“Oh yeah?”
“Let’s grab lunch. We haven’t seen each other in so long, we probably have so much catching up to do. I was just thinking about you the other day!”
I don’t want to say I only have enough money to buy the groceries I need for dinner and this pair of bananas. Before I can, she’s looping her arm around me and giving me a hug that I make terribly awkward by not returning it.
She seems a bit ruffled, but otherwise undeterred. “Come on,” she says, nodding her head toward the door. “Do you have anywhere you have to be? Let me buy you lunch.”
Well, hell, if she’s buying.
I insist on driving separately, because I need a few minutes to recover from her enthusiasm before I can stand to sit across from her and endure more of it. I feel a little guilty, because I know I used to be a brighter person myself, but Jesus, I wasn’t this fucking cheerful.
By the time we get to the restaurant, I’ve recharged a bit. I’m not used to socializing anymore, so I’m not sure I’ll be much good at it, but I’d like to try. I don’t have friends, but she used to be my friend, so who knows? I was just thinking when I went out with my mom how nice it would be to have an actual friend to talk to. Someone removed from all this bullshit.
Someone like Bethany.
Securing her purse in the spare seat beside her, Bethany looks up at me, beaming. “How are you?”
Still following social norms, even though it isn’t the truth, I reply, “I’m good. How are you?”
She begins to prattle on about how good she is, about her fiancé and his dog and the romantic hiking trip they went on when he asked her to marry him. I nod and smile politely, but dread creeps up on me at the prospect of her asking me similar questions.
And then she does.
“What about you?” she asks, and I can tell she’d tap my arm again if not for the table between us. I a
bsently give the table an approving pat. “You got married, didn’t you?”
I feel myself clamming up. “Yeah.”
I don’t know how to talk about my marriage, since it’s not real and certainly not normal. There’s no romantic proposal story, no highlight reel, no epic, hormone-induced love story responsible for me ‘marrying’ so young. My story isn’t the kind you tell an acquaintance over coffee, or lunch, or anything less than a bucket of stiff drinks so no one has to remember it come morning.
She catches sight of my ring finger. I’m still wearing my ruby ring (just in case I end up having to leave in a hurry, on account of someone maybe trying to kill me) but no wedding ring.
And then I have an idea. To be free, if only for the next hour.
“It didn’t work out.”
She offers a sympathetic grimace. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
But I’m feeling lighter already and I wave it off. “Oh, don’t be. It was for the best. Never should’ve gotten married in the first place. Oh well.”
She nods and the waitress comes over to get our drink order. Bethany goes off on a tangent explaining to me how she’s doing a green tea cleanse and they don’t have green tea, so she’ll just have water. I’m not sure if a green tea cleanse allows eating out at a restaurant, but she’s prattling on about how Becky lost eight pounds doing it, and I don’t think she needs to lose eight pounds, but maybe she does.
I remember her being a nervous talker, now that I think about it. Just on and on and on about anything that pops into her mind. I try to be less antisocial and intimidating to make her more comfortable, but I just find myself smiling a lot in the attempt.
After the waitress brings our drinks and takes our meal order, Bethany circles back with what I think is a playful smile.
“So, is there a special man in your life?”
I feel so awkward, because I don’t know how to talk about this anymore either. I bite down on my lower lip and take a drink. My heart is oddly racing, and it feels forbidden and dangerous to talk about Liam, but this is the perfect chance.
“Yeah, sort of,” I say.
“Oh!” She’s delighted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Tell me everything. Tell me all about him. What’s his name?”
There’s no reason I shouldn’t, and no reason to feel uneasy, but there’s something about her enthusiasm that bothers me. It feels familiar and foreign at the same time. It reminds me of my mother when we went dress shopping, trying to lure me into girl talk.
I realize I’ve been quiet for too long when she asks another question, since I don’t seem to be answering that one.