Dinner Table Insult

Emily had just set down the bread basket when Tyler said, “So is this the part where you ask for a bigger shirt, or do you just keep pretending?”

The two women at the next table went still. A fork stopped halfway to a mouth. Bellini’s had the kind of quiet that made every laugh carry.

Emily kept her hand on the tray. “Eat your dinner,” she said.

Tyler leaned back in his chair like he owned the room. Beside him sat Vanessa Reed, polished as a magazine page, a diamond on her left hand catching the low light. She smiled at Emily without showing any teeth.

“Don’t be rude,” Tyler said. “I’m just asking if you’re this size because of the job, or because you like attention.”

A man near the bar turned to look. Emily felt heat crawl up her neck. She reached for the water pitcher on reflex, then stopped when her fingers tightened too hard around the handle.

Vanessa touched Tyler’s wrist. “Tyler, leave her alone.”

He ignored her. “You used to be pretty good at ignoring me. Then you got comfortable.”

Emily stared at the checkbook in the server station. Rent. Her mother’s inhaler. The overdue power bill sitting on the kitchen table at home.