text: La Cuillère D'or was no stranger to couples. In fact, it welcomed them with open arms, a delighted handshake, a flourish of the violin, and two delicate flutes of champagne. After all, nothing makes a person feel more at home--and loosens their wallet--quite like a light buzz and a dreamy classical number. The authentic French dining experience was a highly sought-after commodity, especially for the romantically entangled, and nobody knew that better than the staff of La Cuillère D'or, or The Golden Spoon as their more phonetically challenged guests called it. This particular couple was different, however. While they did fit La Cuillère D'or’s target demographic, they were not part of its usual clientele. They were not a part of each other’s usual clientele at this point either. A night out on the town at a fine French restaurant meant little more to either of them than a Band-Aid to an amputee. But then again, perhaps there was a certain naïve romance in the idea. The man in question--a civil engineer with a swaggering gait and wit to match--wore a gray blazer, matching pants, and a clean white shirt, a fashionable cobalt blue tie around his neck. His firm, calloused hands toyed obsessively with the cuffs of his sleeves, like a butterfly trying to fight its way out of a cocoon. Though he was built like a truck, the man had a naturally kind-looking face, ensconced though it was in a well-kept beard of curly brown hair. The dark-haired woman across the table from him--an elementary school teacher with an eye for flash and a heart for substance--sported a stylish navy-blue swing dress with a slim black belt at the waist, complete with a pair of silver heels. Around her neck was a small silver chain necklace, though it often spent its time twisted around her fingers instead. She had spent much of her time at the table either nibbling on the mesclun salad she had ordered or looking through the menu from behind her glasses, reading through the same four items ad nauseam. Her gentle eyes and comforting smile belied her tight grip and sharp jawline. If he was a bear, she was a panther. “And for you, madame?” their server said, meeting the woman’s eyes. “I suppose I will have...” Gwen glanced back at the menu, biting her lower lip. “...the lobster bisque, please. Thank you, Jean,” she said, handing him her menu with a smile that could kill a man at forty yards. “The pleasure is mine.” Jean, his cheeks flushed as could be, gave a slight bow and retreated to the kitchen. He failed to notice Gwen’s empty champagne flute before his exodus. Though the dining room was overflowing with elegant music and the sounds of good-natured laughter, this table remained silent. With no menu to distract her anymore, Gwen glanced around the room, her fingers clasped tightly around her necklace, hoping for something to spring to mind ex nihilo. She was quickly running out of places to look when Tyler’s robust voice tentatively broke through her panic. “So... how are things at the school?” he asked. She hadn’t expected it, but even now, his voice slowed the beat of her heart. There was a warmth to it that she couldn’t place, like he meant everything he said with the entirety of his being. “Oh, great,” she replied. “We had a bit of a hiccup on our field trip this week, but we’ve been making good progress with the kids overall. They’re a wonderful group. We’re studying the Civil War right now.” Tyler breathed an internal sigh of relief. He knew the opening was going to be the hardest part of the evening, but it was nice to know they could still have a purely mundane conversation, though it hardly felt mundane when Gwen said it. “Any problem kids this year?” “Not as many as there were last year, thank God . Those kids made my kindergarten days look peaceful. ” Gwen shook her head, exhaustion leaking into her voice. “I don’t think I could do that again.” “I don’t think anyone could go through dealing with those little monsters again. Didn’t you say one of them glued another kid’s head to a desk?” Gwen put her head in her hands, muffling her voice. “Oh, gosh, don’t remind me.” “I mean, how does that even happen? Why did he do it? What glue did he use?” Gwen laughed loudly as Tyler looked on and smiled. It had been a long time since he’d seen her like this. Too long. “I don’t know, Gorilla Glue maybe?” she replied with intermittent chuckles. “Whatever it was, I’m sure it would make a killing on the infomercial circuit.” Tyler rubbed his thumb and forefingers together greedily. “Introducing,” he said in a mocking tone, “for the first time ever, a limited-time offer of Little Timmy’s Face-Melting Adhesive! Just three easy payments of $10.99!” “Shut up, Tyler!” she said, trying and failing to suppress another fit of giggling. Tyler found her failure to do so even more amusing and joined her in mirth. Gwen wiped a tear from her eye and collected herself. “Yeah, fourth graders are weird sometimes. They think differently from us in a way. I remember one time Stephen was talking--" “What was the hiccup?” “Sorry?” “The hiccup. You said there was a hiccup on the field trip.” “Oh, nothing, really,” Gwen said, looking down at what little remained of her salad. “We were at the zoo, and this boy Johnny got separated from the group. After about five minutes, Stephen--Mr. Jacobs, rather, and I noticed we were missing a head and decided to backtrack. I was so scared someone had taken Johnny or that he’d fallen into a habitat, but I found him right next to the otter enclosure. He didn’t even notice we’d left. Said he just wanted to keep watching them. Mr. Jacobs was counting heads every two minutes for the rest of the trip.” “Wow, that sounds terrifying,” Tyler said, pulling at his cuffs. “Good thing he had the best teacher around to make sure he was okay.” Gwen rubbed the back of her head. “I’m not sure I was all that...” “Now that I think about it, this Johnny kid sounds like a certain someone whenever we bump into squirrels at the park,” he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye. “A meteor could hit the planet, and you’d still be watching those little guys.” He chuckled. “What? They’re cute!” she said defensively. “I’m a sucker for the vertically challenged, apparently.” “Yeah, no kidding.” The air of amusement in Tyler’s voice diminished. A grin remained on his face, but it did not reach his eyes as it had moments ago. “Had a guy like that on this bridge job a while back, actually.” “Like what? Short?” “No, no. Oblivious.” “Oh, right.” Gwen pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “We’d be in meetings, going over survey reports and all that, and this guy--Aaron was his name--can’t even be bothered to listen,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “He’s just playing Clash of Clans on his phone and staring out the window, contributing nothing. And he still got paid the same as us who all had to work overtime on that job, staying late into the night and barely getting any sleep to pick up his slack. Infuriating, right?” “Absolutely outrageous,” she said dryly. Great. Another scintillating work story. How original. “Exactly!” he said, his hand gestures growing more exaggerated. “We let him know, too, hoo boy . But see, here’s the thing. Rumor was that Mick--he’s our supervisor. I think you guys met at that one barbeque we had at Eric’s for Thanksgiving. Tall guy, thick beard, always wears his phone on his hip like a gunslinger?” “Sounds sorta familiar.” Gwen rested her chin on her hand and looked just over Tyler’s shoulder to the couple behind him. They were holding hands. When was the last time we did that? Was it...? Wow, was the last time really the Fourth of July? That’s-- “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, the word on the street was that Mick was ‘close friends’ with this punk’s dad .” Tyler took a final sip of champagne from his now empty flute. “And this guy was no joke, this ‘friend’ was some bigshot suit in the local government who promised to include Mick in his cabinet or something whenever he runs for mayor.” “Wow,” she muttered. When was the last time he touched me, even? It must have been recently, right? It must have been, especially given the competition. Knowing him, there’s no way he’s not worried about-- “I know. Crazy.” Tyler sighed. “So, this guy--who couldn’t find his own ass with two hands and a map--gums up the whole project, complains the entire time, barely contributes anything, and eventually just leaves without a word. I thought somebody else on the team must have killed him or something out of sheer annoyance. Ned in particular seemed pretty pissed at him, and a guy like him has the stones to do it too. Not like anyone would’ve ratted him out if he actually did shoot the worthless sack of shit.” “Tyler! ” she snapped. The curse had woken her from her haze. She glanced around at the other guests, praying they hadn’t overheard. All of them seemed unaffected by Tyler’s lack of decorum. Seemed. He chuckled nervously, his palms raised as if to deflect any and all responsibility for what had slipped from his mouth. “I’m kidding, Gwen! Relax! Nobody killed anybody, okay? We found out later he quit, citing a ‘toxic work environment.’ That’s it.” Gwen did not look satisfied with the story’s conclusion. Tyler cleared his throat and continued: “Mick chewed us out too, although that only made us think he was in bed with Daddy Warbucks more than we already did. Never saw the poor bastard again after that. Swear to God. I hear he’s actually doing pretty well for himself now.” She closed her eyes and rubbed the creases of her forehead between her thumb and forefinger with disdain. “Can we talk about something else? Gosh, you’re so... rude , sometimes.” Tyler watched her intently for a moment until a little bemused grin poked through his placid exterior. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry; I forgot that my hyper-stressful job that lets us eat out at places like this isn’t entertaining enough for you.” His voice dripped with resentment, barely masked by his steady tone of voice. Anyone else would have missed it. “It’s not about your work, Tyler,” Gwen said, enunciating each word. “It’s the fact that you always just complain, complain, complain whenever we’re together. It’s annoying.” “Not true.” Gwen scoffed. “Y’know, I wanted to have a pleasant dinner with you tonight. I really did. Just a quiet night out with my boyfriend, maybe talk about a movie or something. That’s all I wanted. I didn’t come out to hear you bitch about your job for the millionth time.” Tyler sat quietly as Gwen spoke, shaking his head. “Apparently, that was too much to ask...” she muttered under her breath. She picked at the last bit of her salad. Tyler’s ears perked up as the obfuscated words crashed against him. The tie around his throat felt tighter and tighter every second. “I tried, Gwen. I really did. I just wish you would extend the same courtesy to me. But you only hear what you want to hear. You only see what you want to see,” he said. His hands emerged from his lap and gestured to the extravagant room around them. “Why do you think we’re here tonight, huh?” he continued. “Why do you think we spent the whole drive here listening to the Spice Girls? Why do you think I wore this tie? It’s not because I love Italian or because I just adore 90’s pop or because I’m a big fan of the Windsor Knot. Tonight was like this--I was like this--because it’s what you wanted, because it’s what you like.” “Right, because God forbid you look even a little presentable,” she spat. “If it weren’t for me, you’d always look like you just stumbled half-naked out of a dive bar.” He clenched his teeth, more aware of the serpentine cloth coiled around his neck than ever. He loosened it with a powerful tug, glaring at Gwen. If she wanted to do this here, he wasn’t going to pretend anymore. She shot back with daggers of her own. Her fingers hadn’t approached her necklace in minutes, choosing instead to dig into her palms. Her lips twisted into a cruel sneer, but she didn’t utter a word. Tyler spoke up in her stead, his voice maintaining the same restrained contempt it had held before. “If that’s what you really think, maybe I’ll just quit. I mean, I certainly don’t need the money, and you, swimming in a metric ton of gold doubloons as you are, definitely don’t. “I’m looking at a promotion with better pay right now, but that doesn’t really matter. I could’ve turned this job into a city manager position someday, but, no, you’re right. I should go straight to Mick’s office tomorrow morning and say ‘Y’know, I would’ve loved that promotion, but my girlfriend thinks my high-paying job and all my friends make me a big meanie. So, I must resign effective immediately. Sorry, Boss.’ Would that make you happy, Gwen?” Her cheeks were as red as the lobster in the meal she’d ordered. At this point, Gwen knew the other guests had overheard their spat, but she didn’t care. All that mattered now was winning. She had tolerated his provocation before, but not this time. “No, what would make me happy is having a boyfriend who isn’t completely self-absorbed! Who appreciates and understands what I do! Who doesn’t spend what little time he spends with me talking about his disgusting friends!” Her chest heaved as she lashed out at the man across the table. “You have the unmitigated gall to say that I’m the selfish one when you never ask about me or how I’m doing or what I want for the future? When you refuse to be seen with me romantically in public? You’re just a petulant, self-centered child!” “Please, you’re the one who doesn’t appreciate anything.” “That’s bull, and you know it.” “You take everything I do for granted!” “I want to support you, Tyler!” “Keep telling yourself that.” “But you make it difficult to do that when every word out of your mouth is negative! It’s suffocating! You’re suffocating!” “You want to support me? Is that what you’re doing? Telling me that the way I dress makes you embarrassed to be seen with me is supporting me? Taking my credit card behind my back to go buy gifts for yourself, that’s supporting me? Getting drunk off your ass and gushing about how amazing Stephen Jacobs is is supporting me?” The color drained from Gwen’s face. Did I really do that? She felt like she was going to throw up, but she steeled herself. True or not, Tyler had only himself to blame. “I knew this was a waste of time. You’re so far gone--" “Answer the question.” “--that you can’t even see how hard I’ve tried to make this work. You only see what you want to see.” “Answer the question, Gwen.” “I’ve put up with more of your crap than anyone I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. You’re lucky I only ordered the bisque.” Gwen stood from her chair, her lip quivering. All eyes in the restaurant locked onto her, at least those that hadn’t been observing already. Tyler stood to match her. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just dodge the question! Make me the bad guy! Classic Gwen move!” “I hope I never see you again!” she screamed. “You read my mind!” Tyler shouted. Gwen leaned across the table. “In case that skull of yours is too full of your own bloated ego to understand, allow me to dumb it down for you: we’re done. Sayonara, asshole.” Gwen turned her back on the man she once thought she loved and stormed toward the door. Hushed gasps and conspiratorial whispers followed her retreat. Tyler clenched his fists, sweat pooling in the grooves of his palm. His shoulders shook with barely contained tremors. “Thanks for the help, teach! Have fun shopping at Walmart!” She turned, incensed. The man standing across the room was a total stranger now. Strands of his once prim and proper hair were dangling in front of his face, covered in sweat. His handsome face was twisted in a mask of abject hatred for the woman he once would have traveled the world for. Gwen’s face looked much the same. A barb of her own failed to manifest in that moment. Perhaps it was the eyes of the crowd or her overwhelming embarrassment. Perhaps it was the memories flooding her mind in droves. Perhaps it was the tie she’d bought for Tyler that now dangled limply from his neck. Whatever it was, Gwen could not bring herself to attack anymore, and though she didn’t know it, nor could Tyler. The pair stared at one another for a moment from across that room, eyes glimmering with a maelstrom of conflicting emotion. For but an instant, each understood the other for the first time in a long time. No more words would pass between them. No texts, no calls, no emails. No more would Gwen run her fingers through his hair. No more would Tyler wrap his hand around hers. No, this moment was the end for the two of them. In that place called La Cuillère D'or, something died, and no one was sad to see it go, save the two who put it in the ground.