Gemotions

The air in the restaurant was thick with the scent of garlic and simmering sauces. He picked at his pasta, the fork heavy in his hand. Across from him, a woman with bright eyes and a cascade of red hair talked excitedly about a new art exhibit. He knew he'd heard the exact same enthusiastic description before, just last week, from another woman with equally bright eyes.

He forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting. He had to be attentive, engaged. He had to remember her preferences, her pet peeves, the things that made her laugh. He remembered those exact things. Just not for her.

The waiter arrived, asking if everything was to their liking. He nodded, but his throat constricted. He thought of all the other women he met in this restaurant with the exact same waiter, and felt a wave of nausea wash over him.