In with the New Baby

“Stop!” I say.

“You know,” Anne says. “You really shouldn’t be dating your clients.”

Margie looks at her and cups her chin with her right hand.

“At least she’s dating someone at all, unlike some of the rest of us,” Margie says.

Anne turns red and fumbles.

“Um, I mean, I guess you’re right.”

“Um, like, yeah,” I say and try to downplay it, but I must admit I’m a little hurt by what Anne just said.

And I’m rather surprised that it’s Margie who has my back when it comes to something as frivolous as falling for a guy. I’d have thought that she’d be much more practical, warning me about problems I might encounter in the professional arena, like Anne just was.

The server brings our food and places the dishes on the table.

“Here, honey,” she says to me. “The chef placed the avocado to the side for you.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I can have him mix it in for you if you like?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

“He just wasn’t sure if you wanted it mixed up with the seaweed.”

“It’s wonderful,” I say and smile at her.

“Let’s just say Amanda’s in the weeds!” Anne jokes.

Margie shakes her head and I say nothing.

They and Catharine gossip about several of our friends while I continue to say nothing. I look out the window at a really hot guy jogging down the street with a dog that looks like Rexie. I could have sworn it was Lincoln, but in my state of mind I’m probably imagining things.

“So, what do you think, Amanda?” Anne asks.

“About what?”

“About what Ramirez has been doing to intimidate Lincoln?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I say.

They look at each other. I eat my salad and say nothing to perpetuate their awkward silence.

“Are you alright?” Margie asks.

“I need a breath of fresh air,” I say and get up to use the bathroom.

I splash water on my face. I am really upset about Anne’s accusation, when she’s supposed to be my friend. Is she implying that my “coming on” or whatever you want to call it to Lincoln makes me some slutty, vamp-like whore?

I want to cry but I immediately pull myself together.

“Don’t do this to yourself, girl,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t let her get to you.”

I come out of the bathroom and take a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and slap it on the table.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t feel well and must leave.”

Margie and Catharine and Anne look at me with mouths agape.

I exit the restaurant and walk hurriedly to my car.

“Amanda! Amanda!”

I turn around. Anne is running toward me and catches up with me.

“Amanda,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

Se holds my shoulder.

I say nothing.

“Are you mad at me or something?”

I look her up and down and say nothing. I get in my car and drive away.

Goodbye, Anne, I think to myself. Ms. Perfect, Ms. Know-It-All who has all the answers.

I look in my rearview mirror and see her standing there with her hands on her hips, watching me drive away.

“Fuck you, Anne,” I say aloud as I pull onto the highway exit and head for home.

When I get home, I read my texts.

From Anne: Sorry, didn’t mean to say that about Lincoln. I just worry for you because he seems kind of hot and cold. I would hate for it to get you into trouble at work, if you two aren’t even a for sure thing yet, you know?

From Margie: You ok, honey, what’s wrong? I told Anne she said a shitty thing to you about dating clients.

From Catharine: WTF was up with Anne, so sorry she’s being such a bitch! Love you!

I delete both Margie’s and Anne’s texts but keep Catharine’s – she’s always the only one who truly gets me, anyway. Honestly, I’m mad at Margie as well. That shitty comment she made about my watching my figure for Lincoln pissed me off as well.

She knows I don’t feel so comfortable about my body, since I’m a plus sized girl. She also knows I get nervous about being naked with a man, especially one as hot as Lincoln, and I find myself questioning why he would want to be with me, or that he’s playing a joke on me, or that he’s just fucking me for sex and doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me.

What really bothers me is that I know Lincoln doesn’t want to go to Odessa, and after he told me about what happened to him as a kid, my heart aches constantly. It is just one raw wound. I sit on the back porch and look out across the city as tears stream down my face.

I stand straight up, telling myself to knock it off. I do not want to be here when Margie returns.

And I will not be here when Anne shuffles in with that pathetic and apologetic hangdog look she assumes when she knows she’s fucked up.