Page 14 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

An image of Hen with her nose nestled in tulip petals warmed me in a way I didn’t quite understand. And I didn’t have time to think about it either, because the server walked up to our table, holding two glasses and a cooler of wine.

We watched as he popped the bottle, and when he poured Hen’s glass, she said a sweet, “Thank you.”

I thanked him too and took a sip. I stared from the cup to her. “Oh my gosh, this is really good.”

Her laugh was contagious. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“With a name like Cupcake?”

“Fair,” she said. Then her mouth dropped, and she slumped low in her chair, lifting a hand to cover the side of her face. “Please don’t see me.”

“What?” I asked, looking around.

Her eyes darted around, a battle raging internally that I could only see a piece of. Finally, she whispered, “That guy that just walked in. My grandma tried to set me up with him a couple of nights ago.”

I did a double take, realizing she’d been talking about the couple who’d just walked inside. The guy was handsome enough, with dark skin and the kind of girl the hostess probably expected me to be with on his arm.

“Did he see me?” Henrietta whispered.

I cringed the moment I saw him noticing. “Yeah.”

She sat up, her expression grim. “This is so embarrassing.”

I was about to ask for the backstory when the guy walked over with his date and said, “Hey, Henrietta.” He glanced at me and said, “Looks like your grandma found someone else to set you up with after all.”

God, I already hated this guy. And his date seemed just as stuck up.

Hen opened her mouth, probably to correct him, but I hurried up and said, “Actually, I saw her walking by my work and couldn’t let her go without taking her on a date. We’ve been together about a month now. Although, I don’t know how you let a chance with her go.” I winked, extending my hand. “Tyler.”

“Deshawn.” He gripped my hand harder than necessary. No doubt trying to prove dominance. That and the way his eyes were calculating me had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. He was jealous, but only because another guy was interested. It pissed me right off. He had no right to be jealous, especially since he’d turned her down once and then made a joke at her expense. Not to mention he was here with a different girl.

He glanced from Henrietta to me again, completely forgetting about his date. “Your grandma hadn't mentioned anyone else.” Then he mumbled, “Not exactly normal conversation in the produce aisle.”

Hen smiled at his date, who was growing progressively more stink-eyed. “Sorry, we're being really rude. Deshawn met my grandma at the grocery store the other day. She’s getting older, so she forgot I was involved. Hope you two have a good dinner.”

Deshawn’s date didn't even reply, instead giving Henrietta another annoyed look, and said to Deshawn, “Let's go sit down.”

The second they turned around, I could see the air deflate from Henrietta.

Part of me wanted to look away and deny the sadness in her deep brown eyes. I’d only known her two days, and it fucking sucked seeing this strong, beautiful woman brought down by a man who would hardly give her a second look and a woman who clearly thought appearance was the only thing that mattered.

I gave her a second to gather herself, and then I said, “I hope you don’t mind me stepping in.”

“Not at all,” she deadpanned, taking another drink of her wine.

I waited for more info, then finally I couldn’t hold myself back. “So what was this about your grandma and the grocery store?”

She gave me a pained look. “I don't know if your family's this way, but mine is bound and determined to keep me from becoming an old maid. It’s not working out.”

“Old maid?” I laughed. “You’re what? Twenty-six?”

“Twenty-eight,” she replied, “but I think they can feel my biological clock ticking. Every time my grandma goes to the grocery store, she comes back with some guy she thinks is going to be my happily ever after.”

“Just any stranger?” I asked, thinking my mom could probably take notes from her grandma. She’d been trying to set me up with every single mom who had a child in her fifth-grade classroom.

“Oh no,” Hen said, taking another drink. “Grandma gets his credentials first, of course. She only brings home people with a 401k and decent employment of more than two years.” She shook her head, an amused look in her eyes.

“What’s the rush?” I asked, refilling her glass of wine. I expected that kind of push in small-town Texas but not here, just an hour from LA, where people were getting married and having kids later and later in life.

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