Goes Down Smooth

"He's been wanting to go on a date with you for so long," Rebecca coos. She sits across from me at a cafe, dissecting her omelet with her fork and taking tiny nibbles of her sourdough bread. I wrap my long fingers around a cream coffee mug, as I don't have the appetite today. I pull out a cigarette from my bag and light it with a cheesy "best friends" lighter that Savvy and I got on a trip to Costa Rica. She was really happy then.

"Ooh, I don't think he likes smokers. He's more into the innocent type, you know?" Rebecca speaks, exposing a piece of spinach stuck in between her teeth. I squint my eyes, unphased. Rebecca is talking about Peter. Peter is smart, athletic, handsome, rich, and popular. We all attended college together. When everyone else went on to marry and breed, Peter traveled the world doing missionary work. Peter was single. Peter had an interest in me, but Peter also had a sick interest in dropping things in girl's drinks and taking advantage of the intoxicated. To be very clear, I'm not too fond of Peter, or Rebecca.

"You really just do what you want, huh?" Rebecca scoffs. A strand of blonde hair lands on her freckled shoulder, and she brushes it behind her ear. "Why did you invite me here?" Rebecca continues.

I extinguish my cigarette into the last grainy bits of my coffee. "Just wanted to see an old friend." I force a smile, stretching the skin around my teeth awkwardly.

Rebecca kicks her legs under the table like a child. "You know, I'm glad you're going to go on a date with Peter, even after that night..."

I grow stiff. My heart beats faster, and my hands become clammy. I try to encourage her to continue, hoping to catch her in a lie-- "What about that night?"

"I mean, everyone knows she completely made it up. That's why she got sent away to that looney bin. You don't lie about something like that. Like come on, how fucked up."

I squeeze my hands into fists under the table. "Yeah, I don't think you lie about something like that either."

"And then poor Peter got into all that court shit until she dropped the charges-- I mean, everyone knew she made it up. It almost ruined his life."

"Ah, yeah... what a shame to potentially ruin a man's life who was convicted of a sexual assault," I say, biting my lip. I clench my teeth together and my jaw aches.

Rebecca laughs, the whole thing going right over her pretty little head. "You're kind of weird, you know."

I force a smile once more. "Yeah?" I manage to say.

She nods, "Yeah, you get this crazed look in your eyes sometimes. I think we've all thought you were a bit strange. But, anyway, I'm sorry about what happened to Savvy, I know you guys were close, but it's the karma she deserves. It makes me happy that you can finally put all this behind you and forgive Peter, he really struggled with that accusation. Beats me why he's interested in you, but, yeah... I say go for it. This could be a positive way forward with your life."

I reach over the table and touch her hand. She flinches. "I'm just so glad we can move past this and really work on our friendship. I've always thought you were so pretty."

Rebecca blushes, standing up to leave, and then she sits back down, remembering something. "Oh, duh, you need Peter's number, he wanted me to give it to you." She shakes her head, smiling.

She writes left-handed across a napkin, staining her pinkie black. She hands me the note with perfect curly-cued letters. Rebecca doesn't know that I have Peter's number. I also have his personal address, work address, and his license plate number. I have his credit score and his social security number. I have his Instagram and Facebook, which I've been utilizing to get him to take notice of me and contact our mutual friend Rebecca here. I invite her out to lunch, she spills the beans about Peter being interested; I've planned this entire thing out meticulously.

"It was so good to see you," Rebecca hugs me like a stone statue, blatantly forcing any kind gestures towards me.

I squeeze her back hard, wishing I could snap her in half like a twig. I relax my body and exhale. "You too. I would love to do this again," I lie through my teeth.

"Oh, you've got the bill, right?" I pat her back and separate from our cold embrace. She grimaces and leaves money on the table beside my coffee cup full of cigarette ashes.

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I sit in the corner at a small table, and a candle burns in the middle on top of a maroon cloth with neatly folded silverware. I wait for Peter in a navy dress that hugs my every curve and exposes my cleavage. I wear delicate, dangling earrings, and my brown, wavy hair has been pinned up with six bobby pins. I painted my eyes black and stained my lips peach before hopping in a cab. I see him at the door, acknowledging my presence. He smiles shyly. He is wearing a thin, white T-shirt that looks soft to the touch under a black blazer. The arms are cuffed, revealing an expensive-looking watch. His denim jeans are dark and look like they have been ironed recently. His hair and face are immaculate. Sandy, light brown hair perfectly swoops to the side. He's been sun-kissed and has a tint of pink to his cheeks, and his eyes are dark and stormy. When I hug him, he places his hands on my lower back and nudges his face in between my shoulder and ear lobe, and he smells of gasoline. We both take a seat. I smile like the leading lady in a film. Here we go.

"Wow, it's been so long." Peter finally says. His voice has aged, and he's somehow become better looking. I resent him for this.

"I know," I chuckle, pinching my thigh underneath the table. I squeeze flesh between my fingernails until I bleed. "You look really great."

"You look really great. Wow. Seriously, it's been ages. This is my dream date." He continues on, clearly nervous.

The waiter comes to our table, ready to take our order. "What can I get started for you?"

I decide to take charge, to show him that I am not nervous like he is, and therefore, alfa. "A bottle of Merlot and calamari for now." I flash the waiter my teeth. He takes his exit.

"You've really grown up." Peter laughs, impressed.

"I hope you like Merlot." I shrug.

"Ah, yes, it goes down smooth." His lips curve up, revealing the graceful, settled lines in his face.

"Hopefully, as you do," I say confidently.

Peter clears his throat and shuffles in his seat. The bottle of Merlot arrives, and we drink over small talks, such as:

What have you been doing all these years?

Where is your favorite place that you've traveled to?

Who do you still keep in touch with?

Wow, it really has been so long, hasn't it?

We finish the calamari and our first bottle of wine. I order a salad as an entree, and Peter orders a steak with mashed potatoes and grilled carrots. I watch as he cuts into the flesh of meat with his knife and chews the grainy pieces between his canines. I play with the lettuce in my bowl, making sure to order another bottle of wine and making sure Peter keeps drinking.

We are stuck on whether we should order dessert or not when Peter excuses himself to the bathroom. I nod sweetly, looking around the restaurant as he leaves my view. I plop my purse onto my lap, grabbing a small medicinal bottle from the inside pocket that is full of clear liquid. It almost looks harmless, but it is not. In approximately 30 minutes, Peter will dive face first into his mashed potatoes. I dump the contents into his Merlot, swirling it around with my index finger.

Peter comes back, looking flushed and giddy. "We should order dessert."

"I think so too!" I flirt, "The longer I get with you, the better."

"What would you like?" I ask, watching Peter bring the Merlot to his lips and take a few sips. He slowly swallows, and his adam's apple bobs up and down. That's it. "The Chocolate Lava Cake, or Tiramisu?"