They found a table and placed their plates on it, and Thom immediately walked around to pull out Pepper's chair. She grinned up at him and daintily slid into the chair, humming happily as she surveyed the condiments on the table. Thom sat and watched her twirl a lazy Susan with three covered jars on it. One contained a combination of red onion, minced carrots, and tiny green peppers in some sort of a pickle, a second contained a pureed green pepper sauce and the last, a red sauce with the consistency of plum jam. Of course there was a bowl of jalapeño pickles and red pepper sauce at a hand's reach as well. A waiter arrived and brought a steaming basket of garlic naan, setting it on the table along with a yogurt concoction of cucumbers, carrots, and spices. He poured a white yogurt drink over ice cubes in tall milkshake glasses; it resembled the dugh he'd so loved in Afghanistan. The waiter excused himself.
Thom looked down at his plate, steam rising up toward him. It had a spicy array of Indian buffet goodness. Everything from mattar paneer to gharam masala and rice to lamb curry waited for him. Pepper's plate, across from him, was loaded with tandoori chicken, its brilliant red-orange color, a satisfying addition to the variety of stews and rice on her plate. He watched as she rubbed her palms together and moan in satisfaction as she stared at the steaming plate. She went for the condiments immediately, piling spoonfuls of the plum-like sauce and carrot mixture on her plate; next he watched her scoop up a piece of garlic naanand plunge it into the yogurt bowl bringing it to her mouth where she greedily bit into it, chewing, her eyes closing in what could only be ecstasy. Thom couldn't stop a smile as he dragged his gaze away from her face and picked up a fork, stabbing into his own curry.
Thom fished out a chunk of lamb and bit into the delightfully tender spiced meat. As he chewed, he awkwardly thought of how he would get the rice onto his fork. Thom had been accustomed to the Arabic way of eating this type of food with just a piece of the delicious flat bread naan, which was used to pick up pieces of meat and soak up the gravy of the stew accompanying it. He put down his fork and tore off a piece of naan from the basket, reaching onto his plate and picking up another piece of the curry between its folds and drawing it to his lips. He glanced up at Pepper and found her watching him like a bug under a magnifying glass. She had that same look of a scientist that she wore in the lab.
"Were you in the war?" Pepper suddenly blurted around a piece of tandoori, which she chewed daintily.
Fuck. My. Life. The last subject I ever want discussed! He put down his garlic bread, losing is appetite instantly. There was a pregnant pause before he answered. "I was in Afghanistan for one tour. Got back home in two thousand eight but I don't talk about the war," he finished awkwardly.
"I… I'm sorry, Thom. I know it's an uncomfortable subject with a lot of the guys and gals who were sent over. Our British boys came back… a lot of them scarred by what they saw."
Oh, no she didn't… she didn't just go there. Fuck!The key turned and the lockbox puked all of its crap right out into his mind, slamming into his gut as his thoughts wandered to a far off place.
