Lead & Follow

Changement de Pied

Part 2: Follow

Sixth Movement, Changement de Pied

Changement de Pied

[French shahnzh-mahnduh-pyey]

ballet dancing: a jump starting and ending with the feet crossed but with their positions interchanged.

🤍🖤

The shoe is on the other foot, it seems, as you're wedged into a tiny plastic booth with the whole wedding assemblage.

"Okay, I'll bite," Terry says as he glances at Baxter through narrowed lids. "Why do you want to eat at a run-of-the-mill place like this? Is the head chef unquestionably good at cooking or something?"

You snort into the rim of your plastic cup, filled to the brim with cherry cola, because you simply adore the tendency your old friend has to articulate what everyone else is thinking and without filter.

Across the table from yourself, Baxter spares your group an unimpressed gaze.

"I'm not a nobleman," he huffs, and his slender fingers fiddle with the soft locks of his ebony fringe. "In case you haven't noticed, I eat the same food as everyone else. Additionally, I'm more than happy to take advantage of the convenient food options available here."

Terry keeps his eyes on Baxter, but inclines his head towards Miranda. "He's evading the question. It must be the cook."

His penchant for playful ribbing makes you thankful, because you can tell that everyone else in your party feels similarly. Though the future newlyweds haven't known their wedding planner half as long as you have, it's obvious that Baxter isn't the type of guy to frequent diners or fast food chains. 

In fact, you think as you set your cup down and drum your fingers against the laminated, single-page menu splayed in front of you, he always goes out of his way to go somewhere fancy.

"Hm," you murmur thoughtfully, and the mischievous edge to the sound pulls a pair of brown eyes to your face. "You didn't want to eat here last time, though."

"T-That's–" Baxter begins, hackles rising. He can sense the meddling bite to your tone.

"We caught dinner at the Cypress Country club instead, right?" you continue, and the corners of your mouth quirk upwards. Your mood is coasting on the high of a bowling victory, so you allow yourself to be impudent with the veritable stonewall of guarded emotion across from you.

You want him to know that you're not oblivious. Although, for whatever reason, he's playing at apathy towards your frayed bond, he's still shadowing your summer together like it's second nature to traverse a well-worn path– desserts, bowling, living in the very same busy city which had become the backdrop for nearly every treasured moment together.

"Ooh," Miranda giggles, "Get 'em, girl."

Terry whoops and extends a fist for you to pound, "[Name] comin' in with the receipts."