Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler Page A

engrossed me. She flickered.
    “Every week, Zoe. For twenty
fucking
years. You’re looking at her family. I’m taking care of the meal.”
    There was now a small orbit of us around the hutch and when Simone turned we scattered. I ran into the kitchen and Ariel had wide eyes.
    “Shit,” she said. “Queen Bee is getting written up for that. Picking up!”
    —
    WHEN I WOULD finally get to taste the wine at the end of our lessons, I would say idiotic things like, Oh I get it now. Simone would shake her head.
    “You’re only beginning to learn what you don’t know. First you must relearn your senses. Your senses are never inaccurate—it’s your ideas that can be false.”
    —
    I DIDN’T KNOW what a date was and I wasn’t an anomaly. Most of the girls I knew didn’t get asked out on dates. People got together through alcohol and a process of elimination. If they had anything in common beyond that they would go out and have a conversation. When Will asked me to get a drink in the late afternoon on my day off, I thought that placed us firmly in the friend arena, like getting coffee.
    We met at a tiny space called Big Bar, four booths and a few stools doused in red light. When he opened the door for me and he put his hand on the small of my back I thought, Oh fucking fuck shit fuck, is this what a date is?
    “Kansas,” he said. I smiled. It wasn’t awful, being somewhere besides the restaurant and my room. To be talking to another human without doing fifteen other things at once. Not awful at all.
    “It all makes sense.”
    “Does it? You were getting the Midwest vibe?”
    “I wasn’t actually. My radar is all off—everyone seems like they were born and raised in the restaurant. But now it makes sense.”
    “Because of my charm?”
    “No, because of your manners.”
    “Charming manners?”
    “Utterly,” I said and drank my beer. It is a strange pressure to be across from a man who wants something that you don’t want to give. It’s like standing in a forceful current, which at first you think is not too strong, but the longer you stand, the more tired you become, the harder it is to stay upright.
    “How long have you been here?”
    “I came for film school like, god, five years ago? That’s depressing. I promised my mom I would move back as soon as school was over, and I feel like I’m running against the clock. She’s livid.”
    “Is she? It’s so impressive that you got out, that you’re doing what you want.”
    “She thinks family is impressive.”
    I swallowed. “Maybe she’s right.”
    “Your parents know you’re here?”
    “What does that mean?”
    “I don’t know. You give off this runaway vibe, like you’re all huddled up inside yourself.”
    “I’m flattered. I’m pretty sure my dad knows.”
    “Pretty sure? What about your mom? Her little baby girl in the big city?”
    “My mom doesn’t exist.”
    “Doesn’t exist? What does that mean?”
    “That means I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Will’s eyes became concerned and I thought, Don’t do that. That’s not why I told you. It’s not something to fix.
    “What happened to film school?” I asked.
    “You come here for one thing, you end up absorbed by another. I have all these ideas, it’s just…Well. It’s hard to retain the original vision, which is usually the most pure, you know?”
    “Yeah.” I didn’t.
    “You really came here for nothing?”
    “I wouldn’t say for nothing.”
    “What did you do in school?”
    “I read.”
    “Any particular subjects? Are you always this difficult?”
    I sighed. It wasn’t as intense as Howard’s interview. “I majored in Lit. And I came here to start my life.”
    “How’s it going? Your life?”
    I paused. He seemed like he really wanted to know. I thought about it. “It’s kind of fucking amazing.”
    He laughed. “You remind me of the girls back home.”
    “Oh yeah? I’m vaguely insulted.”
    “Don’t be. You’re not jaded.”
    I thought, You