Estelle sat silently in the passenger seat. As Steve drove he prattled on about something that had happened to him at work. He didn't have half the stress in his job that Estelle had -- nor did he make half her salary! -- but she let him continue without interruption. Even if she had broken in to tell a work story of her own, he wouldn't have understood her office politics. Some things were beyond his comprehension.
As her mind drifted, Estelle thought of her parents back home in China. Her mother, especially, had disapproved of her marriage to Steve. She'd thought Steve was beneath Estelle. Of course the two lovers hadn't paid attention, they'd wanted to spend their lives together, so they went ahead and got married. Besides, things were different in Canada: people were more progressive here than back home. If Estelle made more money than Steve, so be it!
And if she happened to be smarter, so be it. If she'd maintained her looks, while he'd gotten fat... If her sex drive had remained high, while his had withered...
He finally stopped talking when they arrived at the restaurant. She'd known this would be where they'd end up. It was their anniversary -- fifteen years! -- and they always came here for their anniversary dinners. She gave a perfunctory smile when he came around to open her car door for her, making a brief attempt at chivalry.
They had a reservation, but Steve made a show of slipping a loonie into the hand of the girl who seated them so that she'd put them at a "good table." It would be up to Estelle to wait until he wasn't looking and slip the girl some real money; at least a five. It was doubly frustrating, because a tip wasn't necessary in the first place, but a small tip was insulting. So Estelle would correct his mistake, which was prompted by his underlying mistake.
Fifteen years.
Once seated, Steve resumed whatever story he'd been telling in the car, and Estelle resumed pretending to listen. Their waiter came with water and menus, and pointed out the wine list. It was one of the few times of the year that Steve wouldn't be counting pennies, so of course he'd want to make a show of choosing a bottle of wine.
The waiter caught Estelle's eye as he left, and she felt a tingle in her nether regions. He was so tall, and white, and handsome.
He was soon back, to allow them to choose their wine. "I'm thinking..." Steve said, as he deliberated, "either this one, or this one. What do you think sweetie?"
"Yes, I think a bottle of this one would be perfect," she responded, making it sound like she was agreeing with him as she chose a completely different wine.
"Perfect!" he responded.
"Very good, Sir," the waiter responded, scooping up the wine menu. "I'll be back momentarily to take your orders."
---
When she took her first sip of the wine, Estelle knew she'd chosen well. It was as if she could feel her whole body warming up as the wine rolled over her tongue, and she relished the aftertaste for a moment.
"Not bad!" Steve exclaimed, as he took a gulp of his own wine. She tried to drown him out of her thoughts for just a moment longer, so she could enjoy the wine, but when he smacked his lips it was too much.
"I'm going to use the restroom, before the food arrives," she murmured to him.
"OK, Sweetie," he said, as he reached for a roll.
