Devonne Brown

“I’ll take my steak medium rare, baked potato, green beans, and house red wine please,” John didn’t even look at the menu. He looked at Cynthia instead and gave her his most charming smile, took her hand, and waited for her to order. 

She smiled at John and the waiter. “I’ll have the same, but I’d rather have unsweetened tea, please.” John raised his left eyebrow, Cynthia always had wine with dinner. “My stomach is a little upset tonight, I’d rather not drink. I’ll drive and you can have as much wine as you want, how does that sound?” She giggled.

“I like the sound of that. I’ve had a rough week and could use a good stiff after dinner drink or two while you have dessert. I’m liking this date more and more already.” They’d been dating for over a year now and had fallen into a pattern. When they went out to dinner, they’d each have one, maybe two glasses of wine, go home, have sex, then watch television until Cynthia fell asleep on his lap, and he’d read for an hour or so. They were comfortable together. 

His week had been difficult. Today had been full of annoying little things that added up to one big clusterfuck of a day. He was glad Cynthia suggested he drink. He could use some alcohol to blow away the aggravations of today. He didn’t need anymore mess. He told her as much. She quietly sipped her tea, nodded in agreement at the right places and squeezed his hand in sympathy.

John felt a lot for Cynthia, she had classic good looks and manners. His mother didn’t think she was good enough for him, so marriage was out of the question, but for now, she was good enough. He enjoyed her companionship. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Cynthia asked.

“What would you like for dessert? They have a fine carrot cake and an unbelievable Death by Chocolate thing on the menu here. I want scotch if your offer to drive still stands.”

“Death by Chocolate and scotch for you, make it double.”

“I love the way you think, Cynthia.” John ordered their desserts. 

John held the drink up to his lips. “I’m pregnant,” she said, and he drained the double. 

“You’re not ready to be a mother.” He set the glass on the table. He wouldn’t look at her face. “I’ll make the appointment tomorrow.”

“That’s what I thought you would say. Give me the keys.”