didn’t realize it was already 8:00. Let me call Jenna and see what’s up.”

“Okay, hon. I’ll be back,” she said drifting off to her other tables.

I called Jenna, but it went straight to voicemail. I would have called her home phone…but she got rid of it years ago. I still have mine, out of habit more than anything else, I think. Or a certain hesitance to change all the accounts tied to that number. I know how long I’ve had an account - store, credit card, utility - by which number is tied to it. The more recent the connection, the more likely it’s connected to my cell phone. Who cares, I know.

Anyway, I was at a loss: What to do? Jenna is never late so clearly something was wrong and I had no way of finding out what. I could have called her husband but we aren’t friends and I didn’t have his phone number. Never thought to ask. My evening quickly went from relaxed and happy to racing pulse and pounding heart. My imagination is nothing if not dark and tending towards the awful and macabre.

“Gayle!” I stage-whispered.

“Be right with you, hon.”

I figured I’d order a drink while I waited. She had to get there eventually, right? We hadn’t missed a monthly dinner in 20 years.

When Gayle came over, I ordered a gin and tonic and some baked goat cheese in tomato sauce.

“Jenna should be here soon,” I said, ”but she’s late and I’m hungry.”

“No worries, but tonight’s a busy night, so we are going to need the table by 9:30.”

“No problem. I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”

Gayle came back with my drink and I sipped and pretended to read while I developed an ulcer over where Jenna could be.

By 8:30 I’d finished the goat cheese and ordered the fish special: sea bass with wilted greens and pomegranate seeds.

At 9:15 I asked for the check. I’d called Jenna’s phone multiple times and sent myriad texts all of which just said “sent” not “delivered.”

It was 9:30 when I got in my car to drive home. My imagination had run the gamut of possibilities and at that point I had her dead on the side of the road or unconscious in the hospital or stuck in the elevator in her apartment complex or in a heap of melancholy tears on her bathroom floor, missing her soon to be college-graduated son…I was out of my mind with worry.

When I got home, my husband was on the couch playing online poker. “How was dinner, baby?”

“Dinner is always great at Reality Bites. But I may have an ulcer. Jenna never showed up.”

He glanced at me before returning his attention to the computer screen. “That’s weird. She didn’t call?”

I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t have an ulcer if she’d called.” I headed toward the stairs and noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. I looked at my husband with raised eyebrows (he NEVER checks the answering machine) and pressed the button.

“You have one message. Message one, seven oh eight pm. Hi, sweetie! I am soooo sorry for the late cancel! Ricky whisked me off Boston to visit Billy to cheer me up - you know I’ve been blue lately. I was so excited I forgot about our dinner date until just now. Unfortunately, I don’t have my cell phone and Ricky doesn’t have your cell number. I only knew your home phone by heart. Isn’t that funny? The only phone numbers I know are the ones I memorized decades ago. Hysterical. Anyway, I hope your hubby gets this message and calls you so you’re not waiting around worrying like I know you would. Let’s reschedule when I get back. Love you bunches.”

I glared at my husband who looked up from his game long enough to say, “What?” before getting lost again in the world of flushes and straights.