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To my surprise, everyone else around the table orders in French too and then all eyes are on me, expectantly.
“I’ll, umm, have the chicken please.” There are titters around the table and the waiter patiently asks me which one. “Any. I don’t care, so long as it’s chicken. Pollo. Poulet. Whatever.”
My face is on fire, and the guys are laughing outright while Summer is glaring at me like I’m embarrassing her on purpose. I’m really not, I’m just horribly nervous and out of my comfort zone. Double the meds be damned, they’re not working. Other than to make my tongue feel thick and clumsy. I could use a nap. Can one sip of horrible champagne go straight to your head? I swear it has.
“And for your main, Madame?”
“Chicken.” I frown.
“Chicken for starter and main?” Even the waiter sounds amused.
“Yes.” I pull back my shoulders and raise my chin in challenge. “I really like chicken, okay?”
“But of course. I’ll get those right away for you.”
He turns on his heel, and I breathe a sigh of relief until guy two looks at me and says, “So, MT, tell us all about yourself.”
I clam up like a cork in an arsehole and go blank.
“Oh, MT is super shy. She doesn’t like talking about herself but I’m sure she’ll be polite if you have questions.”
She gives me a hard, uncompromising look and I nod nervously and choke down some more water.
It’s like opening floodgates, and I suddenly feel like I’m in the middle of a very aggressive job interview, only I don’t know what the position is or if I’m qualified.
I nervously toy with a scrap of paper I found in the handbag Summer lent me, and mumble my way through their interrogation.
“Ow! Shit!” I drop the receipt or whatever it was and jam my finger into my mouth. “Paper cut.”
“Oh those hurt like a bitch,” guy five says. “Are you bleeding?”
I swear they all lean forward with bated breath to see. It’s weird as fuck. I shake my head, without removing my finger from my mouth. It stings, but I already know I’m not bleeding.
“Oh, Malia never bleeds! It was so freaky growing up. No matter how hard she fell down or how badly she got hurt, she never spilled a drop! I swear she doesn’t even have periods.”
“Summer!” I chastise her, horrified. I take my finger from my mouth and see the inch long slice down the centre of my finger. No blood. She’s not wrong; I don't often bleed from cuts and grazes. Unless they’re self inflicted by my scratching, or some sort of bad accident.
“What? It’s not a bad thing. Think of all the uninterrupted sex you can have without Mother Nature getting in the way. I’m jealous!” She laughs but I don’t find it funny.
It’s true that I have thick skin, but Idoget my periods like everyone else. Sometimes. Obviously my medications and…issues play havoc with my cycle. And anyway, I just don’t feel the need to broadcast it to the whole world like Summer does. I’m just more private and reserved than her, I guess.
“Your starters.” Saved by the appearance of the waiter once more. He places a plate of…that doesn’t look like chicken!down in front of me and the smell assaults my nose.
It looks disgusting.
Everyone tucks in and I feel obliged to do the same, too embarrassed to ask Summer what the hell I ordered.
It tastes horrible. Rich and creamy but sour on my tongue.
It’s not like any chicken I ever ate. Is it raw? Surely not.
Summer gives me a strange look as she excuses herself for the toilet, and guy one also climbs out of the booth after her. Weird.
“I’m really surprised at you ordering that, MT,” she tells me with a frown.
“Oh?”
“I thought you hated liver.”
