The Immaculate by Mark Morris

taking pains to ensure that nothing slid from his fork at just the wrong moment.
    â€œThat looks good,” the woman said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.”
    Jack looked up at her, swallowing quickly. “It is good,” he said. “I usually have it when I come here. I always arrive determined to try something different, but this is so tasty that as soon as I see it on the menu I have to order it.”
    The woman laughed. Her tongue was small and pink, her teeth very straight and white; Jack wondered what it would be like to kiss her. “I’m just the same,” she said. “I always go for the seafood pizza and side salad. Maybe we ought to swap meals just to be more adventurous.”
    Jack shook his head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t. Not seafood.”
    â€œYou don’t like it?”
    â€œI don’t know how
anyone
can. All those tentacles and unidentifiable rubbery bits.”
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re missing. Fried squid in garlic butter. Absolutely delicious!”
    â€œI’ll take your word for it.”
    â€œNo, no, I’m serious. Look, if I order a seafood pizza will you promise to try a bit?”
    Jack pulled a face. “No,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t, honestly.”
    The woman looked at him with a half-smile on her face. She was very beautiful. Jack had to make a conscious effort not to gaze at her for too long. Her eyes were large and dark. She had little smile lines around her mouth. Jack would have loved to have been able to reach out and stroke her face just to feel whether her skin was as soft as it looked.
    â€œWell, that’s very narrow-minded of you if you don’t mind me saying so,” she said, but her tone was light, almost playful.
    Jack shrugged. “I know. I’d love to try lots of different foods, but something in here”—he tapped his head—“won’t let me.”
    â€œPerhaps you need a psychiatrist,” she suggested teasingly.
    â€œAh, zo you sink my food phobias are buried deep in my subconscious?” he said, narrowing his eyes to complement his comic Freudian voice.
    â€œCould be. Did your parents ever used to beat you around the head with baby octopuses?”
    Jack tried to laugh, but her question, asked in fun, was too close to home and it emerged as a hard and hollow sound. He shrugged and sat up straight as though pulling back from the game. He twirled his fork in the tagliatelle and lifted it to his mouth.
    â€œI’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” the woman asked.
    Jack looked at her, re-establishing the eye contact he had broken abruptly when she’d mentioned his parents. She looked a little confused and genuinely concerned.
    â€œNo,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile. “It’s just . . . no, it’s okay, forget it.”
    She was silent, as though uncertain whether to apologise or change the subject. The waitress arrived to take her order and the woman said, “I’ll have what he’s having. With a side salad.” When the waitress left, she said, “See? I’m being adventurous.”
    Jack glanced up at her and saw she was grinning at him. He grinned back. The awkwardness between them passed.
    â€œHave you ever tried sushi?” the woman asked, swirling the remains of the juice in her glass.
    â€œAn editor took me to a Japanese restaurant once,” Jack replied. “It was a disaster. I hated everything.”
    â€œJeez.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re a real fussy eater, aren’t you?”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” he said indignantly.
    â€œYes, you are. What do you mean, editor? Do you work in publishing?”
    The abrupt change of subject threw Jack. He hadn’t realised he’d said editor until she pointed it out to him. Shit, now he’d have to explain that he was a writer. People tended either to