Free Ledge Walkers by Rosalyn Wraight

Kate,” Alison offered. “You just need a good laugh."

    With that she left the table and came back seconds later with Lover Doll. She grabbed a chair, put the gaping gasbag into it, and then shoved the chair until she remained upright. “Troublemaker, if ever I saw one,” she said.

    I smiled at Alison for her effort, but I did not find it funny. In fact, it made me feel worse.

    Sam started delivering our first course. As he approached our table, he asked, tossing his head at Lover Doll,
    “Will she be needing a plate or will she be sharing with you?” He winked and smiled at me.

    I glared at him, but I felt a twitching in the corners of my mouth.

    He set large martini glasses in front of us. The contents boasted a beautiful, vibrant mix of orange, red, white, and green. He held one more glass, looked to Maggie, and asked, “Our vegan?"

    She nodded with a smile, and he placed the final glass in front of her.

    "Not your ordinary fruit cocktail, ladies,” he said loudly. “This is Persimmon Pomegranate Fruit Salad. You'll find fuyu persimmons, pomegranate seeds, and apples, all in a dressing of mint leaves, lemon juice, and honey.
    Enjoy!"

    Oosandahs raced through the room as spoons clinked on glass.

    Before he headed back to the kitchen, he looked at Maggie and said, “No honey in yours."

    "I don't get that whole honey thing about vegans,” Alison instantly began. “No offense, Maggie. I mean you all try to be so nice to living creatures and all, but how is putting worker bees out of work a nice thing to do?"

    "They're not called ‘worker bees’ anymore,” Laura yelled from the island of jocks and brainiacs. “That isso politically incorrect. They are now ‘vacationing bees.’”

    "Are they really?” Holly asked from the table of preps, and laughter rumbled through the house, probably directed more at Holly than unemployed bees.

    I thought it was funny, too, but I still experienced nothing beyond twitchy mouth corners. I watched Maggie shake her head, and I didn't feel so alone.

    "Are you going to eat any of that?” Claudia asked. “It's awfully good."

    More than just about anything negative in life, I hated scenes. I did not want nor would I be a part of one, but damn, I just wanted to scream at her—as stupid as it was, and it was stupid. But why did I want to scream? Had she suddenly changed in my eyes? Was my love for her that superficial? Was it simply the not knowing? Was it feeling like a fool: the nerd and the cheerleader?Argh!

    "Come on, honey,” she coaxed. She lifted a spoon in my direction, and I submitted with open mouth, but only because I did not know what else to do.

    Then she placed her hand over mine. Usually when I hurt that simple act brought such comfort. At that moment, it seemed to sear.

    "I love you,” she assured.

    In an instant, red-hot tears spilled from my eyes, and something inside me suddenly echoed with a scream I did not utter.

    "Come on,” she said. “Let's just go somewhere and talk."

    "No!” I said emphatically. “This is ours. I don't want it ruined because I am a jerk."

    "It's not going to be ruined. Sam and these guys are quite capable."

    "Please just let it be!"

    "Do you want me to get Kris?"

    I did and I didn't, so I said no.

    "Just go out on the porch then and have a cigarette. Maybe a few moments to yourself will help."

    That sounded great, and I searched for a way to do so without looking like I was causing a scene.

    Claudia quickly stood up and said, “Sam, that was absolutely delicious! Guys, let's help him out and bring our dishes to the kitchen."

    She was good, and I was grateful. She grabbed my untouched fruit salad and shooed me. I calmly made my way toward the porch. The instant I got there, a speeding and pushy Laura elbowed me.

    "Think you're just going to sneak a smoke without me, huh?” she challenged.

    I followed my instincts and turned to look at Claudia, knowing full well that I had been set up, that she had