Olive Juice

That shocked a laugh out of David. Phillip was good at that.

Phillip cleared his throat. “So, I wanted to—”

Melissa appeared at their table side, causing David to flinch slightly. “How are we doing?” she asked. “Does anyone need their drink refreshed?”

Phillip smiled tightly at her. “I think we’re okay.”

“Good,” she said. “Dinner will be ready shortly.” And then she was gone again.

“Peppy little fucker, isn’t she?” Phillip muttered.

“They all are,” David said.

“Wasn’t always like that, buddy.”

“Kids these days.” And then, before he could stop himself, “Remember that one waiter we had here?” He should have kept his mouth shut. That one was on him.

Phillip stared at him blankly for a moment. Then David could see the moment the memory hit. It started with his lips, quirking just a little, the lines around his eyes deepening. There was a flash of teeth, the smallest of chuckles. “That’s right. That guy. Oh, what was his name? Wasn’t it something just ridiculous? Like… Ferdinand or—or—”

“Forrest,” David said, because in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Forrest,” Phillip said, clapping his hands in front of his chest. “That’s right. God, what a terrible name. He was so damn rude. The entire time.”

“And then you kept calling him Woods.”

Phillip cackled, putting a hand over his mouth. “He was so mad at that. Remember when I finally asked to speak to the manager?”

“You told him that Trees wasn’t providing you with the level of service you expected here.”

“And the guy had no idea what I was talking about. Meanwhile, Woods—”

“Forrest.”

“Whatever. Meanwhile, Terrible Name stood there, getting angrier and angrier. I thought he was going to stab me with a steak knife.”

“Nah,” David said. “I wouldn’t have let him.”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “That’s not what you said then.”

“You were egging him on.”

“He wasn’t happy having to serve a faggot,” Phillip said, waving David off with a little flourish of his hand, wrist slightly limp. “I am not to be trifled with.”

That had been it, really. One moment, everything was fine on their little staycation, and the next, Phillip’s hand was on his on top of the table, fingers tracing on the back of David’s wrist, and Forrest had frozen, just a little, a frown on his face that quickly turned to the smallest of sneers. The manager had apologized profusely, given that he recognized them. They hadn’t come back for almost six months. They never saw Forrest working there again.

“No,” David said. “No, you’re not.”

Phillip’s face softened, and before he even spoke, David knew what his next words were going to be. He knew that look, the one that was almost pitying, but not quite. He’d seen it many times before. It was sweet, and kind, and David hated it.

“How have you been?” Phillip asked. “Really, buddy. How have you really been?”

He hated it, because there were only two people in this world, two people out of everyone in the entire world that could see right through his bullshit. Two people who could cut him to the quick, two people who wouldn’t let him get away with anything.

One was gone.

The other was sitting across from him.

“Me?” he said, trying to keep all of this under control. “I’m good. Good. Um, you already know work is going well. I started going to the gym. Working out. It’s—it’s something I do. At night. Sometimes on the weekends. I figured since I’m not getting any younger, I need to make sure the heart keeps on ticking.”