He Called Me the Wrong Name. Somehow, It Was His Own.
Fiction & entertainment
Dean knew her name was Alice. It was on his phone. He'd been saying it in his head on the walk to the restaurant.
Alice. Thirty-nine. Restored furniture. Great smile. Alice.
Then the waiter asked about water, and Dean turned to her.
“What do you reckon, Dean?”
For a moment all three of them waited to see what the fuck he'd do next.
Alice offered to start again
“Alice,” he said. “You're Alice. I'm Dean.”
“Yes. We had that sorted earlier.”
The waiter focused on his notepad with admirable professionalism.
“Still water,” Alice said.
“For both of us,” Dean added, as though the confusing part had been how many people were present.
When the waiter left, Dean explained that his sister had told him a story about a date using the wrong name. He'd become so determined not to do it that he'd apparently chosen the one name he trusted most.
His own.
Alice held out her hand.
“Hello. I'm Alice.”
He shook it.
“Dean. Lovely to meet you.”
“Good. Both accounted for. What are we eating?”
Dinner got better when he stopped rehearsing
He was thirty-seven and worked in a laboratory. He could explain complicated equipment but had apparently become unsafe around a two-person conversation.
Alice asked about his work. He gave his usual short answer. She asked another question.
Soon he'd arranged two forks and a salt shaker to explain a problem his team had solved.
“Sorry,” he said. “I've made a demonstration.”
“I asked. Carry on.”
So he did. She listened. Nobody needed to say a name for several comfortable minutes.
Then she showed him a chair she was restoring. The seat was covered in enormous printed strawberries.
“I like those,” he said, then hesitated.
“You're allowed to,” she replied. “I'm dating you, not approving your curtains.”
He laughed. The whole evening became easier once he stopped checking every opinion before letting it out.
Alice admitted she'd once finished a work call by telling a supplier she loved him.
“Did you?”
“He delivered on time. Briefly, yes.”
She remembered exactly who she wanted to see again
Over dessert, Alice asked if Dean wanted the last spoonful.
“Dean does,” he said.
“Alice was hoping he'd offer.”
He passed it over.
“Generous man.”
“Terrible with names. Excellent with pudding.”
They let the joke rest after that. It had done enough work.
Outside, Alice stood close while he asked about another dinner. She said yes, then kissed his cheek.
“You can ask for a proper one,” she said.
He did. She agreed. It went considerably better than ordering water.
The next morning she sent a message: “Friday works. Alice, in case you're updating your records.”
Dean laughed into his coffee.
On Friday, he arrived with a small name sticker on his jacket.
Alice peeled it off, folded it into her bag and kissed him hello.
“I remember you,” she said. “You're the one I'm having dinner with.”