It All Comes Down to Tequila

“Well I’m not going if you’re not going.”

“I told you, if Ryan’s going, I’m not going. I’m just not. And I’m sorry if you can’t understand and respect that, but it’s really not my problem if you don’t go.”

“I get that, but I also don’t understand why you can’t just be my friend for like a second and suck it up and go. I’m not sitting in a car with Dylan and Josh for five hours by myself and you know how much I want to go on this trip.”

Silence sat in the air. Each thumbed through their phones. Five minutes passed. One snapped her head to the side, “Are you really not going to say anything right now?”

The other slowly moved her eyes forward, stubbornly glared at her latte, then towards the window, and eventually locked in on the wall across from their table. Through gritted teeth, she quietly muttered, “I want you to know that this is only because you saved me the other night. That’s it. I don’t want to go. I will go.”

“That’s all you had to say. Thank you.”

Strangers surrounding them wearily glanced up from their work and slowed their conversations, glancing around with the particular discomfort that follows unintentionally witnessing such a skirmish.

Tension loomed in spite of the apparent resolution. Both silently returned to their open books and laptops in an attempt to refocus, frantically questioning the stability and future of such a friendship.

Quiet… Quiet… Quiet… And then, “Do you think Ryan would get us liquor for the weekend?”

“Oh my God, I’m so sure he would, texting him right now!”

And with that, order was restored. The two scooped up their things, plopped sunglasses on their faces, and strolled out of the coffee shop, excitement and anticipation on their lips. Ryan responded as they made their way across the room, committing to at least a bottle of tequila. The door closed behind them. Everyone else applauded.