Page 89 of Cackle

I walk over, nearly smashing into a waitress passing by with a tray of food. I choose to play it off like it didn’t happen, as the waitress huffs away in her truly unfortunate lederhosen-inspired uniform.

“Hey,” I say to Jill.

“Hi!” she says. “Can I hug you?”

“Sure.”

She throws her arms around my neck. I guess I never realized how short she is. I feel like a giant. I should have worn flats.

“This is my husband, Dan,” she says.

Dan stands up and shakes my hand. I knew he would. He looks like a handshaker. I bet he’ll give his children handshakes instead of hugs.

Maybe I’m projecting because my dad never hugged me. I’m familiar with parental affection in the form of an awkward pat on the back, a firm handshake. The occasional coveted high five.

“And this is Pascal,” Jill says, her voice lilting.

Pascal doesn’t stand up. He waves. “Hi,” he says.

I can’t tell if he’s shy or disappointed.

“Hi. I’m Annie.”

“I know,” he says, and sips his drink. So, not shy.

“Let me check if they’ll seat us,” Jill says, and skips over to the host.

“So,” Dan says, “heard you used to live in the Big Apple.”

“Yeah,” I say, “for twelve years. I just moved here.”

“I never understood why anyone would want to live there. Smells like garbage!”

“Not all the time,” I say. Once you’ve lived in New York, it becomes like a sibling. I can bash it, call it names, but no one else can.

“Table is ready,” Jill sings.

Dan chugs his beer. Pascal doesn’t say or do much of anything. I can feel my anxiety metastasize. My legs go weak underneath me, and I’m afraid I won’t make it to the table. I’m afraid they’ll give, and I’ll fall flat on my face in front of the entire restaurant.

Maybe the other diners are too busy eating giant pretzels to notice.

I get to the table and am seated next to Pascal and Jill, across from Dan, who appears to be scrutinizing me.

“You’re pretty tall,” he says.

“Your server will be right with you,” the host says before quite literally running away from us.

“How tall are you?” Dan asks.

“Five nine,” I say, putting the menu up in front of my face. If he can’t see me, maybe he’ll forget I’m here.

“That’s tall for a girl,” he says.

I shrug. “It’s not that tall.”

“Did you play basketball?”

“Nope.”