Kiss me Not

3

"Why don't you want a boyfriend. Then we can double date!"

I rolled my eyes as I stabbed my piece of chicken bringing it up to my mouth as Sarah continued telling me how amazing having a boyfriend was.

It was Monday, and we usually met up during our lunch break to go to one of our favourite places, Lounge. Not only did they have good cheap lunch specials, their portions were massive which left my pencil skirt usually straining when I was finished.

"I don't want one." I said. Even the thought of a boyfriend, a relationship...a commitment made my stomach churn.

She pursed her lip before shrugging, going onto the topic of the birthday party this week while she picked up her fries.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"No fixed plans," I said playing with a piece of chicken, moving it to one side of my plate, then to another.

"Great, you should come to this new bar. John wants to take me -,"

"And be the third wheel, no thank you," I dropped my fork onto the plate leaning back in my chair and picking up my water glass.

"No, it's a group,"

"Will I know anyone there?"

"Well...maybe? Chris is coming," I shrugged, well that was better than no one.

"I'll think about it. Have a roommate now," I sighed, "Can't have him going and telling Nik my party life," my brother and I weren't that close. It was a very formal relationship. We left notes for each other, and had the occasional five minutes conversations.

He did care. And I cared a lot too. But we just hid it.

"Oh yeah, you were telling me about him," I nodded, "Did he come home last night?"

I shrugged, "I don't know," I was so bored I ended up facebooking Sarah all day, with the occasional skype calls. He wasn't home by the time I went to bed, which was around one, and I woke up he was gone. But I liked it, the ghost roommate.

Nearly made everything seem normal.

But I did see a tie on the bench when I was leaving for work, so he probably did come home sometime during the weekend. I picked up a fry munching on it slowly.

"How's work?"

I groaned, "I can't even," I said, my new catch phrase for the month, "They want me to type up two articles by Wednesday, and I just want to procrastinate," whoever told me journalism was fun. Lied.

I mean no, it was fun I loved it. Writing for a magazine was something I ever thought I would do, my career was with food, what I liked. Cooking.

But when they magazine paired up with my local restaurant, I was chosen to do the articles for two days and cook for the other three. And the very rare catering gig on weekends.

"Man, I wish I could do what you do," she said frowning. Sarah worked in HR, human resource, where she met John, a not so happy customer which is ironic.

"What do you mean? You can do it,"

"No, if I was around food like you all the time, I would blow up. How are you still skinny?"

I scoffed choosing not to answer that, Jenny was a size negative, okay she wasn't. But I was a more bigger version. I wasn't fat, but my Russian mother gave me her busty chest, curvy body which made me look chubby in dresses since she forgot to give me her six foot height. And my father who was six foot three, also decided to let the height skip me. At five feet four, I was just average.