brunch at marchello's | z & v
May 4, 2023 10:40:25 GMT -5
Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on May 4, 2023 10:40:25 GMT -5
Why, after two years of dating, does my girlfriend still ask me if I want a mimosa when we go out for brunch on a Saturday afternoon? I wonder if she knows me at all. Great-Granddad Niko was very particular about his wishes for my sister and me before he passed away. Don't let them tarnish the reputation I've built. Family history dates all the way back to the 1st Hunger Games, where Dmitri Kostas died first and apparently set our family up for generations. My great-granddad and his brother never let anyone in District Two forget their last name, and the thought of any future generation breaking a pattern of Peacekeepers and strong careers living powerful lives frightened him.
This relationship was pre-determined by my family. I don't mean a forced romance. They're not that bad. But Ronnie and I always played as kids, always found ourselves with identical schedules in school, and her parents moved closer to us when I turned fifteen. Proximity and a few elbow nudges influenced me to ask her out. We've been together ever since– I really don't know how to let her go easy. And I'm even more unsure how my family will take it.
On the bright side, we share enough interests to make dates bearable. And in the summertime, there are many. Ronnie loves a show when we go to restaurants. The biggest place she knows for an entertainment-and-eating experience is Marchello's. It's a place home to a variety of performers, rotating in and out on the daily. Today's feature is a drag queen. Vittoria Antoinette. The name, and who it relates to, brings a cold air across my back. I support the artistry of drag, even if I'm not really a part of the space that it was developed for. It's important to be respectful. Compared to Ronnie, I think I'm a lot more accepting and reserved about it. She's well-intentioned, but any of the drag waitresses we've seen at Marchello's have gotten a mouthful from a straight girl who's a little too excited to be there.
Ronnie gets the booth and I take a chair. She orders a pair of mimosas before reaching her arm across the table to trace the back of my hand with her fingertips. My arm reaches out to wave the waiter back. "Uh, just one mimosa please. And then one orange juice." The waiter nods, glancing back to Ronnie with a look of fright on her face. As he walks away, I turn back to see a glare of death upon my partner's face. "Orange juice? Really?"
I wrap her fingers around my palm. We share a smile with each other, trying not to make a scene in the restaurant. "Every time, you order me one of those and I have to correct it with the waiter. For the bajillionth time, I don't drink."
Does she not remember or does she not care? I let go of her hand.
Story of my life.
The lights dim and the musicians at the restaurant gradually shift their pace and tone. I turn toward the front stage, crossing my leg atop my knee, and smile. Ready to enjoy the show.
At least I'll enjoy something today.