Chapter 4

We do not talk on our way to the restaurant. I enjoy the silence – it feels pleasant and natural. George looks out the side window most of the time. It is only after I have parked the car that he takes a deep breath and begins, "Listen, Stephen..."

Feeling apprehensive, I turn to look him in the face. His cheeks are pink and he looks nervous. "I have to talk to you about my condition." - "Okay, sure," I answer, smiling determinedly. "The thing is," George continues slowly, falteringly. "The thing is, I usually avoid excitement. Always have. I have never dared going on dates and things like that, because any strong emotion can trigger an attack. So, this means that I am not used to strong feelings – I don't even know if I am capable of… I mean, I've never..." he trails off. I think I understand. I make an effort to give my voice a reassuring quality. "Let's not worry about all this now, okay? Let's take it one step at a time, as you should."

"Okay." George breaths out heavily. "Still, there are things I'd like to know regarding your, er, condition," I plough on. George raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. I raise my voice in order to give myself some confidence. "Yeah, well, I think it's important to be safe. I need to know what I should reckon with. Like, what's the worst that could happen? Or how can I tell in advance when an attack is coming? And when it does..."

"Alright, alright, easy!" he interjects. "Don't worry. Most of the time, I deal with all that on my own – you know, I live alone, so I have to. I usually know when something's about to happen. Then I sit down. So the worst thing that could happen is that you'll be embarrassed because your date is sitting down in the middle of the pavement. Or you might have to catch me." he adds, in the tone of an afterthought. Now I am the one who is taken aback. He said "date", and he talked about catching him. That seems quite brazen coming from him who claims not to know what he likes and doesn't like – even if he did blush much more deeply while he said it. Unable to help myself, I start chuckling. "Now, don't you worry about that."

"Well, if that's all, why don't we venture inside? It's nothing special, but I thought..." - "It looks lovely," George says. He gets out of the car and walks around it towards the entrance. I intended to offer him my arm to hold on to, but he just walks past me before I have the chance. Thank goodness. The walk up the stairs feels a bit awkward as well. I am unsure whether to walk behind George or next to him. He appears to feel the same way, as he keeps glancing back, waiting, then accelerating his steps in a confused, and confusing, manner.

I feel sillier still when I realize that I'm holding the door open for George, as if I was the gentleman and he the lady. But he doesn't seem to mind, or perhaps he just doesn't notice. I briefly raise my hand in greeting to the waiter - Kareem knows me – and lift my arm into the direction of our table. "I thought you'd, erm, like to sit on the sofa?" I say. "Yeah, that looks cozy. Thanks," George answers. I sigh with relief: we made it to the restaurant without faux-pas, accidents or episode.

George seems much more relaxed now, too. He smiles and takes the menu. "You look like you know the place well. Any recommendations?" I smile back. "I personally love pasta. You can't go wrong with an of the pasta dishes here. Or should it be something fancier?" George wrinkles his nose. "What's the fancy recommendation?" - "Salmon, of course," I answer. I don't like fish much, myself, but I feel it's a sophisticated thing to order and will make a good impression. "Salmon it is, then," grins George.