7
She holds the passenger door for you and shuts it behind you, all chivalrous. You wonder if she would have done this for you if you hadn’t told her, if she’s already beginning to treat you like you’re broken.
“Is it cool if I play some music?” she asks.
You nod, and she turns on something instrumental, turns it so loud that it would be difficult to talk. You enjoy it, though, the way it folds velvety and thick around you. She turns away from the road occasionally, probably to check if you’re into it, and you give her a thumbs-up and she gives you one back.
When you get to the restaurant, you see it’s everything you’d been trying to avoid. Very dim lighting, the menus stacked with a hundred tiny options you’ll never be able to decipher.
She sees you squinting at the menu, says “Is it hard for you to see? Do you need me to read it to you?”
