Twice Over

Chapter 139 - Tirade

tirade
noun
1. a long, angry speech of criticism or accusation.

I was eating a packed lunch that Ms H sent with Grant to uni today. She had made a cute little bento box for me. Each little compartment had something new and exciting, like a rolled up cheese wrap with slices of ham and sliced tomatoes, or a small pottle of vegan yoghurt with pomegranate seeds that came with its own matching teaspoon. There were rice wafers with an insert filled with hummus spread, and a little packet of carefully wrapped petit fours, each individually iced in pastel colours and topped with realistic looking cherry blossom flowers made from icing.

Lastly, Grant handed over a thermos of a delicious Mexican tomato chicken soup that had just the right amount of chili spice for the cold winter days. The soup didn't really go with the whole bento box theme, then I realised that Grant had handed me his own lunch along with mine.

"You aren't eating?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Nope. I have an after lunch group project meeting for my Investments class. I'll be eating with them at the pub down the road." He waved at me to eat his soup. "Anyway, I don't think you'll have enough if you only eat what is in the box." I nodded as I sipped the soup from the flask, then wiped my chin.

"I don't know if this was supposed to be a lunch meal? It looks too small for lunch." Then I remembered what Wallace said yesterday about eating smaller meals more frequently, then blushed when I realised I'd shot that in the foot by eating Grant's soup as well.

"You'd better pad your stomach before your lunch meeting. Don't go hungry. And don't tell Wallace you gave me your soup." I quickly put the thermos lid back on and handed it back to him, then quickly ate the cheese wrap, showing my friend that I didn't need his meal as well as my own.

Grant sat down next to me and we talked, laughed and pretended that we weren't being watched by three different social groups trying to figure us out. It was no secret that Grant was gay, so I wondered if that was the focus of all these people watching us eat and chat between classes. Grant doesn't seem to have any problems here at uni but I still occasionally hear someone whispering derogatory names as they pass him by. He has come along way in the last few months and seems to be happy where he is at.

I've heard him talk about the guy he met at the car yard, or some man at the social club he goes to. He's looking for connections, but nothing seems promising for him at this point. I mean, what is there not to like about the guy. He's charming, funny as heck, really caring and kind and handsome too. Staring at him, I was trying to figure it out.

"What? Something on my face?" he asked with a grin, trying to pat his chin in a way that wasn't patting his chin. Poser.

"Why haven't you found Mr Right yet?" I blurted that out of nowhere.

"He's hanging out with Mr Wrong. Give it time. I have a date Mr CarYard next weekend. We will see, although I still think he's trying to sell me the latest off-roader. I've already told him I was only purchasing for my boss and that I'm gay but he was cool with it. We will see."

"Good. Nice to hear." I finished my petit fours and wiped my fingers on the enclosed napkin.

"What about you, Ms Twice. Any more developments with Mr Ang..." I quickly covered up his dirty mouth.

"Stop that! Bad Grant. Bad." I felt my face flush and he giggled, his breath splashing across my hand. I quickly pulled my hand away and scratched the ticklishness he created.

"You're going red, Lills." I poked my tongue at him.

"Shuddup. Nothing will happen. He's a jerk with a chip on his shoulder. Not gonna happen." I think I was trying to convince myself of that as well as Grant. Thinking back to the flowers and bunny balloon that were still on my kitchen bench, I drifted in thought.