Page 34 of The Hang Up
Hiccup!
Miriam covered her mouth, then picked up her water glass. “Excuse me,” she said, then took three big gulps of water. Her cheeks felt warm, and she realized she was royally blowing this polished image she was working so hard to teach him.
To his credit, Jason seemed unfazed. He was busy adjusting his napkin on his lap and bumped Miriam’s leg under the table. “Whoops, sorry,” he said as his fingers grazed her bare thigh. “I didn’t mean to grope you.”
“Not a problem,” she said, still focused on trying to control her hiccups. She took two more gulps of water, then set her glass down and tried a sip of wine instead. There. That seemed better.
Her thigh kept tingling where his hand had brushed her skin, and her face burned with the embarrassment of losing control of her diaphragm at the dinner table. For crying out loud, could there be a worse time to have hiccups?
“All right,” she said at last, then swallowed hard. “So speaking of the napkin, when your meal is finished, you’ll want to place it on the left hand side of your plate.”
“What if the waiter already took my plate?”
“The napkin still goes to the left of where your plate used to be.”
“Do I have to fold it back up the way it was? Because I don’t think I can do that fancy napkin origami where it looks like a swan or a fan or theTitanicor whatever.”
“Just place it neatly,” she said. “Try to tuck any really big food stains inside.”
“And I already know I’m not supposed to spit gum in a cloth napkin,” he said, grinning a little sheepishly. “Learned that one the hard way once.”
“Right.” Miriam took another small sip of wine. Okay, good. The hiccups seemed to be gone. She picked up her own knife and fork and cut a small bite of pork. She speared it into her mouth and began to chew, savoring the freshness of the rosemary and the zing of balsamic glaze. She’d gotten the meat nice and juicy, which was a plus.
Jason watched her for a moment, then picked up his own knife and fork. He sliced into the meat, his hand huge and strong-looking on the shaft of the knife.
“Oh my God,” he said around a mouthful of pork, and the look of bliss on his face was enough to stop Miriam from reminding him not to talk with his mouth full. “What is this?”
“Rosemary-brined pork chops with a balsamic glaze,” she said. “Beside that, you have smoked fingerling potatoes, porcini mushrooms dressed with Greek yogurt and pancetta, and a roasted beet salad with shallot vinaigrette, watercress, and a Cypress Grove chèvre sachet.”
“Holy shit.”
She grinned and rolled her eyes. “Thank you, but you may want to work on coming up with a different way to express your appreciation for a meal.”
“Duly noted. You made all this?”
“Yes. Normally at a restaurant, the meal would come out one dish at a time, but I thought it would be better if we?—”
Hiccup!
Jason laughed as Miriam flushed again. She shook her head and picked up her water glass. “I’m so sorry,” she said between gulps of water. “I have no idea why this is happening.”
“Well, it’s an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm and respiratory organs, resulting in the sudden closure of the glottis.” Jason grinned and took a sip of wine while Miriam sat staring at him in disbelief.
“You sounded like a medical dictionary just then.”
He shrugged. “I took a lot of anatomy classes when I was earning a degree in exercise physiology.”
“Oh.” She gulped some more water, emptying her glass. Before she could reach for the pitcher, he’d picked it up and given her a refill.
“You’re on the right track with the water,” he said. “You could try plugging your ears while you swallow it, or taking a mouthful of water and bending at the waist before taking a drink.”
She frowned, pretty sure either of those activities would kill the sophisticated dinner vibe she was aiming for.“I think I have it under control,” she said. “Thank you, though.”
“Suit yourself.”
Miriam cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I was saying. Ordinarily at a restaurant, the meal would come out with multiple courses. An appetizer, then maybe a soup course, salad, then your entrée. You want to defer to your host on how many courses to order,” she said.
“What if I’m hungrier than Jack Wainswright?”
