Chandler
CHANDLER
“ T en thousand dollars, ! How can you say no to ten thousand dollars?”
We've been back in the office for a few hours, and Sam has been periodically asking me what I think of the offer. Well, really, she's just been repeating 'ten thousand dollars' over and over again.
I sigh and look at the time. It’s almost noon, and I’m expecting a call. I just hope it doesn’t come through to the office. And we’re going to be late for our reservation. No, not our reservation, a reservation strictly to talk about work. A working lunch.
“I’m not saying no. I don’t think we should say no," I say. “We need to get going if we want to make it to that restaurant that Ken offered.”
We're interrupted by Sam's desk phone ringing. She puts a finger up to me and answers it with a smile, her tone bright and cheery. I call it her ‘bullshit voice.’
“Hal’s CPA, this is Samantha.” She looks at me, and I hold up my hand, tapping my wrist, but she waives me off. “I’m sorry. Who is this?” She furrows her brows and looks at me. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no Channie here.”
My eyes go wide when I realize who she’s talking to. She puts the phone on speaker, and I hear the voice of my grandfather through the phone, his voice hoarse as he yells at her.
“You work at the same place as Chany, and goddamnit, you’re going to put him through the phone or I’ll call the FBI!”
“Grandpa, I’m here," I say, and sigh when Sam places her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
“Channie! Happy Birthday, buddy! I can’t believe you’re 38 already!”
“I’m 31, Grandpa," I say. Not sure if he doesn’t remember my age because he’s getting older or if it’s because he’s never cared about birthdays to begin with. That was my grandmother’s forte. I’m pretty sure she had to remind him about my and my sister Cheyenne’s birthday every year.
“Well, either way, you’re older than you were yesterday, aren’t you?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Well then, Happy God damn Birthday!” He’s shouting through the phone, and then I hear him grumble. “Jesus, kid, can’t just say thank you.”
“Thanks, Grandpa," I say. “I’m glad you remembered my birthday.”
“I had it marked on the calendar that your sister sent to me," he says.
“Well, thank you for calling, Grandpa. I’ll call you later tonight."
“Okay, bye," he says. A moment passes. Then two, but he’s still on the phone, and all we hear is the sound of his heavy breathing until Sam hangs up the phone.
“So, Channie, huh?” She laughs as she reaches for her purse and walks with me to the parking lot .
It's weird having Sam in my car again after what almost happened last time she was sitting in my passenger seat. Well, what I think almost happened, anyway. I haven't brought it up to her because I don't want her to get the wrong idea and think I'm trying to sleep with her again. I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, and Sam and I walk side by side in silence to the entrance. As soon as we walk into the restaurant, I want to bolt, but the hostess is already leading us to a table. Horseshoes are hanging on the wall, along with banjos, guitars, and a fake deer's head. There are only a few other occupants in the restaurant with us and plenty of empty tables to sit at. We take our seats and immediately place our drink orders and then stare at each other from across the table in silence.
“I hate country music," I say, glaring. Johnny Cash’s “Shot a Man in Reno” is playing over the speakers, and I swear my ears are bleeding.
“Oh, really? I couldn't tell," she says sarcastically. She takes a generous sip of her iced tea and licks her lips. The server returns, and we place our orders. I order a burger while Sam orders a chicken sandwich.
“You’re pouting," Sam says.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And it’s hilarious.” She says with a small laugh. “What’s wrong with country music?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Nothing is wrong with it. It’s just not something I listen to," I say.
“Well, enjoy it, . This is my birthday gift to you," she says and extends her arm toward the room as if she’s presenting it to me. I lean forward, my elbows on the table, so she can hear me.
“You didn’t even know this place existed until we pulled into the parking lot! ”
She waves off my comment dismissively.
"Come on, this is totally your scene. The dead carcasses on the wall, the southern drawls, the man music."
"Man music? Since when do I give off the 'I like dead carcasses' vibe?"
"Since I met you."
"You pegged me for a hunter?"
"No, not a hunter, but I'm guessing you grew up on a farm."
I tilt my head. "I did actually. What gave that away?"
"You're entire self," she says cheekily, and I glare at her. "Oh, stop brooding, . This place is nice."
I look behind me at the fake deer's head, its eyes boring into the back of my head. “Is it?”
Our food arrives, and we eat in silence for a moment before Sam brings up the work trip.
"So, about North Carolina. I'm going to email Ken when we get back and tell him we'll take it."
"Are you?"
"Of course I am! There is no way I'm passing up ten grand. Not even you can stop me."
"I won't get in the way of you and your happiness as long as you don't make me listen to country music again," I say.
"No promises."
Sam takes the last bite of her sandwich and then wipes her mouth with the napkin. She pushes her seat back, and I look at her curiously.
“I’ll be right back. Restroom," she says, and I’m left alone with the deer's head. She returns a few minutes later, hiding a smile.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing," she says and bats her eyelashes at me. That’s not suspicious. Our empty plates are removed from the table, and I’m eager to get back to the office as we wait for our check. About ten minutes go by, and there’s still no sign of the check. I rise a bit from my chair to look for our server over Sam's head, but I don’t see her.
“They’re taking a while," I say. Sam shrugs, but I can see she’s trying to hide a smile. “What?”
Suddenly, the sound of an instrument being played loudly echoes through the restaurant, along with a group of people clapping in synch. I hear a man shout.
“Yeeeeehaw!” When I look behind Sam, I can see that a group of restaurant employees are creeping toward our table, and one of them is strumming away on a banjo. My eyes widen, and I look at Sam.
“You didn’t!”
Sam gives me a smug smile. "I totally did."
They gather around the table, the sound of the banjo now in full force, and the sound is absolutely torture! I swear my ears are bleeding. A cowboy hat is placed on my head, and a large piece of chocolate cake is placed in front of me. And this is why I don't tell anyone it's my birthday. I tongue my cheek and hold back an embarrassed laugh when the man with the banjo strums again, and they all sing “Happy Birthday” with the worst fake twang I’ve ever heard. I resist the urge to sink into my seat like a child. Sam is laughing now, more like cackling. She laughs so hard that there are tears in her eyes. When the song ends, the few other people in the restaurant clap. A woman sitting with her family gives me a big smile with two thumbs up. Sam is holding her phone up, and I hear the flashing from her camera, almost blinding me when she snaps a few photos of me. I glare at her when the server leaves our table.
“Oh, my god. You should have seen your face!” Her laughter finally dies down, and she picks up a fork and takes a piece of the chocolate cake, eating while she looks at her phone. “I can’t wait to frame these photos.” She turns the screen to me so I can see the photo she took of me. My face is bright red, a cowboy hat on my head, looking bewildered at the piece of cake in front of me. I flip her off from across the table. I really hope we won't regret saying yes to this trip.