Irene has always prided herself in handling alcohol well.

She never gets drunk.

She never does anything stupid.

Not.

The waiter approaches their table with two glasses of water. Irene drinks half of hers.

Wendy gets up to go the restroom, and the waiter - looking gay and happy – talks to her with a knowing smirk.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Irene chuckles, still airy in her alcohol-induced state.

“No, she’s not.”

The waiter nods. Irene doesn’t see the eye roll that came with it.

“So… just colleagues? Classmates?”

“We were… we are… friends.”

Just then, Wendy comes back with a frown and a raised eyebrow. The waiter smiles at them both before leaving.

“What was that?” Wendy asks, one hand reaching for the glass of water and the other drumming jitters off the table.

“It was nothing.” Irene waves off. She finds herself smiling still. Wendy chuckles at her.

Irene puts down her hand and is surprised when it doesn’t land on the table.

The fingers that cradle it are soft and warm. But Wendy’s eyes are distant now.

“What…?”

The sigh that escapes Wendy’s lips sounds foreign to her ears.

“What you said last night surprised me.”

Irene