We’re sitting in a little Thai restaurant, empty plates on empty tables, drinking in the last few drops of the dying sun. We would’ve actually ordered something to drink, if we could get any service. Fifteen-love.
Jon says, “What if our life was a sitcom?”
I say, “What?”
“Like, a sitcom,” he says, brows pressed together in earnest. “You know, where everyone we know is a character, and we all get into humorous situations, and there’s never any character development. Like what happened last night.”
I roll my eyes as I turn away from my fiancé. Across the other side of the room is a bored teenage girl, watching the tennis on her phone. She’s supposed to be our waiter. Thirty-love to her.
“Alright, maybe a sitcom was a bad idea,” Jon admits, his voice visibly disappointed.
I sigh. “No, go on. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Jon starts speaking before I’ve even closed my mouth. “Last night, remember? When we were out with the guys at the pub, and Phil walks in, and he sees us sitting there at the bar. And right when we see him, and we’re just about to invite him to come join us, he scarpers, with that sour look on his face.”
“I think you took that far too personally,” I say. “Maybe he just had other things he had to do.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t like us,” says Jon.
I’m impatient now. I want the bill so I can get out of this place. I cough loudly, trying to get the waiter’s attention. She puts on her headphones, intent on the tennis. Forty-love.
“So if our life was a sitcom, what would’ve happened next?” I say, wondering what garbage will come out of Jon’s mouth. In reality, all us guys at the pub had had a laugh and no one had given Phil another thought. Except for Jon, obviously.
He licks his lips. “Well, I would’ve marched right on over to Phil and given him a what-for. Told him what I really thought of him. And right when I was about to irreparably sink our friendship, Phil would’ve said, ‘I’m not Phil.’ “
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“It’s a case of mistaken identity.”
We both laugh. I stand up, hoping to catch the waiter’s attention. She moves outside for a smoke. Game, set, match.
Much love, A + J