“Finally.” Amy sighed in exasperation. She was still as trim as ever, unlike Jack, but the lines on her face couldn’t even be mostly hidden by makeup anymore. She was dressed in a nice charcoal gown, which complimented Jack’s dark blue suit coat rather well. “Come on, let’s go!”
“I’ll drive.” Jack grabbed the keys out of the bowl on the way out.
“No! The way you drive we’d be talking to the cops while the maitre’d gives our table away.” Amy took the keys from his hand. “I’ll drive.”
She did. At exactly eight o’clock, they handed the keys off to the valet and stepped inside. Van Piet’s was always booked solid, and tonight was no exception. Though many tables were empty, they all held little gold-bordered “reserved” cards.
Amy gave Jack a nudge, so he stepped forward to the podium. “Reservation for two.”
“Name, sir?” The maitre’d asked in a condescendingly british accent.
“Jack Holland.” Jack supplied.
The man flipped through a few pieces of paper. “I don’t see it here.”
“You forgot to book the table?” Amy growled. Jack cringed - this wasn’t his fault. He had. He knew his wife was on the boil now.
“There must be a mistake.” Jack reached into his pocket for the slip of paper, reaching past the little vial. “I have a - ”
“Confirmation slip.” The man supplied for Jack as the little piece of printed paper. “I will check it.” He took the slip and vanished off into the back.
“You forgot to reserve the table?” Amy hissed at Jack. “For our anniversary? Our twentieth anniversary?”
“I reserved it, dear, God as my witness.” Jack held up his hands. “I had the slip. He’ll give us a table.”
“He’d better.”
Jack tried not to look at his wife’s simmering anger until the maitre’d returned. “So sorry for the wait, sir and madam. The reservation was in our system. Right this way.”
Jack shot an “I told you so” look at Amy, who pretended not to see it.
Van Piet’s was fancy enough not to have menus, so Jack had nothing to hide behind to avoid Amy’s glare. He wasn’t sure if the cold annoyance for him being right (for once) was worse than the volcano of anger he’d have gotten if the maitre’d had not found the reservation. He sipped the water provided to him quietly, avoiding eye contact.
“Welcome to Van Piet’s, sir and madam.” The server’s approach behind Jack was so silent he jumped at the words.
“About time.” Amy beckoned the man over and asked him to list for her the menu options. For each, she asked how healthy that option was. Jack knew without asking - this was a place that used good old-fashioned quality unhealthy ingredients, but served smaller portions to compensate.
“I’ll have the alfredo, and Jack will probably want a steak. Isn’t that right, dear?” She finally included Jack in the conversation.
“Y-yes, thank you.” Jack said gratefully. She wasn’t trying to order for him, for once. The evening must have meant something to her if she was letting her husband eat what he wanted, not what was “good for him”. “Cooked medium, if you please.”
“Of course.” The server didn’t take notes. Jack knew the order was simple enough that it would be okay. Van Piet’s hired the best, in theory. “Anything to drink with that? We have a very nice wine selection, and I’d be happy to suggest - ”
“No, thank you, no wine.” Amy waved him off.
“Dear, it’s our anniversary. Surely one glass wouldn’t - ” Jack tried to interject.
“No.” Amy replied firmly. “We have to drive home.”
“One glass will have left our systems long before we leave...” But it was useless. She got that look in her eyes that Jack knew eant immobility. He couldn’t be right in front of anyone, especially not twice in a row. “”Or not.
“Uh, of course.” The server excused himself and retreated away, muttering something about the salad course coming out in a few minutes.
“Amy, why - ” Jack started, but she waved him off.
“Excuse me, dear, I will be right back.” She said, a hard edge behind her polite words. She stood and headed for the ladies’ room. Jack gave it even odds as to whether that would be to actually use the facilities or to come out looking truly heartbroken over the perceived slight of contradicting her in front of the server.
Jack waited until she was out of sight, then flagged down the server, who was delivering salads to another table. “My wife doesn’t want to go overboard on the cost, but it is our twentieth anniversary, I think we can afford to celebrate.” Jack told him. “I want to get a bottle of something. What would you recommend?”
“I have a nice merlot that should suit.” The man replied. “Reasonably priced, pairs acceptably with both your dishes. I’ll get you a taste in a moment.”
Jack thanked the man, and when the taste came out he didn’t have to think too hard before buying the bottle. It and two glasses came out in moments.
Jack poured both glasses. As soon as the server’s back was turned, Jack pulled the little vial out of his pocket. The label was small, but it only held four letters: LOVE. The liquid inside was a darker red than the wine, and had an oily swirling film on top. Jack shook it gently, then uncorked it. The smell was like roses and lavender and summer rain. It hadn’t been cheap, but if it worked it would save his marriage. It was clear to him that Amy no longer loved him, and he had long since stopped loving her.
But he hesitated before tipping the vial into Amy’s glass. Was this wrong? Yes. Would there be hell to pay if she found out? Yes. But Jack remembered all those years ago, when their love was new, and Amy was all smiles and laughter and Jack was all confidence and tenderness and it seemed like the world couldn’t possibly tear them apart in a million years. He remembered the look on his own face and hers on their wedding day, in the picture on the mantle, just beginning to fade and gather dust now, in the silence left when the twins went to college. They had been so happy just to be together. When had that gone?
Blinking back a tear, Jack tipped half the vial into her glass, then the other into his. If he was going to do this to Amy, he would do it to himself as well. It would work, or fail, on them both, and their marriage would live, or it would die.
Amy came out of the restroom at last, looking more composed. She scowled at the bottle.
“Sorry, dear. But this is our twentieth anniversary. We can afford a little celebration.” Jack picked up both glasses and set one in her hand. “Come on. A toast to our life these twenty years, and to the next twenty.” He raised his glass.
“Oh, all right. ”Amy reluctantly raised hers to his.
“To life, and to love.” Jack said, coaxing a small smile out of his wife. That was the toast Jack, nervous out of his mind and not one for words, had given at the wedding, as she well knew.
Jack smiled back, the crystal clinked, and they drank.
This story is part of my attempt to finish the 100 prompts challenge posted in the short story competition at RPGCrossing.com.
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