Not a Second Chance (10 page)

The restaurant was all black and sleek and modern with soft lighting. The patrons were just as elegant. Allison had been to nice restaurants before, but none quite like this. None where she felt completely out of place. She was wearing a dress she’d bought for a wedding last year, and it had cost her much less than her meal would tonight.

“You should order an appetizer,” Sidney whispered. “That’s the only way you’ll have a hope of getting enough to eat.”

“Okay.” She glanced across the table and noticed his parents were deep in conversation about heirloom plum relish or something like that. “What’s a sunchoke?”

“It’s a root vegetable. Looks a little like ginger, but it’s not very strongly flavored. Also called Jerusalem artichoke.”

She’d seen those at the store a couple times but didn’t know they had another name. “Thank you.”

“What are you getting?”

“I don’t know. Everything sounds weird.”

He chuckled. “There will be a few specials, too.”

“I’ll try not to laugh when the waiter recites them.”

It wasn’t like she was meeting her boyfriend’s family and wanted to make a good impression. She’d probably never see these people again. And it wasn’t like Sidney was a good friend she really cared—

Well, she
did
care about him, she realized. Even all these years later. A little tiny bit, that was all. And as she’d told him, she liked the idea of him proving his parents wrong. So she wanted this to go well.

“I’m leaning toward the sea bass,” she said. “What about you?”

“Probably the lamb.”

Allison looked back at the menu and tried to figure out what she should start with. Maybe the shrimp? But it came with orange-carrot crème and Brussels sprout coulis, and that sounded frightening. Perhaps it would be better to go with the deconstructed Caesar salad. Or maybe the reconstructed garden salad. The only salad that wasn’t “constructed” in some way had persimmons, which she hated—her family always had them at Chinese New Year.

This was far more difficult than it should be.

She’d eaten many things that people would consider weird. Like chicken feet—she had those regularly at dim sum, and she rather liked them. But this menu was a different sort of weird. A pretentious sort of weird.

When the bottle of red wine Carl had ordered arrived a couple minutes later, Allison eagerly reached for her glass as soon as it was poured. Since gulping down wine would probably be frowned upon here, she forced herself to take a tiny sip.

“What do you think?” Janice asked, daintily picking up her glass. Sidney’s mother was a small woman with perfect gray hair. She wore a beautiful scarf that had probably cost a small fortune.

“It’s…good,” Allison said.

Janice raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

Oh shit. Was Allison supposed to offer a detailed description? Maybe mention the aroma of June strawberries, or the notes of tobacco and Northern Ontario pine? Well, she didn’t know enough about wine to detect any of those things. It just tasted like red wine to her. Carl said something about leather, which didn’t make it sound terribly appetizing, and Janice said something about raspberries. Allison had another sip, and yes, there
was
a hint of raspberry, or maybe that was just her imagination. Also possible. She definitely didn’t get any shoe leather, for which she was grateful.

She discreetly glanced at the table of two next to theirs. The man appeared to have ordered the deconstructed pizza with prosciutto. Allison had ruled that one out when she saw the note on the menu that it took ninety minutes to prepare. The woman’s meal looked like the roast beef with twice-baked parsnips, thrice-cooked potatoes, and parsley-something-or-other. That was the other entrée that apparently took ninety minutes.

When Carl ordered it a few minutes later, she suppressed a groan. This was going to be a three-hour meal.

“Really, Dad?” Sidney said.

“I don’t know why you have no appreciation for good food. That certainly isn’t
my
fault.” Carl shot his wife a frosty look.

“Not understanding the appeal of a main course that takes ninety minutes to prepare and ninety seconds to eat means I can’t appreciate good food?”

“Yes, I think it does.”

The waiter cleared his throat. “And for you?” he said to Allison.

“I’ll have the sea bass, with the deconstructed Caesar salad to start.”

“Good choice.” He took her menu.

She doubted he would ever say “bad choice.” Although in her opinion, Carl’s choice was a bad one. Sometimes she did agree with Sidney.

“Have you been here before?” Janice asked after the waiter had walked away.

“No,” Allison said. “But I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“It certainly has gotten a lot of attention. All of it deserved, in my opinion.”

There was a long silence afterward. Allison wondered if conversation was awkward because she was here, or if it would be equally awkward without her.

Rather than making eye contact, she looked at the strange piece of art beside their table. It was made of red glass and looked like a human heart—not quite what she wanted to see while eating. She considered commenting on it but was afraid she’d say the wrong thing.
Do you think I’d have to declare bankruptcy if I accidentally knocked it over?
There were a few pieces of glass art scattered about the restaurant—well, probably strategically placed by a team of interior decorators—though this one was the weirdest.

“So how’s work?” Carl asked Sidney, a note of contempt in his voice. Carl looked a bit like his son, except his mouth was stuck in a perpetual frown, and of course he didn’t have long hair. Allison couldn’t imagine a man like that with a ponytail.

“Same old,” Sidney said. “But let’s be honest. You don’t want to hear about what I do anyway.”

“It wouldn’t always be the same old if you did something a little more—”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining about it.”

“I suppose you do what you’re capable of.” Carl had a sip of wine.

Ouch
. That had gone downhill fast. Not that it had been particularly pleasant beforehand. Unsure what to do, Allison reached for her wineglass.

“I know you think I’m stupid,” Sidney said quietly. “But let’s not do this again. Not in front of my girlfriend. Okay?” He placed his hand on her leg, and she put her hand on top of his.

Carl grunted and turned toward the human heart.

“What do you do, Allison?” Janice asked.

“I’m a chemist. I do research in a lab at U of T.”

“Do you have a PhD?”

Allison nodded.

“You’re dating a scientist?” Janice said to Sidney, looking a little surprised.

“Why not?”

Allison briefly shut her eyes, hoping his parents wouldn’t notice. Did they think she was too good for him because he was an electrician and she had a PhD? Sadly, that was what she suspected.

“You know,” she said, “job opportunities are pretty good in the trades. Really, more people should consider that career path. Sometimes getting a PhD isn’t a very smart move.”

“Wait a second.” Carl turned to Sidney. “Didn’t you have a girlfriend named Allison back in university?”

“Yes,” Sidney said. “We recently got back together. We broke up when she went out west for school, but she’s back in Toronto for good now.”

Carl nodded thoughtfully, and Allison braced herself for what was coming next. But he merely said, “I’m starving.”

“Then you picked the wrong restaurant,” Sidney shot back. “And you shouldn’t have ordered a meal with a ninety-minute prep time.”

* * * *

Sidney peered at his appetizer. He’d ordered the shrimp, which came with some kind of coulis or reduction—he didn’t remember exactly. It was a single shrimp, served on an enormous white plate that was probably large enough to fit dozens of shrimp. The other time he’d been here—also with his parents, of course—he’d ordered the scallop, which came on an equally ridiculous plate. It was quite tasty but not worth the price.

Allison was staring in confusion at her plate, which contained three croutons, a single leaf of romaine lettuce, an anchovy, a cube of cheese, an egg yolk, and a lemon wedge. There also appeared to be a small clove of garlic and a dash of mustard.

“I didn’t expect the raw egg yolk,” she said.

“You ordered a deconstructed Caesar salad,” Dad said. “What else would you expect?”

“I didn’t think the dressing would be deconstructed. Just the other parts. I know there’s raw egg in Caesar salad, but…”

Sidney should have known better than to subject Allison to his parents. He had hoped they’d act differently with her here, but that was nothing more than a foolish hope. Of course it was the same as always.

He ate his appetizer in a single bite, and Dad stared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

Nothing different from usual.

“How long have you been together?” Mom asked, cutting into her purple asparagus.

“Just over two months.” Allison looked over at Sidney and smiled fondly. She was doing a good job of acting the part.

It’s just acting
. Silly he had to remind himself, but the part of him that refused to forget every damn detail of that indoor picnic during a thunderstorm seemed to be waking up from hibernation.

“I have trouble believing this.” Dad put down his knife and fork. “You never talked about her before. Not since you supposedly got back together.”

“We only talk to each other once a month,” Sidney pointed out.

“I think you’re faking it. You don’t actually have a girlfriend.”

“And why would I pretend to be his girlfriend?” Allison asked.

“I don’t know. To get a good meal, maybe?”

Sidney had thought they would buy it. Really, who showed up to a family dinner accompanied by a fake girlfriend?

Well, he did.

But it wasn’t normal. Did his parents have
that
much trouble believing someone would date him? If he’d just told them he had a girlfriend over the phone, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been suspicious. But actually bringing one to Geyser? He was disappointed they thought he was lying.

Although he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

“They might be telling the truth,” Mom said. “I admit I have my doubts, but there was no reason to bring it up, Carl.”

“I don’t know why you have doubts,” Dad said. “I’m certain this can’t be possible.”

“Faking a relationship is a ridiculous thing to do, isn’t it?”

“It makes more sense than the two of them dating.”

“Because I have a PhD, and it took him five years to get his degree?” Allison set her fork down delicately, but her left hand clutched the bottom of the tablecloth.

Dad looked momentarily surprised by her bluntness, but then he said, “I don’t understand what you could possibly see in him.”

The rare times Sidney saw his parents he put up a goddamn fortress around himself so that stuff didn’t hurt. But still, Dad always managed to say something that penetrated his defenses. It shouldn’t happen—he was used to such rejection by now. And yet he wasn’t completely immune to it.

He didn’t know how to salvage the situation, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to give his parents the satisfaction of knowing they were right. “Allison really is my girlfriend, and if you say—”

“What do I
see
in him?” Allison leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “You really have to ask that? Maybe he doesn’t have the life you wanted him to have, but he has nothing to be ashamed of. Unlike you. You’re his father, and you don’t understand why I’d want to date him?” She took Sidney’s hand in hers. “I’m dating him because he’s a good person and he treats me better than anyone else I’ve ever dated. Happy?”

Mom nodded and looked longingly at the bar; Dad folded his arms and scowled.

Sidney squeezed Allison’s hand. She didn’t need to defend him like that—it wasn’t part of her job as his fake girlfriend—and yet she had. Like she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut because it infuriated her so much.

He probably squeezed her hand too tightly.

“He told me what you were like,” she said. “And I thought surely he had to be exaggerating, but apparently not.”

“Now look here,” Dad said. “We’re not—”

“You’re not sorry. That I’m sure of.”

Allison was right. Sidney knew his father wasn’t sorry about anything he’d said. Of course not—it was pretty much the same stuff he’d been saying for years.

Sidney stood up, knocking the table. “Let’s go. No need to endure another two hours of this.”

Allison stood up too. “I’m…glad I met you.” She nodded first at his father, then at his mother.

“You don’t need to do this,” Mom said.

“I needed to start doing this a long time ago,” Sidney said. “You can eat our food—you’ll need it to get full.”

“You have no appreciation for anything,” Dad muttered.

At least I’m not an asshole.

It was definitely time to get the hell out of here. But Sidney had one thing to do before they left: he pulled Allison close and gave her a long kiss on the lips. And unlike in the bakery, she kissed him back, her arms around his neck.

“There,” he said, slightly breathless after that kiss. “In case you still didn’t believe me.”

* * * *

They spent several minutes walking aimlessly through Yorkville. Sidney held Allison’s hand—that urge he’d had yesterday, and now he was giving in to it. He just couldn’t help it.

She was wearing a deep red, off-the-shoulder dress, now partially covered by a light jacket. Her hair was pulled back, a few wisps framing her face. Every inch of her was stunning. His fingers itched to slide up her arm, remove that jacket, and push the top of her dress down even farther. Or maybe push up the bottom of her dress instead.

But they needed to do something else first. The single shrimp—while delicious—had certainly not satisfied his appetite.

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asked.

“Somewhere with big portions. Somewhere that doesn’t serve a raw egg yolk and a garlic clove beside a piece of lettuce and call it a salad.”

He led her to a quaint Eastern European restaurant that was older than he was. It was simple and bright compared to Geyser. Red chairs, wooden tables, a few small paintings on the walls. An older woman, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, showed them to a table near the back.