Lonely Hearts Won't Break

TWO ｜CONFIDENTLY LOST

I was uncomfortable to say the least.

The black satin slip dress I wore as an attempt to fit in kept rising up my thighs every time I took a step forward. The cusp of my ass caught a breeze each time too, and it grazed my skin and ran several lines of chills along my legs. My eyes darted around to the vintage plush seats surrounding the host and I. All of them looked too expensive to sit in and the tables aside them with bouquets of exotic flowers at their center, merely decoration, were too fancy to place your purse or phone on. So I stood, awkward as hell by the entrance door, scooting over each time someone in a pressed suit or flamboyant flair dress walked in to be seated.

A good fifteen minutes had passed since my sister said she'd be here, and every minute I had done everything under the freaking sun to stop myself from fidgeting. I mean everything. Literally picking at my cuticles, watching every damn Instagram story queued on my page and the most desperate one of them all, typing aimlessly in my Notes app to make it seem as if my text messages had some juice. Though I actually had several lists to make – from groceries to art supplies for work and myself – that didn't take away from the fact that my own blood had me out here looking lonely and suspect as hell.

My Apple Watch lit up once it hit noon, letting me know that it had now been twenty-five minutes too long for me to still be waiting here. I pressed the toe of one of my cheetah Air Max 90 LX into the grey laminate flooring and gnawed at my bottom lip. I was annoyed now, completely over it, no longer anxious. Despite all the effort earlier, fidgeting now seemed like the only way to mask my boiling frustration or simply count to ten. Sonia Bryant used to tell me to always start with one object in the room, hold my attention to it for a second, then move on to the next until my mind stopped racing and my body calmed itself.

One, the entrance door.

Two, the small sign that read Le Coucou right outside the window.

Three, the window.

Four, the white grey-haired man sitting by himself near the window. The way he sipped his wine made my stomach turn.

Five.

The hosts' eyes caught my glance toward the rest of the dining area and just as I expected, he smiled at me for the tenth time. I felt horrible that I couldn't return the favor yet again.

"Where the fuck is she?" I muttered, taking a look at my phone. Not one missed called or text. "Come on, Eden. Really?"

"Are you sure you don't want to have a seat? Really, we don't mind," the host assured. "This is open to those waiting for their parties."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," I replied back quickly. "Again."

Like I had spoken a set of magic words, a black Mercedes pulled up to the curb, right in front of the No Parking - Loading Zone sign and did just that with its hazard lights flashing. As if she knew I was talking mad shit about her in my head, Eden barley stuck her hand out of the backseat window and graced my presence with a lazy wave of her hand. How'd I know it was her? Only the white polish coating her stiletto nails and usual Cartier diamond bracelet dangling from her skinny wrist gave it away. She never left the house without it.

"Well hello to you too, Queen of fucking England."

"What was that?"

My head swung over my shoulder, long braids roping themselves around my neck as I realized I was louder than intended.

"Oh, sorry. I, uh...I'm ready to be seated!" I forced a smile and tossed my hair over my shoulder as the host looked a little bit too relieved at my sudden declaration.