Page 83 of Folds
I used to hate Daniel. He was the worst guy to work with. His code was always messy and his documentation even worse. Not to mention he always fucking interrupted me during meetings so I could never get a full thought into discussions.
But now he’s not real anymore.
No one I used to speak with or see is really that person anymore.
Oh my God.
I stop in the middle of the pavement. There isn’t a single soul around. The high street is never like this. In all my years of living in North London, there has always been at least someone coming or going. The shops that line up on either side of the street are barely lit. There are a few with no lights; a couple of restaurants that are normally heaving with people are completely shut now.
The one beacon of light in the distance is the laksa bar I told Not Rose I would go to for a date.
No, Sorscelgra. They have a name. They want me to be happy; I should at least try to be respectful with them as we navigate whatever the hell they think is happening right now.
The spring air is still chilly at night, but I wonder if I should have worn something more…
Sexy?
Is that what I want to be? It’s never bothered me before. My sense of style is masculine but lacking in finesse. Nobody wants to dress the size 24 lesbian like the little nerd her heart and wallet can agree on.
Still, the plain knitted vest I’ve got on is one of my favourites, as is everything I’m wearing. This is my going-to-dinner uniform. Any time I need to look smart, this is the outfit I gravitate towards.
And the laksa bar is always the place I suggest to eat whenever anyone asks me to go out. I know exactly what I’ll have; I know the food and the team that works there. There shouldn’t be any surprises.
Everything about tonight should be familiar, and I should take comfort in that. But I can’t. Because it feels like I’m about to have an interview that decides if I remain human or if I become a part of whatever freaky floral hivemind Sorscelgra is.
Suddenly, a light flicks on from the Buddhist centre.
“You okay?” A short, spindly flower person steps out from the small doorway and waves. Their pale blue skin and petals practically glow in the dark.
“Nervous,” I say quietly.
“Us too.” The thin bits that stick out from the top of their head flick in a way that reminds me of my childhood cat’s tail.
I take a deep breath and nod. This is fine. Everything will be fine. It has to be because I've decided I want to survive.
Outside the restaurant, there is a short queue of people loitering around the entrance. All these flowers are different shapes and sizes, some of them a familiar shape and others so completely alien to me.
“Georgia,” a tall, willowy person calls as she steps away from the queue and… wow, okay. Sorscelgra does have my type pegged. This body is dressed like an auntie with too much money: a soft cashmere jumper and white trousers that I would never dare wear. The picture of refinement for the city. The green skin and deep pink flower head only make her appear more animated and angelic. “Was it okay getting here?”
“Yeah, probably the easiest the walk has ever been,” I say. My fingers curl into the long sleeve of my shirt. “You probably saw.”
“Ah, no,” she says. “We understand that it can be uncomfortable to feel like a partner is hovering, so we tried to clear out mostly.”
“It was a bit weird how quiet it was.”
Sorscelgra does a strange motion with her head, the same fronds that the blue flower had twitching. The sweat that beads along my back becomes embarrassingly obvious to me as we stare at one another.
“Let’s head in.” My voice cracks as nerves begin to twist in my belly. “The food here is my favourite.”
I open the door and let Sorscelgra head in first. One of the other flower people that were lingering around the entrance quickly takes the door and ushers me inside next. Is this chivalry or just something else?
It’s exactly how I remember it. Everything is as expected except for the aliens working in the kitchen. They are dressed inthe shop's t-shirt and apron, but there are massive hairnets over the opening of their flowers.
“Food safety is very important,” Sorscelgra says as she sits down at a table near the centre of the room. “We made sure to clean extra well this afternoon since it’s been a little bit since we’ve had to feed anyone here.”
I nod along because I’m not really sure how to voice the barrage of questions that come to my mind. A glass of wine and pitcher of water are quickly placed on the table. A second, empty wineglass is placed for Sorscelgra.
“Do you not like wine?” I ask. As horrible as it sounds, I’m not sure I could date a teetotal person again. I did it once in my early twenties, but years in corporate hell have made me crave a stiff drink every once in a while.
