He pulls out his wallet. It's brown leather with etchings and I can't remember if it was a present I gave him. There was a time I loved giving guys wallets, ball caps and ties.
I think about Christmases and birthdays. I think about those "just because" and "I saw this and just had to get it for you" purchases. I was too nice back then. I wanted to please too much.
I close my eyes and quietly shake my head. I'm not so much that way anymore. I wonder if Barry notices this as I stare into his face. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. I am distracted by a speck of dust in his hair as he makes small talk. I want to reach over and pick it out, but I don't. I don't have the courage. My heart deflates in defeat.
He puts the wallet back in his pocket as we wait for the waitress to return. That wallet looks too thin to be something I gave him. Anyway, why would I care if he did or didn't use it? I lie to myself, telling my mind that it is all irrelevant now as Barry goes into pop culture mode, talking about the latest he said, she said.
I smell tacos from far off. The sun burns through the windows and into the middle of the restaurant where we are sitting. I notice a guy at the booth across from us stretch his legs out toward me for a moment.
I look into Barry eyes. He smiles. My heart deflates.
The waitress comes to pick up our checks and I suddenly am glad for another momentary distraction. I feel like getting up and running away.
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