For their fortieth anniversary, Nora told Frank he could choose the restaurant. Frank selected the little place where they had eaten on their first date. It had changed owners twice, but the windows still looked onto the same square, and Frank remembered where they had sat.
“The table by the radiator,” he told the waiter. “My wife was cold that night.”
Nora gave him a look. “I was cold because you insisted we walk three miles to save the taxi fare.”
“And we’ve been saving money ever since,” Frank said proudly.
The waiter brought two menus. Frank studied his with the attention he normally reserved for insurance renewals. Nora watched him turn a page, turn it back, and silently count something on his fingers.
“Choose anything you like,” he said.
“Anything?”
“It’s our anniversary.”
Nora ordered the fish. Frank ordered soup. The waiter asked whether he wanted bread with it. Frank asked if bread was included. The waiter said it was. Frank requested two baskets.
Over dinner Nora told him about their children, their first house, and the year their washing machine had flooded the kitchen. Frank nodded, then quietly asked the waiter whether the water on the table was complimentary.
Nora reminded him that on their first date he had ordered a pudding for her because she was too shy to ask. Frank said he remembered the pudding; it had been the most expensive thing on the menu. “You remember the price after forty years?” she asked. “I remember that you gave me the bigger half,” he replied. For a moment he stopped studying the prices and held her gaze.
When dessert arrived, Nora ordered the chocolate tart. Frank said he was full. She reminded him that he had eaten soup and most of the bread.
“Exactly,” he said. “I’ve planned well.”
Halfway through her tart a violinist appeared. He played the song from their wedding. The staff brought out a little cake with forty candles drawn in icing, because the manager had decided forty actual candles might test the smoke alarm.
Nora was touched. Frank looked terrified. He leaned toward the waiter and whispered, “I didn’t order a musician.”
“I know, sir,” the waiter whispered back.
“And the cake?”
“Also arranged.”
Frank’s expression changed. He put his hand over Nora’s and said, “You organized all this?”
“I did,” she said. “You chose the restaurant. I handled the surprise.”
Frank apologized for spending the evening worrying about the bill. Nora told him she had paid a deposit weeks ago and that for once he could simply enjoy himself. Frank sat back, listened to the last of the music, and asked her to dance in the narrow space between the tables.
When the waiter returned with the final bill, Nora reached for her purse. Frank stopped her.
“No. I’ll get this. Forty years deserves a grand gesture.”
The waiter handed him a small envelope. Frank opened it, blinked, and read the total again. It was far less than he expected. Nora waited for him to discover the deposit line.
Instead he turned to the waiter, glowing with confidence. “You see? I knew soup was the right choice.”
Nora laughed so hard she had to sit down. Then she pointed to the bottom of the receipt, where her payment covered almost the entire meal.
Frank examined it carefully. “Well,” he said, “then I suppose I owe you the taxi fare from our first date.”
“With forty years of interest,” Nora replied.
Frank put the receipt in his pocket. “Shall we walk home and call it even?”