Delicately Decline Jeanne

You meet Jeanne’s gaze, internally deliberating how best to break the news to her. The girl is hot, but something about this whole situation is giving you the heebie jeebies.

“Alex?” Jeanne asks, something **** in the tone of voice that she uses as she tries to get your attention.

“Listen, Jeanne, I don’t think—”

You stop yourself as you see the puppy dog eyes that she makes. It’s unfair, that she’s so damn hot, so fucking pretty, and it hurts you a tiny bit to say the next few words.

“You’re really great, Jeanne, but this… this just isn’t going to work,” you say.

“What? What do you mean?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “You don’t like this restaurant? We can go somewhere else! They probably haven’t even started cooking. I know there’s another place, an Italian one down the street, it’s called Leoncavallo’s…”

“Not like that, Jeanne,” you say, cutting her off. You decide not to sugarcoat it. “I don’t think the two of us are going to work out.”

Jeanne stares at you, her eyebrows furrowing. It’s like she physically does not have the brainpower to process your words at the moment. She opens her mouth and shuts it, and then you see her blinking rapidly, her eyes growing red. Tears dribble out the corners of her eyes as she begins to wobble ever so slightly in her seat, looking unsteady.

“Why not?” she asks, the question half buried in a hiccup. “What… what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just, sometimes, things don’t really click,” you say.

A bald faced lie. But what else are you supposed to say? You don’t want to make a scene, and you’re pretty sure that people are watching. And of course, spectacular timing, now’s when the waiter chooses to arrive with the food.

“You doing alright, miss?” he asks, a look of concern crossing his face.

Jeanne nods, sniffling, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a napkin.

“Uh-huh, I’m okay,” she says. “I just…”

“It might be a better idea if I take this to go,” you say, pointing at your dish.

The waiter glances at Jeanne. She nods dumbly.

“Got it,” he says. “Would you, miss, like to pack it up too?”

“No,” she says glumly, after a moment’s pause.

The waiter forces a smile onto his face as he picks up your plate.

“Great! And about the bill…” he says, the look on his face telling you that he knows exactly how awkward this is.

“I’ll cover it,” you say, passing him the card. You’d have paid for the date anyway. Might as well not injure this girl further.

The waiter takes your card and your food, and returns a minute later with your stuff boxed up and the bill.

“Sorry it turned out this way,” you say to Jeanne, who's been staring morosely at her food, picking at it slowly.

“I’m so stupid,” she says, shaking her head, refusing to meet your eye.

“No, don’t say that,” you say, signing off on the bill. “Get a good night’s sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, taking a bite. “Well, thanks for coming out.”

With that, you leave her be, heading back to your dorm room to eat your food in peace. This was not how you expected dinner to go. Was the alternative better?