"Shut-up," Ted snaps.
A sharp, disbelieving laugh cuts through Vince's lips. "Kid, give me five seconds and I'll drag your sorry ass across this table by that ridiculous chain hanging from your neck."
"Andrew obviously tried to break up with me because he has a thing for you," Ted spits, the words leaving his mouth like venom, each syllable dripping with accusation. He crosses his arms, the fabric of his designer shirt pulling taut across his chest as he settles in for a fight, his jaw clenched so tightly I can see the muscle jumping in his cheek. "And it's not his fault. It's yours. You're hijacking my boyfriend on purpose, you dick."
The final words land like punches.
I can feel Sam's eyes on me, her expression unreadable as she slowly lowers her fork to her plate, the delicate clink against porcelain unnaturally loud in the sudden hush that has fallen around our table. Vince's knuckles turn white where he grips his fork, his knuckles stark against the dark wood of the table, his shoulders tensing.
My stomach drops. This is it.
My feelings for Vince are out in the open for everyone at the table to hear.
I bury my face in my hands, leaning my elbows on the table. I can't look at Vince or anyone else. My face burns, my heart races, and I can already feel the flush creeping up my neck. This is the most humiliating moment of my life. Worse than throwing up in front of my sixth-grade class during my science presentation. At least then I had the excuse of being sick.
Samantha breaks the suffocating silence.
"Well, I clearly need to be going," she announces, standing abruptly and grabbing her coat and purse.
Vince reaches for her hand as she puts her jacket on. "Sam, please don't leave. I'm sorry. At least let me give you a ride home."
"No, I'll grab another Uber," she says, pulling her hand away.
When I finally dare to lift my head, I see Vince's expression, remorse and panic etched across his face. Sam is keeping it together, but I can see she's upset. My heart sinks.
This isn't Vince's fault. It's mine.
Every ounce of this disaster rests on my shoulders. If I had the spine to properly sever ties with Ted, if I hadn't folded at the sight of his crocodile tears, we wouldn't be here. I let his tears pull me back, and now I've pulled us all under.
"Sam," I interject quietly, "honestly, you and Vince should stay and enjoy dinner. Ted and I will—"
"No," Sam interrupts, her voice firm. She raises a hand as if to physically block my suggestion. "No."
The table freezes, time suspended in the candlelit air.
Sam pauses, then turns back toward the table. Her fingers close around the wine glass, lifting it to her lips for one last, deliberate swallow before setting it down with a precision that speaks volumes. Her eyes lock onto mine, green and unflinching.
"I saw the look on his face," she says, her chin tilting toward Vince.
"What fucking look, Sam?" Vince snaps, the words sharp as glass, his frustration finally breaking through.
"Your look," she retorts, her glare searing into him. "The look of pure happiness when Ted said Andy had feelings for you."
Vince's expression empties, becomes a blank canvas wiped clean.
"Don't pull that shit with me, Vince!" Sam's voice cracks like thin ice under pressure. "I hate when you do this. God, I fucking hate it!"
She draws a breath, visibly composing herself, though her voice drops to a dangerous whisper when she continues. "This whole dinner was just an excuse for you to see Andy in his tight dress pants, wasn't it?"
Vince's mouth parts, then snaps shut. His eyes dart toward me, and I feel my heart pounding against my throat.
"Sam, you're being ridiculous," Vince says softly.
"Am I?" The sound she makes isn't genuine laughter. "You know what? I'm done, Vince. I am so done with this. With your Andy mornings, with your never-ending marriage drama, with your weekends that always belong to the girls, with you never being fully here when you're sitting right next to me. I'm just... done." Her eyes land on me then, and it feels like being caught in headlights. "And you, Andy. I'm done with you too—not because of anything you did tonight, but because tonight just made it all so clear why our relationship has been circling the drain lately."
She turns her attention to Ted, her expression shifting from anger to something almost appreciative, like she's just been handed a gift she never knew she wanted. "So thank you, Ted," she says, her voice laced with a bitter satisfaction that makes my stomach twist. "Thank you for helping me realize I'm not getting anything out of this anymore." She pauses, letting the words hang in the air, then adds, "I also think you should really find someone closer to your own age next time. How old are you?"
"Twenty-two," Ted mumbles, looking smaller than I've ever seen him, his earlier bravado completely deflated.
