Tension at the Table

“So you’re the famous ‘Oliver,’” Zara said as you sat down.

She hadn’t gotten up for a hug like you’d expected - that was usually the polite thing that girls did when meeting friends of their friends, you’d found. Nothing like that from Zara though. She sat almost imperiously on the other side of the table, swirling a glass of wine in one hand as she watched you and April walk through the restaurant. The place was exactly what you’d expected, with golden yellow lighting and about three different layers of ridiculously stereotypical ‘Asian’ decor. The buffet area looked clean, at least, and was filled with a bigger variety of food than they could possibly need - which was exactly what a red-blooded American wanted in his buffet. The tables were packed in tight and April and I had to squeeze between some of them on our way to Zara.

“I wouldn’t say I’m the famous Oliver,” you said. “I’m thankfully not an orphan.”

April snorted softly and rolled her eyes at me.

“You’re also not a hot English celebrity chef,” Zara said cooly. “But April seems to think you’re about as peachy as a Georgia fair.”

Zara was the kind of attractive that was almost too much. She had sharp, striking features and April had told you she was a model but you hadn’t expected her to look so much like a model. Her vibrant copper-red hair was a little washed out by the lighting but was like a carefully manicured mane with waves and soft ringlets that made it look like the most luxurious thing ever. Her makeup was perfectly applied and fierce, accenting her cheekbones, her lips and her intense blue eyes. And, you couldn’t have not noticed as you were walking up, she was wearing a slender red dress that hung from her shoulder by two thin strings, scooping deep in the front and showing off the centre of her chest and half of her small cleavage, somehow clinging on without a nipple slipping out. And her nipples had to be fighting whatever was holding them in because you could see the bumps of them on the sleek material.

You’d managed not to glance at them once you got to the table, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to fight the urge forever.

“He might not be a celebrity chef, but he can cook,” April said, giving you a sweet smile. “And I still need to cook for you - don’t let me forget, baby.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you smiled, grinning at her.

“So what is it you actually do, Oliver?” Zara asked, leaning forward a little as she narrowed her eyes.

Thus began the interrogation. You’d expected it a bit, and April had warned you. What you hadn’t expected was how standoffish Zara was. You tried to turn questions around after answering them, or pivoting to ask more about Zara, but she stumped you at every attempt. You’d gotten through life as a fat man partially through your ability to talk with people, and you’d learned early that people liked to talk about themselves. About good things going on, giving the chance to brag about accomplishments or things they’d done or places they’d been. But especially about annoying things or ridiculous things.

Zara didn’t seem to want to reveal a single damn thing about herself to you unless she had to. You learned more about her from April prompting her than you did what she said herself.

“Let’s go get food,” April said after about ten minutes. “I’m hungry!”

“Mm,” Zara said, flashing a closed-lipped smile to April. “Sounds good, babe.” She stood up and made a point of looping her arm with April’s as the three of you headed towards the buffet lines. You followed and managed not to get caught looking at their butts when Zara glanced back with a suspicious look. They were both wearing dresses that got a little more billowy at the waist and down into the skirt so it wasn’t like you could really see anything anyway. You were a little concerned about the length of Zara’s if you really were ending up bowling after dinner.

You really let it go when you got to the buffet and had to focus on what you were and were not allowed to eat based on Hannah’s diet. It was a lot more than you’d been expecting, and your stomach grumbled in protest at all the delicious, mouth-watering food you passed by. You were about halfway through the buffet, your plate less than half-full, when April sidled up next to you and gave you a gentle hip bump. “So, not a great start I guess,” she said.

“I’m trying,” you sighed.

“Oh, I don’t mean you, I mean her,” April said. “You’re doing fine. More than fine. She knows you’re trying, which does mean something even if she’ll make it seem like a bad thing.”

You set your plate down and shook your head, glancing at April. “I’m reserving judgment,” you said like it was a mantra.

“Thank you, baby,” April said, going up on her toes and pursing her lips. You leaned down and gave her a kiss, but were interrupted by an older woman clearing her throat because she expected you to keep moving.

Once your plate was ‘full’ you headed back to the table. Zara was already there, and April wasn’t.

Shit.

“Find anything really good?” you asked as you sat down.

“April and I have been coming here for like a decade,” Zara said curtly. “The last time they added something it was a new ice cream flavour and that was three years ago.”

“So the food is even better than it smells, or you guys really like this lighting,” you joked.

Was that a flash of a smile, or did you imagine it?

“We keep coming back here because it’s tradition,” Zara said. “We have lots of traditions. So you need to learn quickly that I’m not going to put up with any shit from your end. Got it?”

“No one’s ever called me an ape,” you said.

She looked at you a little incredulously.

“Because I don’t fling shit,” you said. “Like an ape.”

She rolled her eyes and dug into her food, and April thankfully returned to the table and blessedly started taking more command of the conversation. She told stories and seemed to prompt Zara into adding ‘missing details,’ about them in high school. She got Zara to talk about a few of the more famous people she’d met doing modelling work. Zara shot right back by pointing out stories of who April had met doing voice-over work and managed to take a few digs at you by bringing up a couple of guys April had dated.

You let the bad stuff wash off your back, telling yourself, ‘Be a duck.’

The three of you went up for a second round of food, and you limited yourself even more than the first time, crying on the inside but feeling more determined than ever to stick with your diet. Zara hadn’t said anything about your weight, but you could feel the judgement. She didn’t think you were good enough for April - and the most apparent element of that was how mismatched you and April were physically. She may not have been model-thin like Zara, but she was healthy. You weren’t. People stared at both of them because they were attractive in their different ways, people stared at you because of your sheer size.

Returning to the table with a plate of some raw veggies and a couple of slices of sausage wasn’t exciting, but it was an act of sheer willpower you may not have had before you got together with April.

The three of you were into your second plates, and Zara was finishing the last of her wine while you drank Coke Zero (another disappointment) and April had a cider, when the redhead set her cutlery down and leaned forward. “Alright,” she said. “I’m tired of beating around the bush. What the fuck are your intentions with my best friend?”

“Um,” you said.”Well-”

“Zara,” April chided.

“What? It’s a fair question,” she said, then focused on me again. “You met her through a contest. Why did you even enter it? Did you fantasise about meeting her, building up a plan to try and convince her to date you?”

“No,” you said, a little more forcefully than you intended, and you dropped your voice lower because other patrons were looking over at your table. “I didn’t even ‘enter’ a contest - my friend Hannah wanted me to try a new dating app and made an account and profile for me. We only found out about the contest after that, and she made me promise to do the swiping I had to do to get a chance at winning. And sure, I had a ‘wouldn’t it be neat to meet April’ moment, but that was all. I never expected… everything else.”

“So you never jerked off thinking about her?” Zara asked.

“Zara!” April hissed.

“Answer the question,” Zara said. “You already admitted earlier you had a nerd crush on her because of her work.”

“I can honestly say that no, I never jerked off thinking about April before we met,” you said, then glanced at April. “Afterwards is a bit of a different story.”

April blushed and grinned at the same time, knowing that you were talking about your brief phone sex escapades. She turned to Zara. “Totally inappropriate question, Zara. Stop making this fucking weird.”

Zara shrugged, leaning back and draining the last of the wine from her glass. “He doesn’t make sense, April,” she said. “He’s too…” she gestured at me generally, like she was making sense. “But also…” she kept gesturing.

“Take him at face value,” April said, apparently having understood what her friend was saying.

“No one is ever actually at face value,” Zara said.

“Try,” April said, reaching across the table and grabbing her friend’s hand. “Please. For me.” Then April glanced at me. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” you said and leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before standing up. Before you stepped away you looked at Zara. “I’m falling for April,” you said. “We’re not at that… stage yet, but I’m not ashamed to admit it. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I know it. So if you’re worried about me hurting her, know that I intend to do everything I can not to ever do that.”

You walked away, weaving through the tables, without waiting for a response.

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