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She frowns down at her bright red peacoat. “I mean, I can take it off myself…” she trails off as I slip it off her shoulders, folding it over my arm. “Thanks. I guess?”
I nod, pulling out her seat at the table. She stares dumbly at the chair. “This is weird.”
“This is supposed to be a dinner date.” I remind her. “Imagine that we’re in a nice restaurant. The guy will almost certainly pull out your chair for you.”
“Makes me feel like a kid,” she mumbles under her breath, sitting on the chair. I push her in, then hang her coat and pick up the bouquet of roses.
“Here,” I offer it to her. “I got these for you.”
“Oh.” She takes them awkwardly. “Um. Yeah. You shouldn’t have.”
I wait patiently. She stares at the bunch of flowers in her arms for a few seconds, then sets them carefully down on the floor.
Jesus Christ.
I shake my head. “Okay. Give me them back.”
She frowns. “But they’re mine!”
“Nope. They were a test. You failed. Hand them over.” Begrudgingly, she picks the flowers back up, and I take them back. “We’re going to try this again, and you’re going to act like a regular human person, okay?”
“You’re giving out strong alien vibes,” Zack agrees.
She shakes her head. “What am I supposed to do with flowers?!” She bursts out. “I don’t just carry vases around with me to restaurants. Do I just leave them on the table and let them wilt? Do I pretend to smell them, or something? Do I just… look at them?”
“Calm down,” I tell her, trying not to laugh. “This is not as hard as you’re making it. Repeat after me. ‘Thank you. They’re beautiful’.”
“Thank you,” she parrots sullenly. “They’re beautiful.”
“Great. Now put them on the table next to you and forget about them. They’ll be fine.”
She does as I say, laying them awkwardly by her plate.
I can’t help but smile. “You really are useless.”
“Shut up.” She looks around the room uncomfortably. Her shoulders hunch slightly, like she wants to hide away. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me,” she says, as I go to plate the food. “The candles, and cooking, and everything. I would’ve been fine with a pizza in front of the telly.”
“I wanted to simulate a dinner date,” I tell her, setting her lasagne in front of her. “You didn’t want to go out.”
She frowns. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I just didn’t want to be seen with two guys in a fancy restaurant. God knows what all the posh pricks would think.”
Zack snorts, immediately digging into his food. I study Layla as she fiddles with her salad. She’s such an enigma. She’ll post pictures of herself in a thong online, but stresses over what a bunch of middle-aged diners will think if we eat dinner together. It’s odd.
Layla notices me looking at her and blushes. “The podcast must be doing well,” she says awkwardly, as I slip back into my seat. “I’ve got a ton more followers.”
I nod. “We’re getting more listeners every day. Numbers haven’t been this high in over a year, and it just looks like they’re going to get better.”
“High engagement. You must be happy.”
“Of course.”
“I’m just happy I get to mack on my gorgeous best mate,” Zack announces loudly, leaning forward to nuzzle her cheek.
Layla gives him a soft look, tugging on his bun. “I’m enjoying that aspect, too.”
I watch them, my lungs aching. She thinks the podcast is all that matters to me, doesn’t she? Everyone does. They think all I care about is engagement and numbers.
Of course I care about the podcast. I created it. I’ve worked for years to make it what it is. I’ll always want more listeners. But if I’m honest, that’s not why I suggested the segment.
