"No, sorry. I didn't hear it."
Ted turns back to Sam. "Andrew's pretty and all, but he's got the attention span of a goldfish."
Vince's eyebrows shoot up so fast I think they might hit the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes before he smooths his expression back into careful neutrality. Sam pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth, her green eyes shiftingbetween Ted and me with an unnerving sharpness that makes me feel like I'm under a microscope.
My stomach drops, a cold weight sinking through me as the restaurant's ambient noise fades to a dull hum. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a familiar flush that always betrays me when I'm cornered. Without thinking, I quickly kick Vince under the table, my foot connecting with his shin harder than I intended.
Don't.
I don't have to say the word aloud. He hears it anyway, sees it in the panicked look I send him across the table.
His gaze meets mine for a split second, and in that brief connection, I see the battle warring within him—the instinct to defend me against Ted's casual cruelty warring with the knowledge that any reaction will only escalate the situation. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just enough for me to breathe again.
"Oh, stop teasing, Ted," Sam interjects, laughing and holding her hand over her mouth as she chews. "You didn't miss much, Andy, it wasn't that funny. Vince calls them dad jokes. He hates them."
"What was the joke about?" I dare to ask, the words barely leaving my throat before I regret them. My voice sounds strained, thin like paper stretched too tight. I'm trying to defuse the tension, to smooth over the jagged edges Ted has just created, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, betraying my attempt at casualness. The restaurant's ambient chatter suddenly feels too loud, too close, like the walls are closing in around our table.
Before Sam can repeat it, her lips parting slightly as she turns toward me, Ted cuts in, his voice slicing through the air with practiced cruelty.
"It's lost in the moment, Andrew. Maybe if you actually listened when people talked, you'd have heard it." He leans forward, his perfect teeth bared in something that's not quite a smile. "It's rude not to listen when people are talking over dinner. Are you just sitting here spacing out because of your Xanax—"
"Real estate agents should be better at reading the room, Ted," Vince says coolly, taking another bite of his food. "You're the only one at this table that's been rude. So shut the fuck up, so we can finish eating and get the hell out of here."
I freeze, horrified.
Vince's voice carries through the sudden silence, calm but weighted enough to stop conversation at our table. Sam's eyes widen, her fork frozen mid-air. Ted stares, momentarily speechless, his mouth open as if Vince just spoke a foreign language.
"You're being an asshole to Andy. It's making all of us uncomfortable," Vince continues, taking another bite of his food as if discussing the weather.
Ted's shock morphs into rage, his nostrils flaring, color flooding his face until he matches the restaurant's red carpet.
"You think I'm the problem at this table?" Ted snarls, leaning forward so far his chair creaks in protest.
"No, I know you're the problem at this table," Vince replies coolly, his focus still on his plate.
Ted throws his napkin down onto his plate with enough force to send silverware skittering. "I'm not the problem. You know who the problem is?"
Ted's voice rises, and I feel the weight of nearby diners' eyes turning toward our table. The restaurant's elegant ambiance shatters like glass, the low murmur of conversations faltering as heads turn in our direction. A fork clatters against porcelain at a nearby table, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden hushthat falls over our section. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck.
Across the table, Vince remains infuriatingly calm, his jaw set in a way that suggests he's holding back. Sam's hand has still frozen mid-air, her fork suspended over her plate as she looks between Ted and Vince with wide, uncertain eyes. The candle between us flickers, casting elongated shadows that make Ted's enraged expression seem almost monstrous.
I want to slide under the table, to melt into the plush carpet and escape this nightmare, but I'm frozen, trapped between the two men like a deer caught in headlights, wondering how we ended up here, how a simple dinner to celebrate the end of a project devolved into this public humiliation.
The word "problem" hangs in the air like a toxic cloud. Ted's hand shoots out, index finger rigid as a dagger, pointing straight at Vince. The gesture is aggressive, childish, and utterly devoid of grace—a stark contrast to the high-end restaurant we're sitting in.
"The problem," Ted announces, his voice rising with each word, bouncing off the ornate ceiling and drawing more unwanted attention, "is you, Vince." His finger remains locked on Vince, a trembling arrow of accusation. "My relationship was great before you showed up." He emphasizes the word as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "Now Andrew's 'confused' or whatever the hell he calls it." Ted's voice drips with sarcasm, the quotation marks practically audible in his tone.
My stomach flips violently.
Ted swings his finger toward me, accusation dripping from every word. "He doesn't even know if he wants to be with me anymore, and it's because of you."
Vince finally sets his fork down, his ears flushing crimson. "I'm making Andy confused? What the hell are you talkingabout?" He turns to me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something I can't quite read.
Heat fully floods my face, and I want to crawl under the table, to disappear through the floorboards. My mind races, desperate for a way to stop this train wreck, but the words won't come.
Ted isn't done. "You're constantly taking him places. Calling him every single damn day. Texting him nonstop. As if spending all day and night with him at work isn't enough, you need every single morning too?"
"Ted, stop," I mumble, the words barely audible. "Why are you doing this here?"
