God, I ate at this place near the flat last week, menu had "husband beef soup" on it. I laughed way too hard, the waiter looked personally wounded. Reminded me of that trip actually, that place your sister picked with the — the octopus thing that was translated as "leg of sea." I still think about that soup though, we never actually got around to fixing that, did we.
Oh, the "husband beef soup." I almost choked on my coffee when you told me that story. The waiter probably thought you were making a joke about his marriage. And don't get me started on the octopus. "Leg of sea" is the perfect translation for a menu written by someone who has never seen the ocean.
But fixing it? What exactly are we fixing? The translation? The name? Or the fact that we keep pretending we're going to go back and order those ridiculous things? I'm currently buried in spreadsheets from work, so unless you want me to call the restaurant from my desk, it's not happening. Let it go.
No, not the — I meant the soup thing between us, not the actual soup. Never mind, forget it. What spreadsheets, the Hendon numbers again? You've been buried in those for weeks, they're going to fossilize you at that desk. Tell me it's not the same client who made you redo the whole deck three times.
Don't change the subject on me. You're the one who can't say what's wrong. And yes, the Hendon numbers. The same client who thinks "synergy" is a verb. I'm not fossilizing, I'm just... stuck. It's easier to argue about octopus than admit I'm drowning in this. Sometimes I think we should just delete the whole thing and start over, but you know I can't. I'm too tired to fight about the soup. Just tell me why you brought it up if you don't want to talk about it.
I brought it up because it's easier than the other thing, same as you and the deck. I don't know, I keep thinking about it and then I think — what's the point, it's done, saying sorry doesn't un-say what I said. So I make it a joke about a menu instead. That's not nothing, Tess, but I'm not going to perform it just because you're tired and want it over with.
Stop talking like you're giving a eulogy. It's not a performance if you say it, and it's not a menu item either. But you're right, I am tired. I'm tired of waiting for you to stop treating everything like a debt you have to settle.
The deck isn't the problem, and neither is the soup. You think I want a "clean slate" or whatever? I just want you to stop hovering. You say sorry doesn't un-say it? Fine. Then stop saying it. Just... come over later. We can eat actual food, or nothing at all, just stop trying to fix what's already broken.
Okay. I can do that — come over, I mean, not the fixing part. I'll bring something that isn't husband beef soup. And Tess — I'm not hovering because I think it's a debt. I just don't know how to be around you and not notice the thing sitting there. Maybe that's the same problem stated differently. I'll be there by eight.
Eight is fine. Don't overthink the "thing sitting there" again, or I'll make you sit in the corner and stare at the wall. Just bring the food. And for God's sake, if the waiter asks what it is, don't joke about it being "wife stew" or whatever. The silence is loud enough as it is. I'll be here, probably still on that damn spreadsheet, but I'll put it away when you get here. Just knock.
Wife stew — noted, absolutely not saying that. I'll knock, you put the spreadsheet down, and if Hendon calls before eight I'm answering the phone and telling them synergy isn't a verb myself. See you at eight, Tess.
If Hendon calls, you better not say a word. I'm the one who can't afford to lose them, not you. Just knock when you get here. And don't make me wait.
Not a word, promise. I'll be quiet as the wall you almost made me stare at. Eight o'clock, I'll knock twice so you know it's me and not someone selling you a new broadband contract. See you then.
Fine. Two knocks. If it's three, I'm not opening the door. Just get here. And don't worry, the phone will be off. I'm sick of synergy anyway.
Two knocks, no more, no less. Turn it off, let Hendon synergize into the void without you for one night. I'll see you at eight, Tess.
Exactly. Two knocks. And yeah, let the phone go to voicemail; I'm done listening to that voice. Just get here before I change my mind and go back to the spreadsheet. See you.
Going now before you can talk yourself back into it. Two knocks, eight sharp. See you, Tess.
Stop stalling. Go. And if you're late, don't bother knocking at all. I'm already turning it off.
Going. No stalling, no third knock, no more soup jokes. See you soon.
Good. Just get there. I'm not going to sit here staring at the wall waiting. Turn off the phone and come.
Turning it off now. See you at eight, Tess.
Fine. Go. I'm already ignoring the notification lights. Just be there.
I'm gone. Eight o'clock.
Alright. Go. Don't make me count the minutes.
Not counting. Just walking. See you soon.
Walk fast. And if you stop for a coffee, you're paying for dinner.