[ summer rainault ]
A strained silence fell between them. She didn’t want to just get up and leave — for one thing, that would be absurdly wasteful. Besides, leaving felt like she was letting him drive her off, and her pride wouldn’t allow that. He would have to leave first. She stared at her ereader instead, not turning pages and hardly seeing the words until the screensaver kicked in.
Surreptitiously, she sneaked glances at him. He still looked the same — she didn’t know why she thought he would look different. Her throat ached, and sternly she swallowed back tears. She wasn’t going to let him see her cry.
To those looking in, he must have looked like his meal was the most interesting thing in the world, the way his gaze was trained on it. Finally, after glancing up to see her with the ereader, he was reminded of his book and so began to read while he ate once more.
The book became his new center of attention and his fork fell against the plate with a quiet clang as he dropped it to turn the page.
She jerked at the sound, a harsh involuntary startle that knocked over her cup, spreading ice and faintly soda laced water across the table. “Fuck,” she snapped, equally involuntarily, and grabbed for the paper cup, sending several bits of ice skittering across to land in his lap.