The Table Beneath the Red Lanterns

The first thing Adrienne Cole noticed about the server was not that she was beautiful, although she was, with black hair swept into a loose knot at the back of her head, a few soft strands escaping around a face that seemed composed even while she moved quickly between tables, nor was it the elegant black uniform edged with narrow red piping that made her look somehow more graceful than everyone else working the crowded dining room; it was the way the woman looked directly at her when she approached the table, not at Marcus first because he was the man, not at Adrienne’s diamond ring because it announced money, but directly into Adrienne’s eyes, and smiled as though she had found the one person in the restaurant she had been looking for. Adrienne forgot, for perhaps two seconds, that she had a husband sitting across from her. “Good evening,” the server said. “My name is Mei. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you with something to drink?” Her English carried only the faintest trace of an accent, something musical beneath the words, and Adrienne found herself wondering immediately where she had been born, how long she had lived in San Francisco, what she sounded like when she laughed, all of which were ridiculous thoughts to have about a stranger before she had even handed them their menus. Marcus barely looked up. “Sparkling water,” he said. “Not mineral. And bring us a bottle of Cabernet. Something decent.” Mei nodded. “Of course. Do you have a preference?” Marcus glanced at the wine list. “Your better California Cabernet. Not the cheapest one.” Adrienne looked at him. “She probably understood ‘something decent.’” Mei’s mouth twitched. Adrienne saw it. Marcus did not. “And are you ready to order?” Mei asked. “Yes,” Marcus said. “I’m not,” Adrienne said at the same time. Marcus sighed. “You always order the same thing.” “I apparently enjoy maintaining an element of suspense.” This time Mei almost smiled. “What do you recommend?” Adrienne asked her. Mei looked down at the menu, although Adrienne had the strange feeling she already knew every word printed on it. “The black cod is very good tonight, but if you like something a little less sweet, the steamed sea bass with ginger and scallions is my favorite.” “Your favorite?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll have that.” Marcus glanced between them. “You’re letting the waitress choose your dinner?” Adrienne’s smile disappeared. “I asked her recommendation.” “I heard you.” Mei stepped back almost imperceptibly. “And for you, sir?” Marcus ordered beef with black pepper sauce and, after giving precise instructions that there were to be no mushrooms anywhere on the plate, handed the menu to Mei without looking at her. Adrienne watched Mei walk away. Marcus lifted his wine. “What?” “Nothing.” “You’re staring.” “I’m looking around the restaurant.” “You were looking at the waitress.” Adrienne took a drink. “She has a name.” Marcus laughed softly. “Apparently you two are old friends now.” Adrienne did not answer. But when Mei looked back from the service station thirty feet away and found Adrienne watching her, neither woman looked away quickly enough. Mei Chen had been born in Guangzhou thirty years earlier and had lived in San Francisco for eleven of those years, long enough that the city had become home without ever completely replacing the one she had left, and she had worked at the Golden Peony for three years while taking business classes two mornings a week because she had plans that extended beyond carrying porcelain plates through a dining room, although she rarely explained those plans to customers and never to men like the one at table fourteen, men who summoned instead of asked and spoke to restaurant employees as if they had been rented along with the tablecloth. His wife, however, was different. Mei had known that before Adrienne spoke. It embarrassed her to admit it, even privately, because Mei had never believed in instantaneous attraction beyond the physical sort, and certainly not in love at first sight, which seemed to her the kind of phrase people used after ten good years together to make the beginning sound more magical than it had actually been. Yet the moment she saw Adrienne, something inside her had shifted. Forty-two, although Mei did not know that yet, Adrienne had deep brown skin, dark curls falling just below her shoulders, gold hoops at her ears, and the confident beauty of a woman who no longer dressed to be approved of, wearing a plum-colored dress that made Mei lose track of what she had been about to say when she reached the table. And then Adrienne had smiled at her. Not politely. Personally. Mei stood in the kitchen waiting for table fourteen’s entrees and told herself to stop being foolish. “You’re smiling,” one of the other servers said. “I am not.” “You are.” “I’m working.” “You can work and smile.” Mei checked the plates arriving beneath the heat lamps. “Fourteen?” The cook nodded. “Fourteen.” The beef looked right, the sea bass looked right, and Mei picked up both dishes without noticing what had happened beneath the sauce on Marcus Cole’s plate. She would remember later that she should have noticed. She would also remember being grateful that she had not. Because the mistake changed everything. She set Adrienne’s sea bass down first. “This smells incredible,” Adrienne said. “Careful, the plate is hot.” Marcus stared at his beef. “What is this?” Mei turned. “The black pepper beef.” “I know what the dish is. What is that?” He pointed. A sliced shiitake mushroom sat against the edge of the beef. Mei felt her stomach drop. “I’m very sorry. I specifically entered no mushrooms. I’ll have the kitchen remake it immediately.” Marcus leaned back. “I specifically told you no mushrooms.” “Yes, sir. You did.” “So what part of that was difficult?” Adrienne looked at him. “Marcus.” “No, seriously. We gave one instruction.” Mei picked up the plate. “The kitchen made a mistake. I apologize.” “And you brought it out.” “Marcus.” “What? She brought it to the table.” Mei kept her voice even. “Yes, I did, and I should have caught it.” Marcus gave a short, humorless laugh. “Do you understand English?” The room seemed suddenly quieter, although of course it was not. Mei stopped moving. Adrienne’s fork touched her plate with a small metallic sound. “Excuse me?” she said. Marcus looked at her. “I’m talking to her.” “I know exactly who you’re talking to.” Mei said, “Mrs. Cole, it’s all right.” “No, it isn’t.” Marcus shook his head. “Oh, come on.” Adrienne turned fully toward him. “She apologized. She told you the kitchen made the mistake. Your dinner is being remade. What exactly are you trying to accomplish now?” “I’m trying to get competent service.” “You’re trying to humiliate someone because there was a mushroom on your plate.” “You’re making this much bigger than it is.” “No,” Adrienne said quietly. “You made it exactly as big as it is the moment you asked a grown woman whether she understands English because your dinner wasn’t perfect.” Marcus glanced around at neighboring tables. “Would you lower your voice?” Adrienne laughed once. “That’s interesting.” “What is?” “You weren’t worried about your volume when you were insulting her.” Mei stood between them holding the plate, wishing desperately to disappear and, at the same time, unable to take her eyes from Adrienne. Marcus finally waved a hand. “Fine. Just take it away.” Mei nodded. “Yes, sir.” She turned. “Mei.” Adrienne’s voice stopped her. She looked back. “I’m sorry.” The words struck Mei harder than Marcus’s insult had. “You didn’t do anything.” Adrienne held her gaze. “I know.” There was something else in those two words, something neither of them could possibly have defined yet, but Mei felt it nevertheless, and from the look on Adrienne’s face she knew Adrienne felt it too.l Marcus’s replacement dinner arrived ten minutes later, delivered by the manager, who apologized so thoroughly that Marcus regained enough dignity to begin behaving as though the entire confrontation had been evidence of his high standards rather than his bad manners. Adrienne barely touched her fish. “You wanted this restaurant,” Marcus said. “I did.” “So enjoy it.” “I was.” He put down his chopsticks. “Are we going to do this all night?” “Do what?” “Punish me because I snapped at a waitress.” “Her name is Mei.” “There you go again.” Adrienne looked toward the far side of the dining room. Mei was serving another table. “She was born somewhere,” Adrienne said. Marcus frowned. “What?” “She has parents. Maybe brothers or sisters. Friends. Bills. Things she worries about at three in the morning. Someone who knows what kind of music she likes. Maybe somebody waiting for her to come home. An entire life.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the fact that you looked at her and saw a uniform.” Marcus stared at her. “And what did you see?” The answer came so quickly that it frightened Adrienne. A woman I wanted to kiss. She did not say it. Instead she stood. “I’m going to the restroom.” “Adrienne.” “I’ll be back.” She walked away before he could continue. The hallway outside the women’s restroom was quieter than the dining room, illuminated by small amber fixtures set against dark wood, and Adrienne stood for a moment before the mirror once she was inside, palms pressed against the marble counter, staring at herself as though the woman reflected there might be able to explain what had happened during the last thirty minutes. “You’re married,” she whispered. The woman in the mirror looked unconvinced. The door opened. Adrienne looked up. Mei stopped. For a moment neither spoke. “I’m sorry,” Mei finally said. “I can come back.” “No.” The answer came too quickly. Mei remained by the door. “I just needed a minute.” “So did I.” Silence settled between them. Then Adrienne laughed quietly. “This is absurd.” “What is?” Adrienne turned from the mirror. “You.” Mei blinked. “Me?” “Yes.” “That doesn’t sound very flattering.” “No, I mean—” Adrienne shook her head. “I walked into a restaurant with my husband, you came to the table, and suddenly I’m sitting there wondering whether you drink coffee.” Mei stared at her. Adrienne covered her face for a second. “I cannot believe I just said that.” Mei smiled. “Tea.” Adrienne lowered her hands. “What?” “I drink tea.” Adrienne laughed, genuinely this time. “Of course you do.” “And sometimes coffee.” “That’s reassuring.” Mei moved a little closer. “You were wondering about me?” “From the moment you walked over.” Mei’s expression changed. “Adrienne…” Hearing her first name in Mei’s voice made something tighten low in her chest. “You know my name.” “It was on the reservation.” “Oh.” “I noticed it before that.” Adrienne looked at her. “Before what?” “Before I knew I wanted to remember it.” Neither woman moved. Then Adrienne said softly, “Tell me I’m imagining this.” Mei’s eyes dropped briefly to Adrienne’s mouth and returned to her eyes. “I can’t.”I Adrienne should have left. There were dozens of rational things she could have done: return to the table, finish dinner, go home to the house she had shared with Marcus for fourteen years, sleep badly, wake in the morning and convince herself that what she had felt had been nothing more than anger mixed with attraction and the intoxicating gratitude of seeing another woman at precisely the wrong moment. Instead she asked, “How old are you?” Mei smiled slightly. “Thirty.” “I’m forty-two.” “I know.” Adrienne raised an eyebrow. “The reservation again?” “No.” “Then how?” “I guessed.” “Should I be offended?” “You look younger.” “That was almost smooth.” Mei laughed. There it was. The sound Adrienne had wondered about when Mei first approached the table. And it was better than she had imagined. “You were born in China?” Adrienne asked. “Guangzhou.” “When did you come here?” “Nineteen.” “Alone?” “With my aunt at first.” “And now?” “Now I’m alone.” Adrienne’s heart gave an embarrassing little leap. Mei noticed. “You’re married,” she said gently. “Yes.” “Is he always like that?” Adrienne looked at the floor. “He wasn’t.” “That wasn’t my question.” Adrienne looked back at her. “No.” Then, after several seconds: “Maybe I just stopped noticing.” Mei leaned against the counter. “That happens?” “I think so. You get used to the temperature of the room you live in.” Mei considered that. “And tonight?” “Tonight somebody opened a window.” Mei’s smile vanished, not because she disliked the words, but because they affected her too deeply. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me.” “Why?” “Because I already want to believe them.” Adrienne took one step closer. “Mei.” “Yes?” “I don’t do this.” “I hope not.” Adrienne laughed softly. “I mean it.” “I know.” “I have never followed a woman into a restroom.” “You didn’t follow me.” “Fine. You conveniently arrived in the restroom I had already fled to.” “That sounds better.” “I have never kissed anyone while my husband was sitting fifty feet away.” Mei’s eyes held hers. “You haven’t kissed me.” Adrienne felt every sensible thought she possessed simply disappear. “Not yet.” Mei inhaled. The distance between them was perhaps eighteen inches. Then twelve. Then less. “Adrienne,” Mei whispered, “if you kiss me, I don’t want it to be because you’re angry at him.” “It isn’t.” “Or because you feel sorry for me.” “I don’t.” “Or because tonight made you feel trapped.” Adrienne reached for Mei’s hand. “It’s because I looked at you before any of that happened and forgot what I was about to say.” Mei’s fingers closed around hers. “That happened to me too.” “When?” “When I introduced myself.” “You seemed completely composed.” “I’m a very good server.” Adrienne smiled. “You are.” “Despite the mushrooms.” “The mushrooms may have changed my life.” “That would be a very strange Yelp review.” Adrienne laughed again, and then Mei did too, and somehow the laughter made what happened next feel more inevitable rather than less. Adrienne raised one hand slowly toward Mei’s face. Mei did not move away. “May I?” Adrienne asked. “Yes.” Their first kiss was soft because neither trusted herself enough for anything else. It lasted perhaps two seconds. They separated. Looked at one another. And kissed again. The second kiss contained everything the first had been too startled to express, Adrienne’s hand sliding behind Mei’s neck, Mei’s fingers settling at Adrienne’s waist, neither woman hurrying and neither pretending now that this was an accident. When they finally drew apart, Adrienne rested her forehead against Mei’s. “Oh, God.” Mei smiled. “Good?” “That is not remotely the problem.” They stayed there for another minute, perhaps two, holding hands like women who had known each other for years instead of less than an hour. Then Mei whispered, “You have to go back.” “I know.” “He’s going to notice.” “He doesn’t notice nearly as much as he thinks he does.” Mei’s expression became serious. “Adrienne, I don’t want to be something you use to hurt him.” “You wouldn’t be.” “And I don’t want to be a secret you feel ashamed of tomorrow.” Adrienne looked at her carefully. “You’ve thought about tomorrow?” Mei smiled. “I started thinking about tomorrow when you asked what I recommended for dinner.” Adrienne’s eyes filled unexpectedly. “That might be the most dangerous thing anyone has ever said to me.” “I can say something less dangerous.” “Please don’t.” Mei reached into the small pocket of her apron and pulled out the order pad she used at the tables. She tore off a piece. “Do you have a pen?” “You’re the waitress.” “I gave mine to Daniel.” Adrienne laughed and opened her purse. “That is disappointingly unromantic.” “I can make something up if you prefer.” “No. I like you borrowing my pen to give me your number.” Mei wrote slowly, then stopped. “Actually…” “What?” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.” Adrienne unlocked it and handed it over. Mei entered her number. Under the contact name she typed simply: Mei. Adrienne looked at it. “No last name?” “You have to earn that.” “I already know it.” Mei looked startled. “Restaurant website.” “That’s cheating.” “I’m forty-two. We call it research.” Mei laughed. Adrienne sent a text. A second later Mei’s phone vibrated in her apron. She looked at the screen. Adrienne: I am trying very hard not to kiss you again. Mei typed something. Adrienne’s phone buzzed. Mei: You are not trying very hard. Adrienne looked up. “No,” she admitted. Then she kissed her again. Shorter this time. But somehow more intimate because they both knew there would be another. Not tonight, perhaps. But another. When Adrienne returned to the table, Marcus was looking at his watch. “Fourteen minutes.” “I beg your pardon?” “You were gone fourteen minutes.” “Were you timing me?” “I noticed.” Adrienne sat down. For the first time that evening, she looked at her husband without anger. That surprised her. What she felt instead was clarity. Marcus picked up his wine. “Can we salvage the evening now?” Adrienne looked across the restaurant. Mei was pouring tea for an elderly couple. As if sensing Adrienne’s eyes, she looked up. Their eyes met. Neither smiled. They did not need to. Adrienne turned back to Marcus. “No.” He frowned. “No what?” “I don’t think we can salvage tonight.” “Adrienne, for God’s sake, it was a mushroom.” She almost laughed. “Yes.” Marcus stared at her. “What is wrong with you?” Adrienne folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “I don’t know yet.” “That’s comforting.” “But I think I’m going to find out.” He looked at her as though she had begun speaking another language. Adrienne looked toward Mei again. This time Mei allowed herself the smallest smile. Adrienne returned it. Marcus followed her gaze. “What is it with you and that waitress?” Adrienne turned back slowly. “Her name is Mei.” “I know her name.” “Do you?” “What does that mean?” Adrienne reached for her purse. “It means I think we should go home.” Marcus stared. “We haven’t had dessert.” “I’m not hungry anymore.” That was not quite true. For the first time in years, Adrienne felt ravenous. Not simply for Mei, although that desire was there, undeniable and bright, but for something she had forgotten existed before tonight: surprise, possibility, tenderness without permission, conversation that did not feel like negotiation, the sensation of standing at the edge of a life she had not planned and wanting, with terrifying certainty, to step into it. Marcus paid the bill. As they walked toward the door, Adrienne deliberately slowed near the service station. Mei was there. Marcus continued several steps ahead before realizing Adrienne had stopped. “Good night,” Adrienne said. Mei met her eyes. “Good night.” A pause. Then Mei added softly: “Text me when you’re somewhere you can talk.” Adrienne felt her pulse quicken. “I will.” Marcus called from the entrance. “Adrienne?” She looked toward him. Then back at Mei. For one extraordinary second the restaurant disappeared around them, leaving only the woman beneath the red lanterns who had walked toward her table less than two hours earlier and somehow divided Adrienne’s life into everything that had happened before that moment and everything that might happen after it. Adrienne smiled. “Good night, Mei.” Mei smiled back. “Good night, Adrienne.” Outside, San Francisco was cold and bright, headlights moving along Grant Avenue, voices carrying from the sidewalks, the night continuing with complete indifference to the fact that Adrienne Cole’s world had shifted permanently while she had been eating sea bass. Marcus walked toward the car. Adrienne followed more slowly. Her phone vibrated in her purse. She knew who it was before she looked. Mei: I know this is crazy. Adrienne stopped beneath the restaurant’s red awning and typed. Adrienne: Yes. Three dots appeared. Mei: Do you regret it? Adrienne looked through the front window. Mei stood inside, twenty feet away, watching her. Adrienne typed with both thumbs. Adrienne: Not one second. Do you? Mei looked down at her phone. Then up again. Her answer arrived. Mei: No. And that scares me. Adrienne smiled. Adrienne: Me too. Marcus called her name again from the curb. Adrienne slipped the phone back into her purse. Tomorrow would be complicated. Her marriage would have to be confronted rather than magically erased, Mei would have to decide whether what had happened beneath the restaurant’s amber lights could survive daylight, and both women would eventually have to determine whether an impossible hour had truly been the beginning of something or merely the beautiful catastrophe it appeared to be. But those were tomorrow’s questions. Tonight there had been a wrong dinner, an ugly sentence, a woman who defended another woman, a quiet restroom beneath a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco, two strangers standing much too close, one whispered May I? , two kisses, and a phone number exchanged between hands that had already begun to recognize each other. Sometimes love announced itself over years. Sometimes it arrived gently. And sometimes it walked toward your table beneath a row of red lanterns, introduced itself as Mei, and changed everything before the appetizers were cleared.