Amuse bouche... Sharing
Amy’s heart sank when she saw the text. She was on the bus to meet the girls in town when her phone pinged. All four of them knew she didn’t do sharing, but there was Fiona, group-texting that the place they’ve booked does gorgeous sharing platters. “Why don’t we get a few of those and then just see how we go?” she texted.
Amy felt like getting off the bus at the next stop and going home. She felt sick. And hungry. And that combination, plus the inevitable alcohol, usually added up to cross. She could kill Fiona.
After that time they went to the Thai place, Amy had thought they’d got the message. It took all her courage that night, but once they sat down and the menus were put in front of them, she’d made her announcement: “I don’t do sharing, alright? So I’ll just order my own bits, and you work away yourselves and don’t mind me. I’m just odd. I get anxious about not having enough to eat.”
All but Fiona made light of it, though, and laughed at her when the food came and Amy cordoned off her spring rolls and noodles. Like, what skin off their noses was it if Amy ordered for herself ? She wasn’t depriving them of any grub.
Amy didn’t let on how irritating it was when they mulled endlessly over what to order to keep everyone happy; she kept a lid on how unrelaxing it looked to keep reaching across one another to get at the dishes. She even stopped herself from wincing when Karen insisted on double-dipping their shared spring rolls. Ugh, manky.
This was Fiona’s revenge, Amy reckoned. Fiona had mentioned the no-sharing policy every time since, even though they’d had pizza the last time they were out, and the time before it had been just drinks, no dinner. When the barman put the bowls of fancy nuts in front of them, Fiona said, “No sharing the nuts for you, I’d say, Amy? Not after we’ve put our filthy fingers into them. Don’t worry, I washed my hands after the toilet.”
Funnily enough, the rest of the girls went right off the nuts after that.
Amy sat on the bus, staring at her phone, as each one of the other girls responded enthusiastically to Fiona’s text about the sharing platters. “Amy? You OK with that?” Fiona texted eventually. Amy put her phone in her pocket and got off the bus early. She’d grit her teeth and make a go of sharing once she got there. It would be grand, but she wasn’t going to risk going hungry, she decided, as she ordered a nice big bag of chips, all of her own, to eat as she walked to the restaurant. A