“New reality show. Post-apocalyptic dates. The end is just the beginning.” Ethan replied as he waved his hand over the tablescape; complete with cut flowers and fine china. With the entire neighborhood at their disposal, they had spared no expense. The empty houses were always the best ones to steal from—it still felt wrong to take something from somebody when their body was in the next room. Ethan hadn’t done any of the actual procuring, but he’d directed well from his wheelchair. And it gave him something to focus on, something to temporarily numb him from the increasing fogginess.
Ainsley picked at the corner of the tablecloth. “What about…Not if You Were The Last Man on Earth: When Dating Meets Doom.”
“That’s a good one,” Ethan said.
“Love is a Battlefield.”
“In our case, love is just a barren wasteland of dead bodies.”
“We really should have capitalized on this idea sooner,” Ainsley added.
They were interrupted by their waiter.
Darla had dressed Teddy in a cute white jacket and a black bowtie. He ambled up to the table and held his head up high. Then he spun and shouted back up to the porch, “What was I supposed to say?”
Ethan and Ainsley turned to see Darla and Doctor Krause standing in the shadows; the Christmas lights sprinkling them with dim light.
Teddy rushed back and Darla crouched down and whispered in his ear. Then the child scampered back and cleared his throat. “Good evening. I am your server. May I start you with a glass of juice?”
“Juice?” Ethan scoffed. He looked across to Ainsley, “I’m sorry. I heard good things about this place…I didn’t know it was a dry restaurant.”
“Doctor’s orders,” Doctor Krause called from the porch.
“Are we seriously going to have an audience all evening? I feel like I’m participating in dinner theater and I’m the entertainment,” Ainsley called to her mother with a withering look.
Doctor Krause put up her hands in surrender and disappeared back inside.
Teddy looked back and forth between Ainsley and Ethan. “Juice?” he asked again. And the duo nodded at him and he ran back up to Darla. “They want the juice, Mom!” Darla handed him two cups and he tiptoed back, watching the dark liquid closely, careful not to spill. They took their drinks and Teddy rushed back.
“I did it, Mom!” he screamed, with unbridled giddy excitement.
Ethan raised his juice and leaned forward. “To surviving. To doing things that feel normal. To fake dates and nights that make us forget that we have to start all over again in this world tomorrow morning.”
Ainsley cleared her throat, “To midget waiters.”
They toasted, clinking their glasses together.
“Tell me about your best date,” Ethan said as he sipped the juice. He swallowed it down, wishing it were something harder. He’d been inspired by everyone else’s stories and it seemed like a good icebreaker.
Ainsley stared at him. “A real date?”
“Yeah. Tell me I’m doing okay with this…”
“Sure, I mean,” she looked down and tapped her fingers against her glass. “I’ve never really…I had a boyfriend in high school. Do dates with him count?”
“Of course.”
“Glow in the dark mini-golf?”
“That was your best date?” Ethan asked.
“We toilet-papered his ex-girlfriend’s house once. That was fun,” she said with a sly smile.
“So, he was a romantic?” Ethan laughed.
Ainsley laughed; she tilted her head and flashed her wide-mouth, full of white, straight teeth. “He was fine. Nice. Attentive. Even our breakup was boring.” She took a sip of her juice. “I’ve wondered about him…where he was…when the virus hit.”
“New rule,” Ethan said, putting his glass down on the table. “No virus talk.”
“Even your toast—”
Ethan reached out and touched Ainsley’s wrist from across the table. “New rule.”
They watched as Teddy approached the table. “Your dinner is served,” he said and then he turned to Darla and beamed. Teddy ran back to his mom, who handed him white bowls, and the child delivered them, struggling to lift them to the table. Liquid splashed the tablecloth. Ethan bent down and sniffed at the red and brown mixture.
“Excuse me, waiter?” Ethan asked and Teddy stopped and smiled. “What are we having for dinner tonight?”
“MOM!” Teddy yelled to Darla. Then he lowered his voice to a loud whisper, “What are they eating?”
“Taco soup,” Darla answered and she wandered to the table. “Canned tomatoes. Black beans. Kidney beans. Pork and beans. Corn. Taco seasoning. Dinner of champions. Pantry soup. You complaining to the management?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Good sell,” Ainsley said and she dipped her spoon in and brought it back up, watching the red liquid run down the silver.
“Three different kinds of beans. On a date,” Ethan added and he nodded to Darla. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled. “Fake date. And hey…the butcher was fresh out of steak. I thought I was being fancy.”
“You’re dismissed,” Ethan said and he waved his hand.
“Jeez,” Darla said under her breath and she rolled her eyes. “The peons and I are going to have our soup inside.”
Ethan turned and watched as everyone crowded inside. Dean stopped to pressed play on an old stereo, which was also hooked up to the generator. One of his dad’s old Frank Sinatra CDs started playing and Ethan smiled softly. He remembered his father playing Sinatra in his den on quiet summer nights; during the rare times he’d allow himself a cigar. Something in the music wiggled into him. The punctuated rhythms of the horns, and the swooping strings, and Old Blue Eye’s lyrics dripping with romance—Ethan didn’t want to be lonely.
He didn’t want the world to feel so empty.
Darla set down a bowl of soup in front of Dean. He bowed toward the warm liquid and inhaled; when he came back up, he was beaming.
“A warm meal,” he said. “Makes the running around for this silly little thing worth it.”
“You’re welcome,” Darla answered. Teddy rushed through, his bowtie askew, heading for the screen door. “Where are you going, young man?” she asked and her child halted in his steps.
“To eat with Ethan,” Teddy answered.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Darla snapped her fingers. “The waiter eats inside. Go on. Get. Leave them alone.” Teddy slumped his shoulders and retreated to the den, where his toys awaited him. Peering out of the dining room window, Darla spied outside, with the shades drawn, she and Dean had a perfect view of the glowing backyard and the young couple slurping their soup and engaging in cheerful banter. Ethan and Ainsley both smiled—an act that seemed rare compared to the duo’s grumpy way through life.
“To be young,” Dean replied, catching Darla’s gaze and turning over his shoulder to look outside. He turned back to her and grinned, “You want a beer with your soup?”
“Cold?” Darla asked with incredulity.
He nodded. “Lukewarm. I hooked the mini-fridge up to the generator and ran an extension cord into the kitchen.” He hopped up and returned a few seconds later with a barely cold beer can.
“Not much of a beer drinker,” Darla started, but she cracked open the top, “but I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“Ethan shouldn’t have all the luxuries tonight, right?” Dean said and he tipped his can against hers.
“I’m impressed,” Darla said, sipping her soup slowly. “You’re a good sport, with all of this.” Someone outside said something funny, and the laughter carried inside. “I figured you to be aloof. You know, withdrawn.”
“Don’t lump me in with your other middle-aged houseguest,” Dean replied and he set his drink down with a smack. “I have no ill-will. Just trying to live, you know? Hoping to reunite with Grant…”