Marc – Day eight

After spending an inordinate amount of time perusing the menu, she lowered it and took a drink of her water.

“Make a decision yet?” I asked.

“The Crab Crusted Fresh Icelandic…” She glanced at the menu and then looked up. “Cod Filet.”

I titled my head to the side. “No oysters?”

“I love Cod. If I didn’t get it, I’d be kicking myself for weeks. I’m so glad they serve it. Especially the Icelandic Cod. And fresh?” She cocked her head and grinned. “How can you top that?”

“The only way to top something like that is with an oyster” I said. “I’ll order plenty, don’t worry. Rockefeller, and on the half shell. We can share.”

The color drained from her face. After taking a drink of water, her mouth curled into an awkward grin. “I can’t wait.”

The waitress approached the table and glanced at each of us. “Have you decided?”

“We have,” I said. “She’ll have the Crab Crusted Cod, and I’d like the O-Side Clams, Mussels, Scallops, Shrimp and Cod. I’d also like half a dozen Oysters Rockefeller, and half a dozen on the half shell.”

“Would you like the oysters before the meals come out?” she asked.

“Please.”

“Any wine?”

“None for me, thank you.”

I gestured toward Taryn.

“None for me, either,” she said.

“Great choices. The oysters will be right out.”

“Thank you.”

“You must be hungry,” Taryn said.

“Seafood is one of my favorite foods. Actually, it’s my go-to food.”

She swallowed heavily and then widened her eyes. “Oysters included?”

“Oysters included.”

She took a drink of water. As she lowered her glass, she wagged her eyebrows. “That’s awesome.”

“I’ve got a broad palate. After eating foods in other countries, I’m open to almost anything.”

She wiped the condensation from her glass. “I haven’t been outside of the states.” She looked up. “What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever been?”

“None of them are weird, they’re just different. Different cultures, different beliefs. They think we’re the weird ones.”

“Are they really that much different? In other countries?”

I chuckled. “In Pakistan, when a male member of a family commits a crime, the punishment is oftentimes financial,” I said. “If he is incapable of paying the debt, he can be forced to forfeit his daughter for marriage. It’s called Vani. The tribal elders discuss it, decide who will be given for marriage, and that’s it. No discussions, no negotiations. It’s a form of arranged child marriage. Eleven or twelve years old is a common age for an arranged marriage.”

“Holy crap,” she said. “Eleven?”

“In Pakistan, child marriages are as common as a cold. Many countries have arranged marriages, not all of which are children. Afghanistan, Yemen, Guinea, Niger.” I shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a few more.”

Her eyes went wide. “I had no idea.”

“Do you believe that a marriage like that can be a loving one?”

Her gaze fell to the table. After a long moment of consideration, she looked up. “I don’t know. I mean, I can see the girl growing up and not really knowing any better. At eleven or twelve, she’d be too young to understand love. She’d probably look at her husband as a fatherly figure, and be attached to him in different ways. I suppose it could become love. Over time. It’s really hard to say.”

“What about the arranged marriage of adults? In China, Japan, and a few of the other countries I mentioned? Many of those are forced, and some are exogamous. That means that a third party makes the decision of who is marrying who regardless of their social, cultural, or economic group. So, you’d be forced to marry whoever they decided. No exception. And, that person may be someone who has beliefs and habits that you’ve been raised to oppose. Can those two people love each other, or do they simply settle into a life of misery?”

“That’s a good question.” She reached for her glass of water. “What brought this up?”

“I’d like your views on love. Can those two adults who are being forced to marry outside of their social and cultural groups love one another?”

“I think so. Eventually. They’ve got no choice as far as the marriage goes, right?”

“That is correct.”

“I think if two adults know that, sooner or later, they’ll make whatever adjustments they have to. You know, to accommodate the other person.”

“So, you think their relationship is about sacrifice? Or that sacrifice is necessary for it to succeed?”

“I think it would have to be. In that circumstance, you know there’d be turmoil. One person believes x, and the other believes y. But they’ve got to be together, no matter what. No divorce? Is that allowed?”

“No.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I think they’d have to be willing to make adjustments. Consider what the other’s beliefs are, and be willing to accept them. That’s a tough one.”

“But you think, in the end, that they could find love? Develop it?”

“I think so.”

“What about love at first sight?”

“What about it?”

“Do you think soul mates exist? Two people meet and, bam! They’re in love? They say, I knew the instant we met that we were in love. We got married six weeks later. Everyone oohs and aahs at their story of how they met at the produce section of Whole Foods. Is that realistic? Is it love?”

She chuckled. “I think they tell themselves it is. I don’t believe in insta-love.”

“What do you believe the people from my Whole Foods story feel?”

“I think they’re like the girl from China or whatever that was forced to marry the guy from another culture. Eventually, they’re in love with each other. Until that time comes, they’re riding a wave of lust.”

I let out a laugh. “A wave of lust?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “I think they fell in lust in the store while they were squeezing the no chemicals added avocadoes. Then, later, while they were buying the free-range chicken salad at the deli counter, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra when she put the little container in her cart. Then, she noticed a bulge in his cargo shorts when he was putting his chicken salad in his little basket. They shared an awkward glance. After they paid for their preservative-free selections, as fate would have it, they find that they were parked side by side in the parking lot. Boom. It was meant to be. They probably made a date for later that night, and from there, they rode the wave of lust until they eventually fell in love.”

She clapped her hands together, and then raised them high in the air. “How’s that?”

I smiled. “Pretty entertaining. I have a question. Why did she have a cart and he had a basket?”

“She’s divorced. Has kids at home with her sister because she can’t afford a sitter. He’s single, so he can fit all his shit in one of those little baskets.”

I found her theories not only entertaining, but interesting. “Why can’t she afford a sitter?”

“Because she shops at Whole Foods, duh.”

“So, in summary, soul mates don’t exist?”

She wiped the condensation from the cup with the web of her hand. “They do if you want them to.”

“Love is something you tell yourself you’ve found when you’re finally ready to settle. Is that you’re belief?”

“Yeah. I think that’s pretty much it.” She looked at me. “What do you believe?”

“I believe there has to be an attraction at first. It could be based solely on looks, or it might be personality based. It could even be sexually based. Say, from what was expected to be a one night stand. But there must be an attraction. If there is, it can develop into a loving relationship if both parties are interested, and if they allow it to.”

“It’s that easy?” she asked.

I extended my index finger. “To survive, a relationship requires sacrifice from both sides. In the absence of sacrifice, the relationship will be sacrificed.”

“Here you go,” the waitress said, interrupting our conversation. “Rockefeller, and on the half shell.”

She placed two platters on the table. “I’ll bring some wet-naps back.”

“Thank you.”

Taryn looked at the oysters on the half shell, and then at the oysters Rockefeller. After a quick study, she looked at me.

“The little guys without the spinach.” She wagged her finger toward the oyster-filled platter. “What’s on them?”

“Nothing.”

“Just oyster matter?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Matter?”

“Just all the slimy stuff that comes with an oyster? No other stuff?”

I chuckled. “No other stuff. Why?”

“I’m not a big spinach person.”

“I doubt you’d even realize it was spinach. They’re quite tasty.”

“I’m sure they are. I think I’m going for the plain ole oyster.”

“It doesn’t bother you that they’re raw?”

Her face paled. “Huh?”

“They’re raw.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re uncooked.”

She looked at the platter and then swallowed heavily. “They just busted ‘em open and tossed the little guys on the plate?”

“I sure hope so,” I said.

“Were they. Were they alive?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Are you being serious?”

“They have to be alive, or they’re not safe to eat. If the shells are closed tight, they’re alive. They take a special knife, insert it between the shells, and break the muscle that attaches the shells. At that moment, the oyster is killed. They need to be eaten immediately if they’re not cooked.”

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“You better hurry. We need to eat these before they spoil.”

She stood. “I’d sure hate for that to happen. I’ll make it quick.”

In no time, she returned. The pleasant scent of her perfume filled the air as she sat down. “Thorry, that coffee ith going right through me.”

I cocked my head and gave her a look. It seemed that she’d somehow developed a lisp while she was away.

“That’s quite alright,” I said. “We’re all sitting here patiently.”

She looked at the oysters. “Tho how doth one properly eat an oythter?”

I nodded toward the tray. “Pretty simple,” I said. “Pick it up and slurp it off the shell.”

She reached for an oyster, raised it in toast, and slurped it from the shell. After swallowing it, she took a drink of water, and reached for another. I did the same, and we each held them in a mock toast.

After eating it, much to my surprise, she picked up the third. “If were tharing, we’re tharing.”

“What happened to your tongue?” I asked.

“I bit in the bathroom by mithtake.”

“Oh.”

We ate the third oysters and shared a look. “Good, huh?” I asked.

“Probably an acquired tathte.”

“Rockefeller?” I asked.

“Thure,” she said. “Why not?”

“Scoop them out or pierce them with your fork.”

We shared the platter of oysters, and upon swallowing the last one, our food arrived.

“Perfect timing,” I said to the waitress.

She removed the empty platters and replaced them with our meals. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” I said.

Taryn shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Enjoy.”

Taryn situated her plate, and then looked up. “What you thaid earlier, about thacrifithe?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”

“We’re on the thame page.” She smiled, scooped up a piece of her fish, and paused. “Thacrifithe ith what iths all about.”