Gemotions

The restaurant buzzed with a Saturday night energy, but she could barely hear it. The waiter set down her half-eaten plate, his smile a practiced mask. Her date, Mark, had been “on a call” for nearly an hour. She watched him, his back to her, and his hushed tones.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. He'd said he had to check in with a client. The lie, so smooth, felt like a slap. This wasn’t a business conversation; she could hear the laughter, the intimacy, over the phone.

The waiter refilled her water glass. She reached for the phone on the table. He turned around, his eyes widening. She would leave him to deal with the bill.