Love Is Stupid |✓

|9|

I was sitting stiffly in the plush red seat of the restaurant, glancing around to see the other customers who were gracefully chatting through their meal. The restaurant was screaming luxury. It had chandeliers, a polished hardwood mahogany floor, plush furniture and tall candles in the middle of the clothed tables. Some expensive flowers were even arranged at the middle of the table.

To sum it all up, I was so fucking uncomfortable. The dress was itchy and tight, the airconditioning was too cold, my feet were sweating in my heels, and my parents kept trying to make a casual conversation with us. But, they probably haven't yet discovered that talking about Mom's latest murder case wasn't really so fascinating as she liked to call.

Dad, being the Psychologist in the pair, often tried to steer the conversation toward us - their (bored) kids. He probably knew that Mom was killing us with boredom through her murder case. It could've been effective, but he chose the wrong route by asking me first.

"So, Pheobe, how's school? Anything interesting to talk about?"

Two guys asked me out. I don't know their real intentions yet, though. "Nothing, really. Same ol', same ol'."

"Oh-"

"Good evening, I'm Jason and I'll be your server for tonight. Here are your menus." My head snapped up faster than lightning upon hearing your voice.

And there you were, standing to my left in a black and red uniform. Your blonde hair that was usually untamed, was perfectly gelled and pushed back. Your bright blue eyes widened a fraction when it met mine, but you quickly recovered by pasting a fake and rehearsed smile onto your face. That smile was probably reserved for customers, and it somehow disappointed me that you showed me that smile. Until, I remembered that I was a customer too.

How stupid of me to think that just because you weren't working here last year, you would never plan on doing it. I couldn't put the blame on you though. It was my own stupidity. I knew that your aunt owned the place. You even told me how excited she was when she first opened this elite Italian restaurant upon marrying a rich Italian man, a decade ago.

I just thought, that maybe just because you didn't enjoy having a job, you wouldn't take the offer of your aunt. Now, I knew I was wrong. It wasn't so surprising though, I didn't know a lot of things about you.

"Oh, I'm having a debate with myself on what to choose. There are so many things I know, I'd like! What do you suggest?" My Mom dramatically exclaimed, she even went all out by placing her palm over her chest.

I scoffed out loud, good thing the soft classical music that was playing hid my bad manners. I swore my Mom's words were rubbing off on me.

Brandon, who was seated beside me, let out a small chuckle. "Mom forgot who your friend is, and I think she can join the Theatrics with the way she placed her palm on her chest," he mumbled into my ear, causing me to snort.

You threw me one quick, curious glance, and I ignored you. You took that as your cue to impress my mother with your knowledge about Italian cuisine. And that came as my cue to zone out.

I was doing very well in Dreamland. I was soaring through the skies, my fingertips running through the white puffy clouds. I could've been the empress of love haters in that small time of zoning-out. But, you had to ruin it. You always had to ruin it.

My train of thoughts popped like a deflated balloon when the words, "For the young, beautiful lady, a Tiramisu for dessert, perhaps?", left your lips.

Snapping my head toward you, I tried to send you a glare. Your face remained expectant and indifferent, though. You were waiting for a reply, and I opened my mouth to shower you with curses. Just because, you should never offer me a tiramisu.

But, just when I was about to unleash my first set of fuck you, bastard, Mandy who was seated beside Brandon, squealed. "Oh my gosh, yes, I'd love a tiramisu."

My mouth shut closed, and my fingers tightly curled around my sliver fork. It was reflex. It was part of my system to be mad at you. I was mad at you because I thought you were offering me tiramisu. But, I was even madder at you when I realized that it wasn't for me. I hated you that moment, because you knew it was my favorite. I hated you because each tiramisu held a memory.

I hated you Jason, because you knew how much I loved tiramisu. And I hated you more because you were that one reason on why I even knew what a tiramisu was. I hated you because that was our favorite, and now, you were offering it to someone else. You were just offering it to random people. And you offered it to my sister, in front of me

A tiramisu, for the lovely and beautiful Pheeby lady, may this heavenly dessert's stickiness bind us forever.

You hurt me all the time, Jason, and I hate you for it.