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Nikki sees my double-fisted
whiskey and Cokes. She jumps
to her feet, extracts the drinks
gently from my hands, sets them
on the table. I’m starving. Let’s get
some food. It is not a request.
Anger starts to build, like wasps
daubing mud. But then when
I glance at Montana, her eyes
harbor anxiousness. She wants
the evening to go well. So all
I do for the moment is say,
“Hey, Montana. You look great
tonight.” I know I should say
something to Brendan, but all
I can manage is a small wave.
Then I let Nikki steer me
toward the seafood-heavy buffet.
When Montana asked if they
could join us, I didn’t know how
to say no, apologizes Nikki.
“Not your fault.” I concentrate
on loading my plate. Shrimp. Crab
legs. Oriental chicken salad.
Nikki’s plate makes mine look
greedy. “Aren’t you hungry?
I thought you were starving.”
I only said that because
I figured you should eat
before drinking all that booze.
