The dining table was heavy with an unspoken tension, a quiet yet unmistakable undercurrent of awkwardness threading its way through every pause. It wasn't just the lingering discomfort from the earlier conversation about Sasha's so-called "secret boyfriend"; it was something more, something unspoken but felt by everyone present.
Sasha sat still, her face a practiced mask of indifference, though her eyes betrayed her unease. She was clearly bothered, perhaps more by Samuel's poorly timed remark than by the notion itself. Her silence was unlike her, almost unsettling in its weight. I watched her closely, the way her fingers fidgeted ever so slightly with the edge of her napkin, and found it unexpectedly endearing. Her baby-like features, which usually softened her demeanor, now made her tension seem all the more poignant.
Anne, however, was the real surprise. She, who usually filled the air with her sharp remarks and an almost tangible sense of superiority, seemed to have retreated into herself. Her silence was unnatural, almost eerie, as though the fire that fueled her usual sharpness had been suddenly extinguished. It struck me as both unsettling and oddly amusing, like a burning candle snuffed out in an instant. She sat back, her expression unreadable, save for a flicker of what could have been annoyance or resignation.
Trying to break the tension, Anne finally spoke, her voice a little too loud for the room. "Ah, ah... these are fresh from my garden," she said, gesturing at the chicken on the table. There was an air of forced cheer in her tone, but it fell flat.
Sasha, still staring down at her plate, gave the smallest of nods. "Oh, it's... good," she replied, her voice flat and devoid of enthusiasm. The words hung in the air like a lead weight, making the atmosphere even more stifling.
I glanced at Samuel, who looked uncharacteristically out of his depth. For someone who prided himself on being the joker, the tension seemed to have robbed him of his usual arsenal of quips. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, his fingers drumming faintly on the table, as though trying to summon the courage—or the wit—to defuse the situation. But nothing came.
For a moment, I let my gaze linger on the two of them—Sasha, simmering in her quiet turmoil, and Samuel, floundering in his rare silence. The scene was almost comical in its absurdity, though the humor was lost in the thick, uncomfortable air that hung between us.
Samuel accidentally dropped his fork on the floor, the sound echoing sharply through the stifling silence of the dining room. The metallic thud seemed almost louder than it should have been, a jarring interruption to the unspoken tension. He bent down to retrieve it, holding the fork up with an apologetic grin.
"My bad," he said, his tone light. "Sorry for breaking the silence. Guess I've never been great at staying quiet for long."
His words carried a deliberate touch of humor, like a small, harmless crack in the wall of unease that had built up around the table.
Anne, ever observant, seized the opportunity to keep the mood from sinking again. A smirk tugged at her lips as she chimed in, "Oh yes, Samuel was always a laughingstock back in his college days."
Samuel gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as though she had wounded him. "Anne! You wound me! I prefer the term 'class clown,' thank you very much. And for the record, people loved me for it."
Anne raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Loved to mock you, perhaps."
Sasha, who had been staring blankly at her plate, couldn't help the faint smile that broke across her face. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Samuel noticed, his grin widening like he'd just scored a personal victory.
"See? Even Sasha finds me hilarious," he said, pointing at her. "Go on, Sasha, tell them how funny I am. Or at least lie about it—my ego needs this."
Sasha rolled her eyes but said nothing, the barest trace of amusement lingering on her face. The exchange, though lighthearted and silly, seemed to ease the tension just enough to make the room feel a little less suffocating.
"Thought so," Sasha said, her voice calm but laced with playful sarcasm. "He definitely gives off those class clown vibes."
Samuel straightened up in his chair, feigning indignation. "Hey, a class clown tag didn't stop me from scoring good marks, did it?" he replied, a hint of pride glimmering in his tone.
Anne tilted her head, her smirk both sharp and amused. "Oh, sure. He was excellent… at not failing," she quipped. "Doesn't mean he was a good student."
The jab hung in the air for a second before I couldn't hold it in anymore. I covered my mouth, trying to stifle my laughter, but a small burst escaped. The sudden amusement caught me off guard, and I nearly choked on my food. Quickly, I grabbed my glass and drank some water, coughing lightly as I set it back down.
Samuel looked at me with mock offense, leaning forward as though he'd just been betrayed. "And here I thought you'd be on my side!"
"Sorry," I managed between breaths, still fighting the tail end of my laughter. "But she's got a point."
Anne, clearly enjoying herself, leaned back in her chair with a satisfied expression. Sasha's lips curled slightly, her earlier tension giving way to the faintest smile. The awkwardness that had filled the room just minutes ago had started to dissipate, replaced by something lighter—something that felt almost normal again.
Sasha took another round of champagne, I was quite impressed by my choice of hard drinks. It had a palatable taste for both the powerful ladies.
"Let's dance tonight," Anne said, her voice unusually cheerful. "I've got a great playlist for it."
Samuel raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, Anne," he began with mock seriousness, "your choice in music is… let's just say it leans on the slower side. Mine's fast and groovy."
Anne smirked, her retort swift. "Yes, fast and groovy, like a heart attack. Nothing says 'fun' like a rock metal song that feels like it's trying to induce cardiac arrest."
Samuel gasped in mock outrage. "And your soft piano music is designed to do what? Lull everyone into a coma?"
The two exchanged playful barbs, their words bouncing back and forth like a spirited ping-pong match. Sasha and I glanced at each other, silently sharing the same thought: It's like watching two dogs barking over a bone neither of them wants.
"I personally prefer jazz," Sasha said, her tone calm yet supportive of Anne.
"And I," I chimed in, siding with Samuel, "prefer rock metal. There's nothing like moving your head to the gritty sound and rhythm."
Samuel pointed at me triumphantly. "See? A person of taste right here!"
Anne rolled her eyes, though her smirk remained. "Taste? Or just tinnitus waiting to happen?"
Sasha chuckled softly, and for the first time that evening, the room felt genuinely light. Their banter, though ridiculous, had managed to chip away at the tension, leaving behind an air of amusement.