Gareth, an awkward sort of a guy I’ve spent most of the year working alongside, sits across from me. Seemingly enraptured by his own conversation about our CPA certifications. I stopped listening twenty minutes ago because theGreasesoundtrack started lightly playing in the background of this restaurant.
This really strange restaurant.
I can’t say I’ve ever been to a Galentine’s brunch, even in New York, that feels more like an after-hours club in the eighties. Like straight from a Leonardo DiCaprio movie, when coke was sexy and fur was okay.
To be honest, I’d completely forgotten it was almost Valentine’s Day, which is why I said yes when Gareth offered to throw me a going-away party.
My eyes drop to the pink paper heart attached to the front of the menu promoting the specials for today:$5 Linguine and Lo Mein.
What is that? Definitely not the kind of fusion I’ve come to know and appreciate.
But here we are.
“Hey, when is everybody else showing up?” I say with a smile before I take a sip of my complimentary mimosa, heavy on the cheap champagne.
Gareth stops nerding out about work and grins back at me.
“Uh-oh. I didn’t tell you?” My face answers that question, but he brushes it off. “Maybe I forgot ...” He takes a very long sip of his drink before saying, “It’s just me and you ...”
“Say what?”
Silence.
You know when your phone does that emergency alert sound? The one designed to tell you something awful is about to happen? That’s what’s going off in my head right now as Olivia Newton-John croons “Hopelessly Devoted” in the background.
See, I’ve known for a whole year that this guy has a crush on me, but I’ve literally never given him any indication I was interested back. Because I’m definitely not.
He uses crystals as deodorant, and not even the ones designed for it ... He just bought some random ones at Hot Topic in the mall and constantly rubs them on his pits during work hours.
Gareth wags his eyebrows like he’s letting me in on a secret as he licks his lips.Ewww, no.I wince, realizing I’ve been set up ... in a possible elaborate love trap. It’s making me want to gnaw off a limb.
I take another hit of my mimosa before drawing my brows together, hoping beyond hope that I’m wrong as I say, “What do you mean, just me and you? Like, for brunch? Because we’re meeting everyone else after?”
Say yes, or I’m decidedly crawling out of a very small window in the bathroom.
Gareth leans forward, his elbows on the table, and I can’t help but stare at a singular nose hair peeking out from his right nostril. It’s waving at me with each breath he takes.
“Come on, Roars ... let’s stop pretending,” he says like I’m missing the point.
I’d love to be missing it ... Please, let it fly right by me. Also,Roars? Who is Roars? That’s not my nickname ... no, no, no. This is not happening. I don’t have the energy or patience for this.
Why are men so ... themselves?
And not to blame the victim ...me ...but this is my fault. I should’ve known better than to accept this invitation. I’ve spent the better part of the last three years with my nose in a spreadsheet, barely saying a hello to anyone else in our corporate office.
I mean ... who was coming to say goodbye?
“Gareth,” I start, “I don’t think we’re on the same—”
I don’t get to finish my thought because he says, “Shhh,” then bites his bottom lip.
All I can picture is an old Google image my older sister made me look at of a boy band from the ’90s called Color Me Badd ...
It was awful, and so is this.
“This last year ...” he says dramatically, before taking a deep breath. “It’s meant a lot to me. And who are we kidding? From the moment I joined Baker and Fields, it’s been the me and you show, amiright? We’ve been inseparable.”
His eyes drop to the table and then flick back up to mine. I flinch.
