Failing Upward

Chapter 7 (part 4): The Universe is a Computer

As my foot hit the threshold, I whiffed the sweet, floral aroma of the special house herbal tea. I loved the Dragon with its huge saltwater aquarium partition, swimming with colorful clown, butterfly, and damsel fish. And I loved how the water from the tank reflected on the walls. The best buffet. Service great. Clean. The same couple running it for over twenty years, making the best sesame chicken I'd ever eaten. We sat in a booth farthest from the kitchen. I slid in first, and Sherlock beside me, his thigh brushing against mine. Anderson kissed Mary on the cheek as she excused herself to the little girls' room.

We made small talk while Mary was gone. Anderson stared at Sherlock the whole while, and I tried my best to ignore him. The waitress brought ice water and place settings. She poured the house tea, leaving a small pot on the table. I reached across Sherlock for the sugar, intentionally pressing my body into his.

When Mary got back, we ordered; I got my usual sesame chicken, and Sherlock got Kung Po.

Conversation. Make conversation. I hated Anderson's staring.

"What'd you think of Lestrade's lecture?" I asked.

"Most of what he said was, 'wah, wahhhh, whah, whah, waaaahh.' You know, the way adults all talk on the old Charlie Brown specials on TV?" Mary complained.

"I thought he was interesting," I said, playfully pushing Sherlock's chopsticks aside as he tried to nab some pork fried rice off my plate.

"Reality is an algorithm," said Anderson. "I knew the Universe was fucked up."

"Language, please! Not so loud. We're in a public place," Mary said, slapping Anderson's thigh. "While he's very attractive, there's something about him I don't like. He's shifty. Like he's hiding something. Maybe he is behind that fire and what happened at your apartment. He was too into you, Sherlock. I don't like him."

"He's really smart though," said Anderson. "Kind of a freak. Like Sherlock."

I stifled the urge to reach across the table and punch Anderson out. Maybe later.

"I've read that while many geniuses relate well in their academic world, they have serious problems with intimate relationships," Mary said, adding to the mess.

"Did you get that information from one of those tests on Cosmo magazine?" I asked. "The one titled, ' Are you in love with a psychopathic killer? Take this test and see...' Now that's some stimulating reading."

"Sounds fascinating to me," Sherlock said.

"Reading's not important in Cosmo ," Anderson said. "It's the pictures that are stimulating. Lots of nipples. But you three probably aren't interested in women's nipples."

"Sometimes you're such an asshole, Phil. Besides," Mary said, leaning over the table to us, "I like women's nipples. And I know John does. That leaves you, Sherlock."

He wrinkled his nose.

"I did think that Lestrade was hot. He reminds me of Harrison Ford in the old days. Yum."

"He's okay looking," I said.

"He is attractive. But not my type," Sherlock said.

Everyone looked at me. Including Sherlock.

We ate, took bites off each other's plates and laughed, yet something is still really off between Sherlock, Mary, and Anderson--more that Anderson's usual "freak" comment although I couldn't let that go again. Anderson's pissing me off-- treating me so nicey, nice.

"You know," I said, setting down my chopsticks, "Sherlock is not a freak. I'm sick of you saying it, so don't say it again. Ever."