French Restaurant – Fiona Deane-Grundman

February 15, 2026

Debra was a girlfriend, but she wasn’t a very good one. At least that’s what her boyfriend Jason would say. He was older than her, and he was a musician. They had met sort of by mistake, but it worked because they loved each other in the way two people who had met sort of by mistake only could. Debra hated the way Jason would talk to other girls at parties to make her mad, and Jason hated the way Debra had tons of guys in the replies of her social media who seemed to monitor her every move. “That toast looks great, queen!” After sex, when Jason would make some sort of comment, Debra would shut the bathroom door and look in the mirror and think, I wonder if one of those guys would be a better boyfriend than Jason, but her worst inkling was, maybe they would for a month, but then they would start treating her like a piece of furniture in the house, like Jason had.

Debra and Jason were always having some sort of fight, while driving in the car or on the freeway off-ramp or after a party, usually while one or both were drunk. Debra could outdrink Jason, and while she didn’t do it all the time, she could succumb gently to a fully blackout state, where she was truly honest with Jason, which he didn’t like. Jason complained about Debra’s drinking, Debra complained about Jason using coke despite using it herself. They would wake up in the morning and grab a bagel and things would be mostly fine, but it was a temporary peace.

They would always end up in social situations with Jason’s friends, because Jason didn’t really like Debra’s friends—he told her so. Debra didn’t really like Jason’s friends either, but she didn’t tell him so. Debra didn’t even really like her friends either, but at least they were fun and honest. Jason’s friends would get offended over small comments that Debra made, because it was stuff you weren’t really supposed to say, “the quiet part out loud.” Jason’s friends were always saying things without saying them, the loud part out quiet. Debra hated the way they all seemed to only be friends with each other for networking reasons, a network she wasn’t a part of because she didn’t have anything to offer them. She wasn’t a creative director, or a photographer. She was a vet tech, a job she was close to getting fired from because she kept showing up to work 15 minutes late, which was worse than showing up to work 30 minutes late because it showed you tried to get there on time but failed, as opposed to not trying at all.

They frequented a French restaurant, one that used to be cool 5 years ago but now just existed. Maybe it would be cool again, or maybe it was just one of the only places left. Debra ordered three glasses of champagne. Jason’s friends talked about musicians and girls she had never heard of. Jason’s friends loved all the same movies and musicians. Debra thought they were just ok, or she had never heard of them. People went to and from the bathroom to do coke. Debra did a few bumps, and ordered two more glasses of champagne. Jason ordered tequila soda, and did a few bumps. Jason’s friend Annie told Debra’s friend Ryan that when she got into a car accident on the way to hang out with him last winter, maybe that was a “sign,” and Ryan told Debra. Debra did another bump of coke she had not bought.

Debra wanted to go home, but she also wanted to stay out. Jason wanted to stay out. He was talking to different brown-haired girls with more expensive outfits than Debra’s. Debra’s vision and speech were beginning to slur. Ryan was telling her some story about his ex-boyfriend he had already told her 100 times. Debra’s friend Jessie was standing really close to Jason and laughing her horse-like laugh. Debra looked around at the boys and thought about which ones she would want to fuck, and which ones she would fuck only to get back at Jason. None of the boys were hot, and they had the quality of stray cats when you put food out, like the cats Debra worked with at the animal shelter. They all crowded around the same brown-haired girls like one plate of cheap Fancy Feast cat food. They were hungry. Debra felt sort of sick, like she might throw up later in the parking lot. Someone was charging their phone from the outlet in the French restaurant’s wall. Someone was talking about crypto. Someone was talking about an art critic who didn’t even live in that city and that he had his cellphone number. Someone was talking about a 90s filmmaker they had met at a hotel. Someone was talking about cruising the sauna of an expensive gym none of them belonged to. Debra looked down at the white tablecloth, the empty plates of mediocre food and the seven empty champagne glasses. Jason was listening attentively to the girl talking to him, who was pulling on his elbow, leading him to the bathroom, but he was looking at Debra. Debra took a fork and plunged it straight into her hand, with blood spraying everywhere. Then she blacked out from the pain, and the champagne.

At the hospital later, and she had a big cast that people had signed. Ryan. With love, Jessie. Yeah right, thought Debra. Jason was there. Can you please be more chill, Debra, he was saying. You’re really embarrassing to bring around my friends. Debra looked out the hospital window. A bird was soaring out there on the wind.