Page 57 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
Absolutely not.
Don’t know the man.
Just want this to be over.
But clearly, I have no ability to end this as I say, “Oh, uh... sure?”
I can feel Storee watching us, metaphorically with a bucket of popcorn in her arms, enjoying every second of this.
“Great. Umm, you might need some help unless you’ve met him before. Have you?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“Ah, so yeah, umm, let me think... He and I are both tall. If that’s something you want to compliment. We also have the same eyebrows. And hands.” Atlas holds up his hands. “Lots of things to work with.”
“Wow, that’s quite a lot.” Swallowing the saliva building up in my mouth and wanting this nightmare to be over, I say, “Well, tell him nice eyebrows. Congrats on... on how bushy they are.”
Just swallow me whole, world, please. Please end this.
Atlas smooths his fingers over his brows. “Uh, thank you. I’ll be sure to let him know.”
“Please do.”
Then silence falls between us.
The awkward cringe ofno one knows what to saytakes over.
And I can feel the sting of sweat break out on my neck, urging me to do something, anything to end this.
To make him go away.
To pretend this interaction never happened, because dear God, this might be the worst conversation I’ve ever been a part of. And it’s because he’s trying to be nice? Why is he trying to be nice? It’s better when he’s peeping in my window and I’m chucking liters of soda at him.
“Well... this is fun,” Storee finally says, breaking the silence with one leg crossed over the other and a smile on her face. “Are there any other compliments you want to throw toward each other’s fathers, or are you set on that?”
“I think we’re set,” I say.
“Yeah, all set.”
“Great. Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to have coffee with my friend.” Storee gestures to me.
“Right.” Atlas nods. “Yeah, sure. Okay, well, have fun chatting.” He looks between us, waiting one second longer than he should. He clutches his tray and then adds, “Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
With that, he turns on a dime but unfortunately for him runs right into another table, tumbling over it, head over heels with an earsplitting crash. His body flips over the table, the chairs tumble to the ground, and he’s left on his back, looking up toward the ceiling, his coveted tray flung halfway across the coffee shop.
Oh dear God.
“Oh my God,” Storee says as she stands with a baby on her hip and rushes over to Atlas, who’s writhing on the floor.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Are you okay?” Tanya asks as she rushes to his side.
Not wanting to look like a beast who doesn’t care, I stand up as well and start righting the chairs. “Yeah, are you... are you okay?”
“Fine.” He slowly stands, his large body taking up space. He pats down his sweatshirt and rights his reindeer hat. “Just a bruised ego is all.” His eyes meet mine, and once again, for some stupid reason, I feel my cheeks blush.
“Do you need any ice?” Tanya asks.
