Alice is ready to explode, but I know that nothing I can say now will change a thing – it's Bella's turn to diffuse the situation, and not even the seconds of loaded silence tip her off how her words might have been perceived. I'm even tempted to wait for things to get worse when she will inevitably vote for her favorite fillings – chicken breast and portobello mushrooms – but I'm afraid that I won't survive the laughing fit that I will have to succumb to in order not to burst. So I knock my knee discreetly into her thigh in the hope of making her focus on her surroundings.
“What is it?” Bella absentmindedly grunts, and for a moment Jazz's and my gaze lock. I see the same urge to laugh about the sheer hilarity of the situation in his eyes, and for a moment the connection we've always shared is there again. Years of teasing Bella for her crazy verbal diarrhea, particularly when she's drunk, have honed our skills to make already funny statements worse, and I even wonder where we find the restraint to hold back. But then reality makes that bubble burst, and I'm feeling positively morose all of a sudden.
Clearing my throat noisily finally does the trick and Bella looks up, only to find herself at the center of hostile attention. She's confused for a few moments, her gaze skimming from Jazz to me, until she finally realizes her mistake as she looks over at Alice. Her cheeks flame up immediately, and I can nearly hear the 'oh shit!' that must be zooming through her thoughts.
More awkward silence ensues, until Bella finally reclaims her voice.
“Or we'll just get a plate on our own. I'm too greedy to share anyway.” Not the best save, but it could have been worse. I hurry to flag down a waitress, and Alice slowly calms down while we place our orders. Because now the three of us share the confidence of a tree mold Bella and I get some avocado and mango quesadillas, and Jazz gets his with ham and sour cream. Alice seems pacified enough and more than happy to fill the heavy silence with not exactly amusing tales of how her assistant nearly ruined her latest clothing line.
By the time the order arrives I'm in dire need of a divine intervention or some booze, preferably both, and Bella doesn't look too happy, either. The food at least is holding up to expectations, even though the company is somewhat lacking.
We're halfway through the quesadillas when Alice gets up, immediately grumpy when Bella doesn't instantly surge to her feet to follow.
“Alice, I really don't have to go to the bathroom ...”
“Come on, girl-talk time!”
Apparently all women belong to a secret society so evasion is impossible, and after a last, somewhat panicked look at me, Bella joins Alice, and they leave Jazz and me behind to guard the food, or whatever. In the reality according to Alice, we can't make stupid remarks, but for some reason it's still allowed for us guys to hang out, unwatched and unguarded, for five minutes. Or ten. Fuck, I hope it's only five.
If the plate sharing comment has been awkward, we need a new word for the atmosphere that is settling on the table now that the girls are gone. For endless minutes Jazz and I both avoid even acknowledging each other's presence, munching our food and finishing the rest of our beers. The food is tasteless and the beer almost sour, and the resentment and anger inside of me makes me physically ill. I wish I were a smoker so I could use that as an excuse to go outside until the girls return, but in the absence of that I can't think of any other reason for getting up that won’t make me look like a wimp. So I sit there and stare either at the table or at the people around us, and try hard not to think of anything at all so my mind can't flip and send me into doing something I will later regret.
The waitress returns to take our empty plates and glasses away, and remains batting her lashes at us until we both tell her that we'll get our drinks later directly at the bar. For some reason that breaks our talking embargo, or maybe manners make us feel obliged to have some small talk.
“How's it going at the hospital?”
I shrug as there's really not much to say.
“Good, I guess. Working long hours as usual.”
Jazz nods, looking in my direction but not at me.
“How's work?” I remember some detail Bella dropped last week, and in my attempt to appear civil I add, “Did you already launch your company?” He seems surprised that I know that he and two of his co-workers decided to found their own business to get out of corporate hell, and for a moment our gazes cross.
“Not yet, some bureaucratic crap keeps holding us up. But next week when Alice is in New York I should have the time to get everything sorted out and started. I still have to set up the servers and ...” He trails off and looks away, scratching his head rather self-consciously. No rambling allowed for the wicked.
“And all that stuff. You know. Geek stuff.”
I nod even though I don't really know, and neither do I care. Devoid of any other topic than work, we fall silent again and more agonizing minutes pass.
“Did you see the Mariners game last Sunday?” he suddenly pipes up, sounding nearly glad that he found something else to say. Or at least he seems like that to me.
“Nope. Double shift from Saturday till Sunday, and I was on call after that –
and they did call, so I didn't even catch the re-runs.”
“That's nasty. Was a good game.” I have no idea if the note of sympathy in his voice is real. It doesn't matter anyway.
More silence, but now it's a hint more relaxed. Those twenty sentences are more than we've spoken in – forever. As much as I hate to be sitting here, I feel weirdly melancholic all of a sudden. For years we've been hanging out most of our free time, rooming together since college. And now all we can talk about is work and some stupid baseball game.