***
The waitress tapped her pen against her chin and smiled.
“You both want the usual, yeah?”
The young woman nodded. The man sitting at the table with her also gave a single nod.
“That'd be great, thanks,” he said. Off to the kitchen went the waitress wondering if that wasn't a twinge of nervousness she had heard in his voice.
He sipped some water from the same plastic stemmed cups that were always used at this restaurant. An earthy flavor permeated the water. I'm not going to find my resolve in this cup, he thought.
“What's wrong?” his friend asked. “You've been kind of quiet since we got here.”
She leaned forward, head tilted, as if to get a better look not just into his eyes, but beyond. To see through the physical exterior. Her gaze was met only by weary brown eyes looking back at her, searching for an answer. One not found in her almond shaped green eyes, or her gently bobbing locks of blond hair.
“Is it that girl at work?” she searched. “How are things going with her? You talk to her yet? I don't think you said anything about her the last time we had lunch. You better not be giving up again!”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, her,” he trailed off into a mumble. A pressure was building inside his chest, anxiety threatening to suffocate him at any moment if he didn't remember to breathe. Control, I need control. Collect my thoughts and just breathe.
Inhale. Slowly.
“I don't ah, I don't know if things would have worked out with her. Heard from a few that she's a little too serious. The one person in the room that doesn't laugh at the joke that everyone else laughs at. Smart as all hell but, I, you know, I want someone with a sense of humor. Someone upbeat. Too bad. She is kind of cute.”
Exhale.
A question echoed through her mind. What's wrong? She felt a tension dripping from almost every word he spoke. The how of it was unanswerable, just an indelible feeling emanating from his person. An almost imperceptible change in the timbre of his voice. A slight staccato punctuating each sentence. It was so hard to tell. But it was there. And the why, she sensed, would not make things better.
“Now you're the quiet one,” he sighed.
“Just thinking,” she mused. “Hey, we've known each other for a long time. I know there's something gnawing at you. Just spit it out, you'll feel so much better. You always do.” But really, please just don't let it be that.
His sight wandered off into the distance. Perhaps the answer he sought could be found on her face. But that's not what he wanted right now. How did it come to this, anyhow? Is it because familiarity breeds contempt? Or comfort? So that I want to cross that line now. Or at least just say how I feel. And here I've been waiting for this moment, this opportunity and it feels like it's all wrong.
Where to start? “I guess lately I've been wondering,” he sputtered, “what things would have been like if we'd met under different circumstances. You know, if you had been single and um, that sort of thing. It's silly, I know.”
Damn it, she thought. “Okay. And that's what's been bothering you?”
“Well, not quite all of it.” Too far. Too far. Just finish it. Get it out of the way. What was I thinking? Hoping for? Just spit it out and pray it's okay. “I love you.”
The pressure in his chest was released at last. Now replaced by a pounding in his head, the audible rush of blood flowing through his temples preventing him from looking into her eyes. Slowly, painfully he lifted his gaze to her face.
What have I done?
She sat in silence. Expressionless. But staring at him intently.
The waitress dropped two plates off at the table. The heavy atmosphere was oppressive enough to send the waitress quickly shuffling off to another table without a word.
I thought we were okay. Good friends. But to push this now, then something isn't right. You're not happy. Not happy with us, the way we are. “Why? Why did you have to say it?”
The pounding in his head ceased. He still felt a little flush, but otherwise fine. His mind at least felt more calm. Soothed. Although there would be no telling how long that would last. When regret might sink in and wreak havoc with his thoughts of what else might have been. “I guess I just got tired of pretending.”
She smiled sadly, and picked up her fork.
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