What's the Matter with Megan? – Chapter 5 (Commission)

Thanks as ever to Samantha for commissioning this next chapter!

***

"All right! Who's ready to celebrate being done with those stupid midterms, huh?"

It's the four of us, all piled into Dan's car on our way to town. I'm leaning forward, trying to be as friendly and enthusiastic as possible: mainly just to make conversation, but also to keep Corey here beside me from opening his mouth. He may be decently nice, but he's not the most socially skilled person in the world. And so I prattle on. "Sure we don't need reservations? It seems to be a pretty popular place…"

"What, the noodle bar? Don't worry, we'll be fine," Dan responds mildly, and Megan nods along with a quick glance backward. "Yeah, you can make reservations, but you don't have to – definitely not when we're just four people. Besides, Dan checked their site this morning, and there's loads of spots still open."

"Oh, okay!" I shift in place and glance over at the politely smiling Corey beside me, then plunge ahead. "Well, that's good to know. Umm… hmm. You know what you're going to get? Do they have, like, really good ramen and stuff?"

"Yeah! They have these super-yummy bao buns, too. They come with this spicy mayo…" "Ooh, then we should get some!" "Definitely! Oh, and there's this special housemade lemonade, too-" It's almost like it's the old days again – just Megan and me, headed out on a girl date. Almost, that is. Because there's that gorgeous hunk Dan behind the wheel, making my heart flutter every time he moves. And then there's, well…

"I just hope they have something vegetarian."

That's Corey – and it's his only addition to the conversation. I mean, look: I don't mind if folks want to eat vegetarian or vegan or whatever. It's not for me, but it's cool. But when literally the only thing a guy can offer to an otherwise engaging conversation are his worries about our chosen restaurant's ability to accommodate his own dietary choices, it's, you know…

It's hard not to feel like he's not really having a good time. And worse still, that he's not interested in anyone else but himself.

But like it or not, I'm stuck with him as my partner on this double-date. I haven't exactly met any other guys lately, what with midterms and all. Or at least, that's what I tell myself. Though deep down, I can't deny that maybe, just maybe, I can't bring myself to get seriously involved with anyone else so long as Dan is around.

***

We're there at last: me and Corey seated directly across from Dan and Megan, tucked into this sweet little table close to the bar. The clink and swish of utensils in the kitchen is incessant, a hum of pleasantly frantic energy intertwined with the murmur of the chefs' voices. We've already ordered, and our drinks are even now about to arrive…

"Here we are – four yuzu lemonades, and an extra glass of water for…" "Here," Dan interjects with a charming smile, gesturing beside him at Megan. Down plop the glasses. The waitress flashes a warm smile around at us. And then she's gone, leaving us to figure out what the heck to chat about next.

Midterms, naturally. "Man, those were brutal, weren't they?" I begin, tugging the wrapper off my straw and taking a long-drawn sip of the lemonade, a welcome burst of bright acidity in my mouth. "Ooh, damn, that's good!" Dan's reaching over, taking care of Megan's straw for her, and nodding along. "They were indeed," he agrees, and in plunge the straws – first into her water, and then the lemonade. "There you are, baby," he murmurs kindly, with a quick kiss of her flaming-red curls. "Go on – tell us if it's as good as last time…"

Maybe it's just me, knowing what I do. But as Megan leans forward and obediently takes a long pull at the straw, I can't help but muse how apt her calling him "Daddy" is. After all, isn't unwrapping someone's straw and ordering her food for her – as he just did minutes before – exactly the sort of thing a good dad would do for his little girl?

I jerk back to the conversation in time to hear Corey protesting that they weren't so long – that he had a three-hour philosophy final once – that other students just need to toughen up and get used to real, traditional exams. "Ah, yes," Dan counters, with a politely sarcastic smile. "In preparation for real life, right? So we'll be ready for it when our future bosses lock us in a room for three hours with no internet access and nothing but a pen and paper? Oh, and of course a demand that we write three thousand words about the 'use of alliteration in Milton'?"

Ooh, these two are NOT going to get along! But before Corey can respond – and even before I can think of a way to defuse the tension, Dan does it himself with a quiet, half-apologetic smile. "Sorry, that's another matter entirely. But Natalie, as I was saying… you're right that they really are tough. And not just mentally, either. I mean, I know of at least one person who finds it impossible to sit for even two hours without one bathroom break – if not two or three…"

Why is he glancing wryly over at Megan? Why has she gone pink as a rose, shifting in place and plunging sheepishly into her drink? I mean, I was in two of the same exams as her just a few days ago. Each was two hours long, and she didn't take a bathroom break once!

I'm on the verge of opening my mouth to point this out when the ramen arrives, together with our bao buns. And, well… there's nothing like good food to distract four hungry young people, is there?

The accident comes near the end of our meal, when we least expect it: the sudden eep! of dismay from Megan, and the clink and splash of liquid pitching down into her lap. It's her water – only half of which has been drunk – and somehow she's managed to knock it squarely toward herself. "Oh-! Oh, dear-" "Here, here's my napkin-" "Aww, I'm sorry! Let me-"

She's rising hastily, turning to flee even as she jerks out her apologies. "So sorry- Gotta clean up!" she mutters, and before I can do more than half-rise from my seat, she's darting for the bathrooms. Dan remains seated, and although his eyes follow her as she disappears, the expression on his handsome face remains strangely calm. "It's just water," he explains simply, reaching for her fallen cloth napkin and mopping up the water on the seat beside him. "She'll be okay, I'm sure of it."

But will she? I would have thought so, too. But as the minutes tick by, and the rather lame conversation falters, and we devolve into a trio of people scrolling self-consciously through their phones, I begin to wonder what's going on. Surely she's not hiding because she's embarrassed at having dumped water on herself? I mean, it could happen to anyone. But then again, Megan's always been pretty sensitive-

"I'm gonna go check on her," I announce, rising abruptly and striding purposefully back toward the bathrooms. Maybe she really is fine – in which case, cool. Better to make sure and let my bestie know I've got her back…

"Umm, Megan?" It's a small bathroom, and with only two stalls I'm almost positive it's her in the one that's locked. And sure enough, she answers, her voice strangely strained and anxious: "Yeah?! It's- I'm okay." "You sure?," I prod gently, trying to resist the urge to peek through the cracks in the stall door. "Yeah! Yeah, it's okay, really. I'm just, um, finishing up! I'll be out… really soon!"

"Oh. Okay, then!" I respond simply, after a short pause. Beats me why she's sounding so weird, but there's not much else I can do besides give her space. Then, just as I'm reaching for the door, I hear the loud Ding! of a text message. Wait, is that me? I reach for my phone, unlock it, check the messages… but nothing. Huh. Must have been Megan's, then?

Well, whatever. Not my business. And so out I go, easing the bathroom door shut and making my way past the other chattering diners back to our designated table. It really is a nice place, I gotta admit. Tasteful décor… great food… spicy-ass ramen that's glowing in my belly and still tingling on my lips…

Apparently it's a popular place for parties, too. Because just as I'm approaching our table, here comes a giant stream of people: kids and adults and grandparents, variously grinning and chatting and apologizing as they make their way between the tables. I'm obliged to retreat out of the aisle and into the empty booth just behind ours as I wait for them to pass. Which, I should explain, puts me standing directly behind Dan.

Ding.

It's the same tone, but this time I can see it's Dan's phone and not mine. Maybe I should feel guilty about being so nosy. But I honestly can't help my eyes as they drift toward that glowing screen… watching as he taps the new message notification… widening in puzzlement and shock as I take in the photo that pops up.

It's a closeup. Filling the entire frame. A woman's thighs and butt, clad in black patterned leggings that I know without a doubt belong to my best friend. And centered in the photo are two startlingly large ovals: wet patches, one on either side of the crotch.

What the actual heck? Is Megan… sexting with Dan? From the bathroom? When here I thought she was upset about spilling her freaking water? And wait… how the heck could that water even have gotten back there, anyway?

I don't know. I really don't. But whatever's going on, I truly want to get to the bottom of it.

(To be continued!)