STORY: The Swordfish

     I remember them distinctly. A party of five: four barbecued swordfish and a scampi. A middle-aged couple, the man immaculately tailored, graying hair, conservatively cut. The woman, undoubtedly his wife, attractive in a worn, overstuffed way. She might have been pretty once and perhaps in a softer color still would be, but she wore black and its severity emphasized a kind of resignation about the eyes and jaw.
     With them, three young people in their early to mid-twenties: a gentleman and two young ladies. One of the young ladies was especially striking. Blonde hair drawn back and secured somehow to the top of her head with a few loose tendrils escaping, as if artlessly--and yet the effect was one which other women might spend hours before the mirror or at their hairdresser's attempting vainly to copy.
     From her features and her behavior with the somewhat nervous young gentleman to her left, I believe that they were sister and brother and that the other young lady, less stylish but suggesting more depth of character and perhaps a latent sense of puckish humor, was the young man's wife. I recall this party in particular because of the barbecued swordfish, our special that evening--not so much because they ordered it but because there was some difficulty among them regarding it.
     The tip was not remarkable.

     I am J. Stuart Taylor. I took my wife Evelyn out for her birthday. She wore the outfit I gave her. They were out of the mahimahi, so I had the swordfish.

     You took us all out, Dad. You need to tell them you took us all out to dinner--Mom, Stacy, Beth and me. I'm Stuart's son Tom. Dad ordered the special: barbecued swordfish for four. I said that sounded good to me. I love swordfish.
     See, the thing was, Beth--that's my wife--tried to do something good for Mom but the timing was bad, that's all. Mom should have stood up for herself. She's always sacrificing herself for everyone else. What a mess.

     I'm Stacy Taylor. I don't know why this is such a big deal. Dad took us to this expensive seafood restaurant in San Diego for Mom's birthday. Dad wanted three of us to go in with him on the swordfish but I wasn't in the mood for swordfish. I ordered scampi.
     Tom's sticking up for Beth but nobody made her order swordfish. Beth said she wanted swordfish and waited until Dad gave the server the order--and then she said she didn't want it, after everyone had agreed! She's been my sister-in-law for three years now and I still don't understand her at all.

     My name is Evie Taylor and I'm Stuart's wife. I'm sure Beth didn't mean anything. You see, it was my birthday and Stuart said we could go out to dinner at Pierre's, down in San Diego--you know, the one right on the shore? I wore the black dress he bought me. Black isn't really my color but I wore my silver necklace and earrings with it and the kids said it looked real nice.
     I was going to order the Dover sole--I never get Dover sole, hardly any restaurant has it on the menu anymore--but Stuart wanted the swordfish and he couldn't order it unless three of us had it, too, so I said I'd have the swordfish. It was his second choice, you know. He really wanted the mahimahi, but when the server came to take our order, he said they were out of the mahimahi. I couldn't see having Stuart disappointed twice.

     Okay, I'm Beth. I'm the troublemaker. It's like everyone has already said: we went to the fish place for dinner. I don't really like fish but it was Evelyn's birthday and that's what she wanted. She was really pleased to find Dover sole on the menu. She said she loves Dover sole. She hadn't had it for a long time.
      Stuart ordered first, but they were out of whatever it was. He looked taken aback. He said there wasn't anything else on the menu he wanted. The server suggested the special--the now infamous barbecued swordfish--if Stuart could find three others who wanted to order it with him. Stuart said all right, he'd have that and my husband said right away that he would too. He and his dad didn't have a problem with it because they both like swordfish.
     That made two. There were three of us left. I knew Evelyn wanted the sole, and it was her birthday, so that meant Stacy and I had to order the swordfish.
     It wasn't that Stacy didn't know what was expected of her. She's lived in this family all 23 years of her life; I've only been in it for three. Well, it's true, Stacy, it was expected of you.
     Anyway, Stacy ordered scampi.
     That left Evelyn and me. Evelyn said she'd have swordfish. It shouldn't have surprised me. The family always jokes about Evelyn being the one who volunteers to sit behind the post supporting the grandstand at sporting events.
     Three down, one to go--and I was the only person left. I didn't want swordfish, barbecued or any other way. I don't even like fish. As I hesitated, I felt everyone waiting.
     "I guess I'll have the swordfish," I said. They all relaxed and closed their menus. The server wrote it down. Just as he turned away, I burst out, "No, wait! I don't want swordfish, I want the steak!"
     You would have thought I'd just announced I was a transvestite. All four faces turned toward me, not accusingly, just incredulous. No one in the family had ever done this before. I felt like a deer caught in four pairs of headlights.
     I don't remember if anyone said anything or not. It seemed like the place broke into pandemonium, that people were telling me, "But you can't do that! Stuart can't get the swordfish without four people!"
     Maybe all the accusations were in my own head but they were deafening. Stuart's eyes were blank with bewilderment, Stacy's rolled in disgust, Tom's darted back and forth from face to face. Evelyn busied herself rearranging the cloth napkin in her lap.
     I didn't feel any of the satisfaction or relief, if not triumph, I expected to feel. What I felt was something very different, something more unpleasant even than the conflict I'd known a minute before. I felt as if I'd been caught urinating on the oriental carpet in the foyer.
     "Evelyn doesn't want the swordfish either," I found myself saying desperately, "and it's her birthday. I think she should be able to have what she wants on her birthday."
     I don't know what I expected; maybe I thought Evelyn would smile and say, "She's right. To be honest, I'd really rather have the sole."
     But she didn't. She said hastily, placing a small, manicured hand on mine, "That's all right, Beth. I don't really care what kind of fish I have. All the fish is good here."
     So there I was, hanging out to dry. I suppose Stuart could have said, "Oh, I didn't realize you didn't really want the swordfish, Evelyn. Don't just order it on my account. I'll get something else." Or Stacy could have said, "If three of you are willing to order the swordfish, I'll be the fourth. I can get the scampi some other time." Or Tom could have said, "It's Mom's birthday, Dad. Let her get what she wants."
     But none of them did.
     I looked at all those stunned faces and I said, "Never mind. I'll have the swordfish." Tom asked, "Are you sure it's what you want?" I looked at my lap, my face burning, and said, "Yes."
     I'm sure the painful silence until our food came was in my head, too. The server brought our orders and after a minute Tom said it first. "How's your swordfish, Mom? My piece is kind of dry." Stuart and Evelyn agreed. "It's awfully dry."
     I didn't say a word.
  

(First published in Inklings, Summer, 1994)