Swallowing down a frustrated sigh, I reach for a bread roll. But before my fingertips reach the basket in the center of the table, the heavy-set business man swipes it for himself with a hefty laugh.
“Carbs are bad for your figure, little lady,” he says to me before turning to his own wife. “Isn’t that right, Greta?”
My blood singes, which is to be expected, considering how nauseous this conversation is making me. I ball my fingers into tight fists in my lap to keep from slapping the greasy osso buco sauce straight off his smug mouth.
But now that the heat is on me, Lincoln’s jaw turns to granite. Before I can give this man the verbal ass-kicking he deserves, my husband speaks up on my behalf.
“I’d bet you’re an expert on health matters since your triple bypass went so well. But I’d implore you not to worry about my wife’s figure. Because she might just rip you a new one.” He addsunder his breath, “And if by some miracle she doesn’t, I gladly will.”
My stomach floods with butterflies when Lincoln sticks up for me. Even with everything that’s on the line, he chooses to be onmyteam. I grip his hand, giving it a firm squeeze beneath the table.
Although Lincoln’s expression is borderline murderous, the other men exchange looks and awkwardly laugh his comment off. Then they’re back to their obnoxious conversation.
This goes on through the first two courses of the meal. It’s clear these men think women belong solely in the kitchen or in the nursery. They think that women can’t handle anything more taxing or challenging or rewarding.Just cook, clean, and pop out kids.
When the men are busy arguing over which bottle of wine they’re going to order next, I lean over to Abigail. “Hey, I noticed the college logo decal on the back of your phone. You studied there, didn’t you? What was your major?”
Abigail nervously glances around. "Oh, well, I was starting to study business mana—”
"She was studying for a ring!” Abigail’s husband interrupts bitterly. “That’s what they all do, isn't it?”
“What a waste of time and money,” one of the other jerkwads laments. “And those diplomas make such terrible oven mitts, too.” He cackles, and it snaps my last nerve.
I take a swig of my wine. “Right. And we all know that nothing boosts a fragile man's ego more than strategically sidelining his partner's own achievements."
The table goes silent. No more awkward cackling. No more cringey jokes.
Only wide-eyed stares.
Looks like I trampled some unspoken rule of etiquette.Oops!Too fucking bad.
For Lincoln’s sake, I share a fake little giggle. “Oh my, the wine must be getting to me,” I slur in my sugariest voice. "It’s just that, you boys talk so much about ‘brand investment’. It’s just a shame you won't let these amazing women invest in their own dreams.”
I glance over at Lincoln, half-expecting angry smoke to be billowing out of his ears. Instead, there’s a slight smile playing on his lips and a glint of pride shining in his eyes.
I dare to step one inch further. “Belinda, I overheard you mentioning theater. Was it Broadway?"
The woman nods shyly. "I had a callback for Hamilton. But then we moved to San Diego for Dale’s first big acquisition."
My eyes turn back to the men. “See? You’ve got some really impressive women. But as brilliant as you gentlemen are, I know you already knew that or you wouldn’t have even married them,” I add, knowing that the men will soften if I stroke their big, stupid egos.
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
They all mumble like testosterone-headed teenagers who got called to the principal’s office for a well-deserved scolding. I send a sneaky wink to the girls, earning a few genuine smiles. Clearly, they realize I’m firmly in their corner.
The men leave us alone after that. I finally get the chance to learn more about each of the four women without their husbands meddling.
Then after the check is settled, the asshat who seems to be the Chief-Asshat-in-Charge rises to his feet. He announces that the men have important matters to discuss. I hide another cringe when he adds that us girls wouldn’t want to ‘bore ourselves’ with such things. He offers to call us taxis so we can Abigail out.
Taking the lead, I stand up, smiling brightly. “You are absolutely right. We wouldn't want to interrupt your very important work.”
“Jules…” Lincoln warns low in his throat.
I ignore him.
