[Sierra]

She lowers her head to read Lisa’s text, and I gauge from her reaction that she sent exactly what I wanted. I rotate the phone again to look at it myself; it says the name of this restaurant, the time we scheduled to meet up here – and a smiley face no less. Tess’ eyes glance up at me, astonished that my wife can be fully aware and comfortable with her spending the evening with me. As I snap the phone closed, it’s explained that my commitment to family isn’t the only factor. Margaret hinted this earlier, she has a boyfriend. His name is Tommy and he was originally her date this Saturday night.

“Oh, my apologies for the inconvenience, Tess, I didn’t know you had plans. How long have you two been together?”

A year, she says. I continue to ask personal questions about this man and the more they come the more uneasy she appears to feel. Our good friend Tommy is an upcoming lawyer. When I ask if their planned dinner was a special occasion, all I get is a mumble of “no”, and she begins to retreat into herself. I’m not finished yet. She knows the reaction to this meeting from my side, but now the lie she surely told her boyfriend has me very curious. She reaches into her handbag and takes out her own mobile. “See for yourself,” mimicking my previous line.

“It’s ok babe, do what you have to do, my surprise can wait until tomorrow!”

I smirk at the text, snatching the phone from her fingertips without permission. I scroll down to read more of the details and notice that it was sent only ten minutes before 8:00. Tess is stretching her hand towards me, politely asking me to return it to her. I say that I noticed the couple side by side in a framed picture in her living room. Thinking back to it, he has a long, layered hairstyle, some facial hair and is probably in his early twenties.

“Really Tess, you can do better”, is my honest opinion. I finally hand back the mobile, slipping it underneath her hand and forcing the young girl to flip it over to retrieve it. Our hands clasp, and I squeeze her gently with my thumb until I finish speaking.

“I do hope you take his advice, though.”

She promptly pulls away, ensuring that we maintain eye contact in the process. We are in our own little world for a short time, with the voice of the waiter bringing this awkward moment to an end. Those glaring blue eyes are re-directed to the sight of her plate landing on her side of the table. This is the amuse bouche (“amusement for the mouth”), the introduction to our dinner. We have a trio on one plate, consisting of Hamuchi on toasted garlic brioche, goat cheese in a tomato gelée, and a glass of basil soup with shrimp fondue.

“The chef recommends we eat from right to left”, I enlighten Tess.

She doesn’t respond, trying to decide on the correct spoon instead. I watch her eat, rarely attending to my own food. She sips her soup and waits for it to cool. The silence between us has lasted a few minutes now. I bend down to collect a black folder I brought to the restaurant, which had been resting against the table leg. Some paper clipped sheets are the contents, removed and carefully placed to the side of my dish.


He starts to read the text from Tom, but snatches the phone from my hand. My indignation rises as he scrolls down the screen.

It had taken me almost two hours to try to come up with an excuse that I thought Tom would accept. I really hated to break our date and I am feeling guilty about it.

“May I please have my phone back?”

Instead, he says softly, "I saw him. He's the guy next to you in that photograph on your mantlepiece."

My mind drifts back to when I first realized how I felt about Tom. It was New Year’s Eve and we went to a fancy party at the Hilton in town. There was a photographer there and on a whim we had our picture taken. At midnight, he had kissed me and told me he thought I might be the girl for him. I floated on cloud nine for the rest of the night! When the picture arrived in the mail a few days later, my mother had it framed and put it on the mantelpiece.

Christian closes my phone and hands it back to me. He holds my hand for a minute, saying, “You can do better, Tess.”

Do better? What does he mean I can do better? Tom comes from a good family, has a promising career and, most importantly, he is nice to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with him…..don’t I?

My thoughts are interrupted when the waiter brings a plate with a small cup of soup, some little bread things and some cheese with a red sauce. I’m not sure how I should eat them, so I sit and wait to watch what Christian does. To my embarrassment, he notices my confusion and says that the chef suggests starting on the right and working left.

While we’re nibbling, he pulls some papers out of a folder. I spot the words “Open Heart Surgery” at the top of the page and realize that we are about to get down to real discussion.

I’m a little worried about costs and expenses that might not be included. We don't have the money to pay for a hospital stay or expensive tests. “What does that contract say?”

Christian replies that the contract says he’ll cover all the expenses related to the procedure. He also brought up an issue I really didn’t want to have to think about. Included in the contract is a waiver and a place for instructions on what to do if there are complications. He explained each of the choices and what each one meant. I pull all those ideas from my mind.

He puts the contract aside and says, “You know, your father and I barely spoke two words to each other in college. And it’s not like I’ve received a Christmas card in the 15 years since, either.”

I could feel my eyes widen. “Really? I thought you and my dad were friends! I guess he didn’t want to worry me.” I’m shocked that he would even consider doing such an expensive operation for just an acquaintance from his long-ago college days. Maybe I was wrong about Christian.

We finish our soup, he tells me with a wry smile that he understands what it’s like to want to protect a daughter.

“I understand about protecting people too," I tell him. "I had to leave school to get a job. We needed the money.”


Tess recognizes what can only be the contract in my hand and asks what it says in it.

“It states that all medical expenses for your father’s surgery will be paid for. It’s also a waiver indicating whether to resuscitate him in the event of complications.”

Of course I am aware that it is not a pleasant discussion for a family to have, but something that must be done. Her reaction is typical of a patient, suggesting she had yet to properly consider that the procedure is not 100% certain to be a success. Tess would be well advised to ensure my own signature before thinking this far ahead anyway. The sheets are again left down on the table. I inform Harry’s daughter that in truth, we hardly had one conversation in medical school before he dropped out. I don’t even have a letter, phone call or Christmas card since then to inspire this act of kindness. She is surprised by this – she actually thought we were buddies back then.

“He probably didn’t want to worry your little head”, I say. I see another change in her attitude towards me, similar to when I displayed my love for my children, almost like she is fighting the first impression she got from me when she arrived at the restaurant.

“I understand about protecting a daughter,” I add, relating to my former colleague somewhat. I certainly would not have let her dine with me tonight, though. She explains her own familiarity of protecting family; she was forced to leave school and work to help pay the bills at home. Our soup is finished; I had let mine get too cold so I leave some of it behind. A different waiter collects our plates.

“We’ve been talking about family, friends”, I begin, leaning back with my arms folded. “You are neither. Yet I look through this, and I see nothing but loss on my side. Sacrifice – for you people. I’m a surgeon, a God damn successful and respected one. I’m paid for my skills and that is my living. There is a colossal imbalance in everything this sheet of paper says.”

“Why are you saying these things now? Why would you bring me here to tell me that you don’t want to do the operation!” she interrupts, becoming emotional.

“You are here, Tess, for balance. You’re here to tell me what I’m getting out of this”, I reveal, leaning on the table with both palms.

The defiant blonde immediately reaches for her handbag and the legs of her chair push back against the thick carpet. She stands up and seems to be facing in the direction of the exits. I get to my feet and position myself in her path. Her nearest wrist is grabbed so that she cannot go anywhere. Tess murmurs for me to release her, as some of the customers look on. We continue to talk quietly and not make a scene.

“Here’s my summation. Your father is 56 years old. He’s had two heart attacks in the past 6 months. He’s weak and you’re almost afraid to hug him incase it kills him. He has no insurance, no savings. He has no job or way of getting a loan. We’re fuckin’ talking last resort here. I mean, let’s call a spade a spade, Tess. You’re desperate.”

Her lips had parted briefly but now she just turns her head in embarrassment. Perhaps she cannot face the harsh reality of these circumstances. I lean in so close to her ear that my breathing is a bother, and my cruel whisper through the strands of her hair makes her shudder.