Up & Out - Ariella Papa [36]
“Hey, guys, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Kathy says, bumping me with her new pink glasses as we kiss hello.
“I was sure you’d be later than Beth,” Lauryn adds.
“Is she still coming?” I ask. They both nod.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks. I am starving, but it’s only fair to wait for Beth.
“Just more bread, please, and a glass,” I ask the waiter, almost pleadingly.
“It feels like summer,” Kathy said. She’s right. It isn’t even really dark yet, and you can feel the warmth in the air.
Beth finally arrives. She kisses us all hello and doesn’t apologize for being late.
“I’m starving,” Kathy says, and I’m not sure if it’s a dig for Beth.
“Have some more bread,” Lauryn says. It’s pretty strange that she organized this. We used to have to drag her out of the apartment. The waiter brings Beth and me glasses.
“Were you late, too, Rebecca?” Beth asks me.
“A little,” Kathy says before I can answer. Is she still bitter about the bridesmaid thing? We pick up our menus. In days gone by we never usually got around to looking at the menus (I, of course, was the exception); we gossiped for a while until the waiter would come over and ask us for the second time if we were ready to order. Now we are thankful to have a prop to cover our faces.
“Well, I know what I want,” Kathy says.
“Of course you know,” Beth said. “We’ve been here a zillion times.”
“I want to hear the specials,” I say. Beth turns to me.
“Honestly, Rebecca, you always get the pappardelle.”
“I know, I just want to hear the specials. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Kathy says. She is taking my side by default.
“Remember that time we came here before your work party, Beth?” Lauryn asks.
“I do,” I say. “I remember Kathy was so shitfaced, she spilled pesto all over her white shirt.”
“And she was too shitfaced to care,” Beth adds.
“You lent me that cardigan you had in your desk,” Kathy says to Beth.
“And afterward you met Ron,” Lauryn reminds her. I wink at Lauryn. She is acting like some sort of negotiator. I’m not sure why it’s so important to her to make sure Beth and Kathy are getting along. Maybe it’s her therapist’s idea. The waiter came over.
“’Ave you decided?”
“She would like to hear the specials,” Beth said, then stuck out her tongue at me in a playful way. The spinach-and-ricotta ravioli special sounded good, but I decide to stick with what I know.
“I think I’ll have the pappardelle with spicy ragu.” The rest of the girls laugh at me and I mock bow.
“You are de star,” the waiter says in his hot little Italian way. Kathy got gnocchi with pesto. Beth got the spaghetti with peas and potatoes and Lauryn got penne a la vodka with chicken. And we agreed to split a baby-greens-and-goat-cheese salad and buffalo mozzarella tomato appetizer. The order is the same as always.
When the starters came, we fell right into a normal routine. Kathy started telling us about Ron’s mother’s annoying dietary demands for the wedding. Beth complained that her mother, who had been opposed to her dating all along, was now asking her if she wanted to be an old maid. I did an impressive impression of Delores Wagner and Lauryn ordered another bottle of wine.
It was perfect and comfortable. When our pasta arrived, we all took bites of one another’s dishes and moaned with savory delights. It could have been any other night.
Then Beth’s cell phone rang.
Then she answered the call.
Then Kathy excused herself to go to the bathroom.
Then she came back with red eyes.
Then Beth got off the phone and muttered an insincere apology.
Then we ate for a little while in silence.
Then Beth’s phone rang again and Kathy slapped her hand on the table.
Then Beth looked at the number, looked at Lauryn and left the table.
Then I ordered another bottle of wine.
Then Kathy said, “Don’t even bother. I’m going to go home soon, anyway.