The Glutton

It was curious to know you had the keys to destruction in your hand. That with one word, you could ruin a marriage, a life, and a man. Jen was used to having the power to destroy men in her hands. She had developed it around the time her cup size had dropped in letter grades and she had shot up a foot taller than the boys in her high school. Cliche, yes, but useful too. 

It was hard to keep these things in. She had to tell somebody, and she couldn’t tell Simon. She didn’t want to ruin him, not yet. 

Perhaps it was the stress of the wedding, or maybe it was because slowly doom was approaching and she was about to lose one of the only things she cared about. People panic in these moments. She had blurted it out to the hostess before she had seated her in a small wicker chair beside a large window. It was better her, than Simon, but Jen could not keep secrets in, not ones like this. She should have been better at this, after all these years, after all those sticky situations she got herself into. 

“The guy I’m meeting? We’re tasting cakes for his wedding, but I’m fucking his fiancé,” Jen had blurted out. “Have been for years.”

“Oh… my god,” the hostess had managed limply with wide eyes that begged why tell me. She had a desperate look on her small, slightly asymmetrical, mousy features as if she would have rather not known before she abandoned Jen with the menu. Jen could make her out in the corner of her eye, no doubt texting her friends about the psycho in the bakery. She should have told the server, he would have had a better reaction, the one she needed to sustain her long enough, so she didn’t tell Simon. Not yet. When the moment was right. Or maybe she could spare him the hurt. Maybe there was another way to get what she wanted without destroying everything around her like usual. He was a good friend, always had been. She had expected him to end things with Lucy years before and for her to wait the appropriate amount of grieving time before claiming Lucy as her own. But, as was always the case, the timeline got jumbled. 

It was moot. Simon had come and so had the cakes and Jen had pasted on a fake smile and stuffed her face with the buttercream to avoid telling him. If she did, maybe the wedding would be called off, maybe, just maybe, Lucy would be hers, the woman who hated drama, who hated a scene, somehow would reward Jen’s natural penchant for drama with a ring of her own. Probably not. Not fucking likely. Better not to say anything. She’d rather share Lucy than have nothing. She kept repeating the words in her mind as she continued to stuff her face; Don’t blow everything up, Jen, not again. We don’t want a repeat of second year, or summer camp, or the million other times you’ve single-handedly ruined everything. 

“You had me at tacos" Simon said the words, reading from the notes in his hand. He had to write that? Jesus. He doesn’t deserve her. 

Simon faltered, looked up from the crumpled notes in his fist and ran a calloused hand through the soft sandy blonde hair that was trimmed too short by the barber. At least he would look good in the pictures. The hair would grow back mid-way through the honeymoon, along with stubble that would erupt in the middle of their caring about nothing but fucking and bottomless margaritas in the all-inclusive resort. 

He would be thinking about his wife, and by then, in a perfect world, Lucy’s crippling regret of signing a contract to be Mrs. Simon Engle would be starting to sink in. The margaritas would taste like a mistake, his sweet kisses like regret, and his body like- 

"What?" Jen looked up at Simon across from the white and pink three tiered cake, pulling herself out of her thoughts reluctantly. “Huh?”

"Tacos" Simon responded. "Shit... Is that... shit?" He asked wearily. "I spent all week on it" he admitted. 

“Wow,” Jen said before she could catch herself. “I mean it’s fine,” she tried to force the smile. This was the man Lucy wanted to be stuck with for eternity? 

“Well, it doesn’t start strong,” Jen tried. She was usually good at criticism but had to force the constructive part. “Keep going, I’d love to hear more,” she forced the smile. 

The server came by to replace the cake with another. Simon looked on with a look that could be mistaken for lust, but when food was in front of them, was always thinly veiled jealousy. If he only knew, he had more than Jen’s metabolism to be jealous about. 

"Do you want to get tacos?" Jen asked, eager for more food, as the waiter announced the composition of the cake.

"Mango, Raspberry buttercream with a ginger mango frosting."

Jen had no hesitation before she picked up a fresh spoon and dove in.

"No" Simon responded, absently picking on a phantom beard that had also been exiled for the photos. Now only some stubble remained. Stubble that, too, would have to go in two days' time.  

"Our first date was tacos," he explained, "we uh... That's when I fell in love," he admitted. 

"Ok" Jen agreed, "but it makes a shit vow.” Simon nodded, nerves shooting up his body. 

"Well," he spoke cautiously, like he lived. "What should I do?" He asked with an exasperated sigh. 

"Not get married?" Jen suggested once again. Simon was getting weary of the joke. He had decided. The venue was booked, the honeymoon confirmed, photographers and caterers deposits paid. All was left was the cake and vows that had taken too long to write for what they were. 

"Jen-" Simon chided. He sighed. Now wasn't the time to do this. 

The waiter interrupted with ill-timed questions. 

"And how does the bride like the cake?" He asked, hopefully. Jen laughed in his face. She should have told him. It would have made the tasting bearable. She would say it again. She could feel the secret work its way to her tongue, lean back as in a position as if ready to hurl itself out of her body and into the world where it would cause so much damage. 

"You'll have to ask her," she responded with a sneer, "as for the cake, cut out the ginger and it's not half bad."

"I'll bring the next one" the waiter gave Simon a brisk nod and disappeared with the multi-tiered display, only to return with another, this one frosted bubblegum pink, and two slices. 

"Jen-" he waited until the server had refilled their waters, replaced their dirty plates and cutlery and had left to care for another couple across the room. 

"Look I know you... Don't approve of Lucy and we haven't ever talked about, um, well, why" Simon started, failing to find the words. He looked down at the vows he'd written over the past week and stole words from it, "I know when you see me you light up, you can't help but smile. That I’m everything to you but—“ he licked his lips. 

"Wait" Jen stopped mid spoonful and met Simon's honeyed eyes. "You think-"

“We’ve been friends for a very long time, but I know we have never talked about it, but I'm getting married. That's final. And I'm sorry if that's hard to accept but please stop joking and telling me to call it off,” he continued, steamrolling her concerns. "I know you can't help what you feel but you need to stop"

"You know that, do you?" She mocked, biding time by licking the spoon slowly. This one was the most tolerable cake so far. She had an impulse to smear the pink frosting against his perfect jawline, and those lips that could touch Lucy more than her own. 

"You're know how I feel, do you?" she laughed, waiting to see what he would say. What other emotions he would ascribe to her. It was laughable how wrong it was. Or it would be, if Jen wasn’t days away from debilitating heartbreak, the kind that can ruin a woman, leave you bed bound for weeks, with nothing but rom-coms, and chocolates until finally you rouse yourself out of bed only to invite strangers into it, complete with the sting of alcohol to numb the pain away, hoping that it will help you disappear too. 

"Jen-"

"Actually" she placed the spoon down slowly, omitting any cruel words that sprung to mind, to tell him how he felt, that he didn't love his damn bride to be but the idea of her more, that he was the one who didn't want to get married. 

"I know we have chemistry, that we're very close. That we tell each other everything and we're the first thing we think about each morning and each night and we can't go a day without speaking to each other. I know that's going to change," his eyes betrayed him, welling up slowly. Shit. This was more complex than she expected. She should have known. 

"But-" his voice cracked, hitched. She had to put him out of his misery. 

"The nicest thing you can say is that you fell in love over tacos" she pointed out. He nodded. "Is that also about me?" She demanded. The memory was unwanted, uninvited it barged into his mind; their very first meeting was the over tacos at the ill themed Mexican staff party. Piñatas and Latin music blasting as they made new acquaintances in the all white office and in front of him in the lineup for the self serve taco station, was a woman the office called Skinny Jen. It was better than train-wreck Jen, or drama queen, or that bitch that ruined everything! So she had accepted the nickname and the jealousy that came with it for years. It had been his final day at the company, and she had been the only thing he took away from it. 

"Jen-"

“So yeah maybe it is confession time, but I sure as hell am not the one with an unrequited crush. I am not into you, Simon,” she finished, clattering the spoon onto the table with a sense of finality and drama she relished. A few couples looked in their direction, expecting a scene, or perhaps fearful the drama was contagious and would make its way over to them and infect their relationship. 

“I know it’s hard to admit-” he told her again how she felt. 

“Jesus. Stop for a second. I’m really not into you. I don’t know where you came up with that. I’m gay”

“What?” Simon asked. “I didn’t know that,” he said the words feebly. It was the start of everything crashing around him. She may as well go in for the kill. 

“Lucy does,” she responded, meeting his gaze. Maybe he would get it. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. 

Please, just this once, let everything work out. 

“And she hates tacos,” Jen added. 

“She does?” Simon sounded out the words slowly, but there was no way to know which confession had left him dumbfounded and mute. As Jen continued her exploration of the cake, she could sense his gaze on her lips, watching as she licked the bubblegum cream frosting off of the spoon. She didn’t stop until she finished her piece and his. There was nothing left to say. She should have kept her big mouth shut.