Dinner with Friends

My eyes drop to the bowl of lettuce in front of me as I listen to my friends. I keep my head down, shoveling in forkfuls of food, nodding away mouthfuls of restrained words. I was hoping the conversation wouldn’t turn this way but it always does. Guys, relationships, sex—no matter where our dinner dates begin, we always end up here. I want to care just as much as I want to taste the dressing and quinoa between my teeth, but my senses are slipping away. Surrounded by friends in a crowded restaurant, I am alone. I eat fast, craving the space on my plate, the space in my bed, the space to escape these yearning, bleeding, seeking hearts and curl up warm within my own. I am not like my friends. I am not looking for someone because I have already found the one. I am in love with myself.

A hand grabs my empty dish and takes it away. I look up to find cocked heads and sensitive eyes. My friends are aware, but they don’t see me. They see walls. They see a cage. They see a hurt creature, cowering in the corner. I open my mouth to defend, realizing the quick dry words are what they expect. Under the pressure and heat, I reach for my glass, sipping away the difference, the distance, the sympathy stewing in the room. The ice water coats my throat and cools its way down into my widening chest. I can feel the powerful muscle pumping inside. The slanted gazes straighten and align as my friends sit up. Their pity seeps back into the floor. They watch as my mouth opens again, tongue ready this time, fully saturated with the rarely-spoken words:

“I actually enjoy being alone. I’m not interested in dating anybody.”

Their brows furrow, ruffled by the rogue wave rippling across the table. I wait, hopeful for a response, hopeful for a change in the conversational direction and a way out of this trench, but too soon the waitress returns and sets down our main meals. My friends cut the meat and stuff the severed protein in, chewing fast, heads down, curtains of hair shielding their eyes. I pick up my fork and do the same, listening as the familiar words trickle out into the air. I murmur in agreement, pretending to be like them—pretending to have nothing to lose.