lunch // a scisaac story

three

Isaac

What is the socially acceptable greeting for your dead girlfriend's ex-boyfriend with whom you've been in love with practically since you've met him, yet you haven't seen him for months? I settled on a hug. As soon as I reached around him, I regretted it. He was probably going to think it was weird of me. Thankfully though he reaches right back around me and spares me from what would have been an awkward exchange had he not reciprocated my hug.

"Alright we should probably get in, it's kind of busy here," Scott suggested, gesturing around us to the cars piled down the road trying to get a spot near the curb. I hadn't even noticed, I was so wrapped up in seeing Scott again.

I load my luggage into the trunk of the car then walk around to the other side and place myself in the passenger seat. I really hope that this won't be an awkward car ride, I'm a little bit scared that we won't have anything of note to talk about and we will be left in an odd silence. We slowly begin to pull out of the airport, and I make sure to keep my eyes trained on the world outside my window, and to avoid looking at Scott.

"So.." the man beside me begins to trail off, and I turn to look at him, "How was living in France?" he finished. I have two ways of answering this question, I can be genuine and tell the truth that it was lonely, or I can be a sarcastic prick, to avoid the truth.

"It was very, French" I decided to go with the sarcastic option.

"Ha, very funny," Scott replied with a roll of his eyes. "But I'm serious, how was it?"

For the second time I'm wondering whether to tell the truth or hide behind another joke, but what's the worst that could happen from telling Scott about my vacation to France to get away from reality.

"Honestly, France was lovely, and you absolutely need to go one day Scott. Before you get old I'm going to France," I said with a smile, and I continued "but it did get lonely at times, especially because I was literally alone and i didn't speak the language," I admitted, looking down at my folded hands.

"So, no hot French girlfriends?" Scott joked with a smirk.

"No hot French girlfriends." I confirmed, looking up and smiling.

"Well that sucks, sorry man," Scott offered in condolence. But I swear I saw the corners of his mouth upturn into the tiniest of smiles. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

"Yeah it sucks, I wish," I say, which is a blatant lie.

Little did he know.