Make Me by Charlotte Stein

I feel.
    Even Brandon looks like he’s been carved out of classiness. He’s wearing a suit – this one definitely picked out by Tyler, because apparently Tyler is some sort of clothes-obsessed fashion guru and this time I saw him do it – and his hair has been done just so. It lies in a thick, handsome swatch across his forehead and seems to make him look just a touch older. A touch more weathered.
    I flounder in a glittering confection I didn’t want to wear, the neckline of which is digging into my bust. Even the mute waiter has something to say about my cleavage, when he oozes back to the table. I see him glance at everything that’s overflowing, as though I’m some cheap floozy.
    Oh, how I wish I were just some cheap floozy, instead of the skittish thing I am. All we’ve talked about for days is, in no particular order: our favourite ’80s cartoons, what we’d like to order for dinner and past relationships we’ve had that didn’t really work out. Brandon disliked a girlfriend of Tyler’s called Cynthia. Cynthia wanted Tyler to buy her a BMW, apparently. And Brandon once had a serious relationship with a girl called Tiffany, but now thinks it’s as hilarious as we do that he could ever think someone called Tiffany could be serious about anything.
    And then there was me. I didn’t say anything, because my motley crew of misfits and rejects can’t really compete with someone who wanted Tyler for his trust fund, and a girl who once told Brandon that eating solid foods is bad for you.
    And I can’t say much now, either, because apparently we’re talking about real-estate investments. Lord, I just don’t know what to do. How do I interrupt all of this … stylishness? What’s the best way to introduce a topic of this nature, with the optimum of elegance and wit?
    ‘Guys, you do remember we had a threesome the other day, right?’
    Somehow, I don’t think I’ve quite hit the mark I was aiming for. Tyler actually raises an eyebrow at me and Brandon chokes on his wine. Both expressions of surprise are about equal, I think, when you consider the people who are making them.
    ‘I vaguely recall,’ Tyler says, as he lounges back against his seat. It’s impossible to do so, however. I don’t how he’s managing it, because these seats are like iron.
    ‘And you don’t think we should have a chat about that? I mean, wasn’t that the problem last time?’
    ‘I thought the problem was that you disappeared for five years,’ Tyler says. ‘But do go on.’
    I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t want to, after words like those. Though it’s not because they hurt me a little – which they do – or that Brandon kind of gasps, once they’re said. It’s more for the surprise of it.
    I didn’t think he cared that much.
    Brandon, yes. Tyler, no.
    ‘You know I’m sorry about that, right?’ I ask, but he shocks me again.
    ‘No, no, you misunderstand me. I’m not angry that you ran away. I’m concerned that you’re going to do it again.’
    Brandon holds up a hand, at that – which is fortunate. I’m too dazed to do anything but stare at Tyler and his sudden ability to have emotions.
    ‘What Tyler means is …’ Brandon starts, but he doesn’t have to explain. I get the picture, loud and clear: Tyler feels the same way Brandon does. He feels abandoned too. I can see it all over his face, before Brandon goes any further. ‘We just don’t want to scare you away again. Or make you think that this is all some … weird game.’
    Tyler nods at that, but it’s his expression that’s the peach. It slides all the way back up from tense to amused acceptance. And then he illustrates the reason for this amused acceptance, just for me.
    ‘It’s my fault that it comes across as a weird game. I just enjoy them so,’ he says, in this smooth, slick way that somehow arouses me as much as it warms my heart. He wants me to be reassured, I think. He wants me to want all of this, and to know that he wants it