Excerpt: French Lesson

Suddenly, the steak, which had tasted so good just a minute ago, left a foul taste in her mouth. The chips seemed dry and tasteless. Even the posh wine was too rich, too heavy, and stuck in her throat, coating it with a sticky, blood red layer. It was impossible to swallow. She wanted to gag.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her words partially muffled from trying not to allow the delicious food she had just eaten to come right back up, all over the lovely dinner, and Jared. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, getting up and putting her napkin on the table, next to her half empty plate, “I can’t do this any more. I have to – I have to . . . “ and, unable to think of any plausible excuse to leave the table, ran for the bathroom.