(This post is a response to a writing prompt over at S. B.'s site. It said, "Write dialogue for the people seated at table six." Based on the pink flowers, I figured that table six might have been at a wedding.)
"Table six? Really? Doesn't she know that six is just about my least favorite number? I like four. She knows that. Why didn't she seat me at table four?" Meg crossed her arms over her chest and dropped into one of the eight cloth covered chairs at, yes, table six.
"Uh, Meg," her friend Bea said, "Don't you mean us?"
"Us?" Meg looked up, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "Yeah, us. You're with me I guess, so why not?"
Bea sighed. "When you asked me to come to this wedding, I thought it was because you didn't have a date. And that since we're friends, and we like to have fun, we could have a great time. But now . . ." Bea glanced around the dimly lit ballroom and felt the thumping of the music under her feet. "Now, I have to question your motives because . . . Is that really what you're worried about? That she sat you at table six?"
Meg shook her head and let out a breath. "Well, no, not really . . ."
"Because this day. This day . . ." Bea placed a hand on Meg's shoulder. " . . . is not about you. You know it's not about you, don't you?"
"Yeah . . . "
"You got married seven years ago and then decided that you didn't want to be married--" Bea started.
"I know. I know. I'ts not like you have to rehash my life for me!" Meg shot her friend a look that said watch it.
Bea actually stepped back and then sat down and leaned in to look Meg straight in the eye. "I wasn't. I was just letting you know that you've already done this sort of thing. This isn't your wedding. This isn't your party. This isn't about you."
"And your point is?" Meg rolled her eyes and sat back against her chair.
Bea's hand shot out and slammed the table. "Are you kidding me? That not everything is about you!"
A flush spread across Meg, but Bea wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. "That's such a cliche," said Meg.
"Because it's true, dammit!" Bea leaned in close to Meg so as to keep her voice down. "People like me have to say that to people like you all the time because those people like you have no clue just how narcissistic they are!"
"Speaking of narcissism. . . ." A smirk crossed Meg's face as her eyebrows rose closer to her hairline and she cocked her head.
Bea's eyes widened. "Oh no. Don't go there. I don't have the energy to think about him right now."
"How do you know I was going to talk about him?"
"Because it's usually all about you. But in those few times when it isn't all about you, you're talking or thinking about him."
"Pffft!" Meg turned her eyes away and glanced at the doors to the reception hall. She wondered where he was and whether or not he was happy.
"That's true and you know it," said Bea. "But let me tell you something. This is his wedding, reception, if you hadn't noticed. Not even two hours ago, he said, 'I do' to her. Not you. Her. You had your chance a long time ago, and you messed it up!"
Meg closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "You're right. I know it. I don't even know why I showed up today. Hell, I don't know why they asked me to come today."
"Neither do I, really. What were you thinking when you said yes?"
"I was thinking that I could show him how great I looked. How happy I am. Show him what I lost. That I was the best thing that ever happened to him and now, look what he has his hands on. A two-bit--"
"Okay, Meg. That's enough! Do I have to remind you that you tossed him? Remember?"
A dreamy look infiltrated Meg's eyes, and then she narrowed them at Bea. "You're right. I did. So let's just enjoy the afternoon, shall we?"
Bea's shoulders relaxed and she smiled. "We shall. We shall also hope that they serve good food."
"Amen to that, sister!"