Thirteen Evelyn #3
Those words I heard. My eyes widened slightly as I met her attentive stare. My hand relaxed as she continued rubbing soft, imaginary circles.
“Vanessa, I had no idea. I’m so sorry you had to go through—” I muttered quietly before she cut me off.
“Evelyn, I’m fine.” Her tone was almost vexed by my basic response.
“Really? Because that sounds traumatic.”
“Evelyn, stop. I’m serious. I’ve gone through worse, and this isn’t one of those things that stuck with me. Are you okay?”
“Vanessa, you just shared something personal. This isn’t about me.”
“Honey, I upset you. Just let me explain what I meant, because I don’t ever want you thinking of yourself that way—and I don’t want you incorrectly believing I do.”
A waiter appeared just then to drop off our dishes, shutting us both up as he asked if Vanessa was enjoying her drink. She answered politely with a plastered smile before he left.
“This looks amazing,” I remarked, praying she wouldn’t change the topic back.
I understood what she meant, and while I had my struggles, I wasn’t anything like Mia.
Luckily, she didn’t and seemed to feel she had consoled me enough.
Instead, we fell into a natural conversation about our college years.
“So you got a PhD just to advance quicker in the corporate world?”
“No, I actually wanted to be a professor.”
“Wanted or want?” Vanessa wouldn’t be Vanessa if she didn’t pick up on the slight longing in my voice.
“Want—but it’s complicated. There was a lot of pressure for me to take this job. Not that I don’t like it; it just wasn’t what I had planned.”
“Pressure? You mean the money?”
“Well, there’s obviously that, but also my family.”
“Oh, so they’re the doctor-or-lawyer-only type?”
“Yeah, exactly. But this job is giving me a lot of experience, so if I ever do become a professor, it’ll all carry over.”
“Well, based on the wonderful feedback I received from people regarding your presentation, I can imagine you being a wonderful teacher.”
Vanessa insisted we try several of their desserts and didn’t hesitate to tease me when some whipped cream landed on my face. I ran my thumb across my lips quickly to avoid the embarrassment of her doing it. Apparently though, it wasn’t my lips at all, and I’d completely missed the spot.
She reached over, swiping her finger across the tip of my nose. I scrunched it at the unexpected, ticklish sensation and flinched backward, turning my head away from her.
“Dramatic, much?” She leaned back in her seat, chuckling softly.
I was incredibly ticklish—which she now knew. I quickly moved my arm across the table, tapping her nose with my pointer finger. Her face scrunched up adorably, the same way mine had.
“What were you saying?” I asked as the waiter appeared with the bill.
I thought she hadn’t heard me as she placed her card inside, adding a generous tip before handing the leather-bound bill presenter back to the waiter.
“Try that again and see what happens,” she threatened, her undivided attention back on me as the waiter left.
Her gaze made me squirm, but I didn’t have it in me to keep talking.
She raised an eyebrow, watching my behavior change with great satisfaction. “Not so bold anymore, sweetheart?” she asked—before her phone rang again and her expression turned to humored annoyance. She held up the screen to show me, exhaling sarcastically at yet another unlabeled number.
A mischievous look spread across her face as she reached out her phone. “Do you want to answer it?”
I nodded enthusiastically, grabbing it from her.
“I hate—hate you,” a drunken girl slurred into the phone.
“Who is this speaking?” I asked innocently, tilting my head—playing the role for Vanessa, too.
“F—fuck you.”
“You must have called the wrong number,” I said coolly, “because this is your boss speaking.”
Vanessa’s surprised expression egged me on.
“Wait—wait what?!” The girl stuttered, her voice filled with confusion and alarm. She was too drunk to realize I most definitely wasn’t her boss. I hadn’t expected her to believe me—I was just trying to piss her off.
“I’m so—sor—”
That was my last straw. I moved the phone away from my ear abruptly, nearly choking on nothing. I handed the phone back to Vanessa, not trusting myself to speak after putting everything I had into keeping up the act.
She hung up immediately, burying her face in her hands as the waiter returned with the card, clearly wondering what had just occurred in such an orderly setting. Vanessa regained her composure, but the waiter’s bewildered expression sent me into another fit of laughter.
“Sweetheart, let’s go before you get us kicked out,” Vanessa said, slipping into her jacket.
At her words, I reached down to grab my purse. With one hand tucking away her wallet, she reached out with the other—her fingers naturally curling around the sharp edge of the table without looking up. As soon as my head popped up, she slipped her hand away, clearly hoping I hadn’t noticed.
I pretended not to, as butterflies swarmed my stomach—lingering even after we left the restaurant.