On Tuesday, a late dinner in a busy restaurant sounded like the correct way to celebrate finishing the project. By Friday, I wanted noodles, a chair I already knew and no explanation of what I did for work.
The deadline had been met. That was good news. I was also tired, which did not cancel the good news.
I called Talia before the reservation's cancellation deadline and asked whether she would mind changing the plan. She said she had been trying to find shoes that made sense for how she felt.
We kept the celebration.
We cancelled according to the booking terms and ordered food we both liked. I cleared the work papers from the kitchen table rather than eating over them.
Talia arrived with dessert and asked whether I wanted to talk about the project. I said I wanted five minutes to complain and another five to describe the part I was pleased with.
She agreed, on the condition that her own week received the same arrangement. We were not precise with the timing, but the proposal worked.
There was nothing to make up for.
We used plates for some of the food and the containers for the rest. We watched a film we had both seen before, which meant nobody minded when we talked over it.
At some point I realised I had been treating a celebration as a booking I had to deserve by completing something difficult. That evening I was simply enjoying dinner with a friend who knew why the week had mattered.
The restaurant stayed on our list. We went another time, when staying out late sounded appealing again.
The Friday itself did not need upgrading afterwards. We had marked the finish, eaten well and laughed about a detail that would have been far too boring to explain at a larger table.
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