EZRA
I T ’ S HER . H OLY SHIT , IT ’ S HER .
‘What are you staring at?’ Mac asks, sidling up beside me. I quickly avert my eyes – not quickly enough, apparently. His face splits into a grin.
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Sequins or silk?’
‘Sequins. I mean – her name is Audrey.’
‘No way. You know her?’
‘Barely,’ I say, glancing sideways to check she’s still there. ‘We met at the restaurant. She’s a model.’
‘That makes sense. She—’
‘She’s tall and has a perfect face, yes. I’m aware.’
‘Babe, you’re rattled!’ Mac laughs, looking absolutely delighted. ‘Is this a crush ?’
‘Fuck off,’ I say hotly. ‘I just didn’t expect to see her again.’
I’d hoped, though, and pretty desperately at that. Imagined scenarios where we bumped into each other again – maybe at the restaurant, but ideally somewhere more neutral, like a coffee shop. Definitely not at some fancy event where she’s dressed like a goddess and I’m the guy doling out canapés. God, this is humiliating. And what happens if I bowl right up to her and she doesn’t even remember me? Or worse – she does remember but pretends not to? I might self-combust.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Mac prompts, nudging me. ‘Get on over there.’
‘And say what? “Bruschetta”?’
‘As ice-breakers go, it’s not the worst you could do.’
‘Forget it.’
‘No – here,’ Mac says, taking my tray from me. I watch as he tips the remaining food on to his own and stacks the two.
‘Voilà. You’re free to go.’ He smiles.
I eye the tray, unconvinced. ‘That’s an allergen clusterfuck now. Mine were gluten-free.’
‘Babe. Stop stalling.’
‘I’m not, I just – it’s too weird,’ I say decisively. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why? She already knows you’re a server. And if she blows you off because of it, bullet dodged. What have you got to lose?’
‘This job?’
‘Oh no , this job!’ He gasps, eyes wide with mock horror. ‘This shitty, one-time job that’s practically over already! How will you support your wife and children?’
‘Very good. Have you ever considered acting?’
‘ Ha ha . If you don’t go over there, I will.’
‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘No, just – I need a moment. I need a cigarette.’
‘Okay, that’ll lose you the job,’ Mac begins, but I’m already walking away. Call it self-preservation, call it nicotine dependency – next thing I know I’m blowing smoke out a window in the staff toilets, regretting just about every life choice I’ve made leading up to this moment.
I feel stupid. I look stupid, clad in the stupid shiny waistcoat and bow tie that the servers have to wear. Speaking of which, I hate being a server. It’s worse here than in the restaurant. The people are drunker, louder, ruder – I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve had fingers snapped in my face tonight. Plus, the ones that do deign to speak usually do so to comment on my height, sometimes with a very real undertone of aggression. Literally – multiple guys have glared up at me like I’m being tall on purpose, purely to fuck with them. Also, this one woman got uncomfortably touchy-feely with me, squeezing my (admittedly pathetic) bicep as she leant forward to take something from the tray.
No wonder Mac gave me grief for treating a job like some kind of hobby, especially when I can bail at any time. I’ve only been doing this for a week and already I feel thoroughly demoralised, so much so that I’m apparently willing to throw away a pretty stunning second chance. I think I’ve been subconsciously looking for Audrey ever since I realised that this was some kind of fashion event, but the odds of her being here are ridiculous. And what if Mac hadn’t asked me to work this gig with him? What if I hadn’t said yes?
I don’t believe in fate, though I get why some people do. The idea that even the worst parts of life are divined by some grand, cosmic plan is reassuring. The reality of it being a sum of choices, most of which we don’t even know we’re making – it’s terrifying. Especially to people like me who neither like nor trust themselves.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I might have sidestepped every bad thing that’s ever happened to me with a different decision. But what if I’m about to sidestep something good?
‘Hey,’ I say breathlessly, appearing behind Mac. ‘Sorry. You were right, I’m an idiot.’
He turns to look at me. The crowds are slightly sparser; I rushed back but it looks like things have continued to wind down in my absence. Mac told me that they usually send the servers home early at these things – beyond a certain point, everyone except the bartenders and cleaning crew become surplus to requirement.
‘I’m always right,’ Mac says matter-of-factly. ‘You’re too late, though. They left.’
My stomach drops – literally, and I abruptly feel like I might vomit all over the gleaming parquet floor.
‘That’s the bad news,’ Mac continues. ‘The good news is that I invited her and her friend to the afterparty.’
‘You – for real?’ I say, unsure if he’s fucking with me. He’d better not be – I might try and strangle him with his little bow tie, otherwise.
‘You’d choked and they were leaving.’ He shrugs. ‘I stepped up.’
‘And they’re coming? They said they’d come?’
‘I think so. Your girl gave me her handles so I could DM them the address. She’s sweet.’
‘I know,’ I say, my relief briefly eclipsed by a surge of jealousy. I’m aware that Mac is objectively cooler and better-looking than me, but that hasn’t mattered before now.
‘Her friend, less so,’ he continues, grinning. ‘I was into it.’
‘And did you mention me?’
‘Nah. I didn’t feel like explaining all that.’
‘When can we leave, then?’ I ask, glancing around. ‘Are we heading straight there?’
‘Well,’ Mac says. ‘That’s another thing. No one’s actually offered to host an afterparty yet, so I figured …’
He trails off. Realisation dawns, and suddenly bow-tie strangulation is back on the table.
‘No,’ I say. ‘No way.’
‘Ah, hear me out! One, you have your own place. Two, you’re not working tomorrow—’
‘It’s not happening.’
‘ Three , you’re obviously obsessed with this girl—’
‘I don’t even know her—’
‘But you want to, right? And if you go now, you’ll have a head-start to get your place together. Get cups, ice, whatever – I’ll do the rest, don’t worry about it! And I’ll cover for you! There’s literally no downside to this.’
‘I can think of several,’ I retort, but his smile widens. I’ve clearly caved, and I’m not proud of how little persuading it took.
‘We’ll see. Your apartment is normal, right?’
‘Sure. Minimal taxidermy and just the one cursed painting.’
‘You’re literally my favourite person in the world right now,’ he says seriously, placing his free hand on my shoulder and gently steering me towards the exit. ‘You won’t regret this.’
I can tell that he believes that, at least. And in spite of knowing better, maybe I do too.