Mila sat in her seat and stuck her tongue out at me, then turned and pointed at the group.
"Aren't you going to apologize? Running your mouths like that, dragging me into it and making Dawn misunderstand me."
The group immediately raised their glasses, all giggles.
"Sorry, sorry, our mouths got out of line."
Their eyes were bored, impatient. Not one of them actually thought they'd done anything wrong.
My chest felt tight and heavy, but I still let Benedict pull me down into a seat.
The whole table was spicy Tex-Mex, layer after layer of red chili oil, the heat sharp enough to close my throat.
Mila loved spicy food.
But I was from up north. I couldn't handle even a little heat.
Benedict served Mila her food with practiced ease, peeling her shrimp for her, then pulled a hair tie from his pocket and gathered up the strands that had come loose, tying them back like it was second nature.
Mila patted his chest and complained with a laugh.
"Look at him, fussing over everything, treating me like I'm your wife. So annoying, honestly."
Someone beside them jumped in right away.
"Benedict, that's cold, man. Taking care of another girl right in front of your girlfriend."
Only then did Benedict seem to remember me at all. He picked up a bit of shrimp with his chopsticks and dropped it into my bowl.
The shrimp still had its shell on.
He seemed to have forgotten too. I'm allergic to seafood.
I looked down at the shrimp in my bowl and thought how absurd it was.
The conversation quickly circled back to their own familiar world.
I sat off to the side, like someone dragged in at the last minute just to fill a chair.
Until someone suddenly turned the topic to me.
"Where's Dawn headed after graduation? Found a job yet?"
Another one laughed. "Don't tell me she's actually going to live off Benedict?"
Benedict laughed too, as if smoothing things over for me.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Then, as if he'd finally remembered something, he turned to look at me.
"Weren't you prepping for that interview at the foreign company? How'd it go?"
The hand holding my chopsticks tightened, little by little.
The night before that interview, I was so nervous I couldn't sleep at all, because my spoken English was weak, so weak I stumbled through even my own introduction.
I took my script to Benedict, wanting him to listen to me run through it once.
But he had his earbuds in, on a video call with Mila, editing her application essays.
I stood there waiting a long time before he finally took out one earbud and looked at me, irritated.
"I'm helping Mila with her essays right now."
"Your speaking is too far behind. Me drilling with you won't help, it's just wasting time."
He looked back down at his laptop and said, offhand,
"Why don't you sign up for a beginner's class, start from the basics."
Afterward I practiced on my own for a long time, recording myself on my phone every day, correcting my pronunciation line by line.
But on the day of the interview, I got cut anyway.
I was heartbroken then, but I never told him.
I kept thinking I'd wait until I found a job, until I was a little less of an embarrassment, and then give him some good news.
The private room was still waiting for my answer.
Mila watched me, a trace of pity in her eyes.
Benedict watched me too, pushing for a reply.
I said calmly,
"I didn't get it."
I lifted my eyes and looked at Benedict.
"So I'm not staying."
"After graduation, I'm going home."
"Benedict, let's break up."
The room suddenly burst into laughter, drowning out my voice.
Someone had dug up a photo of Mila from her high school study-abroad trip somewhere.
"Never thought our Miss Mila could ever look that rough."
Mila flushed instantly, draped herself over Benedict's back, tugged at his ear, and ordered him in that coy, whining way of hers,
"Benedict, go deal with them, quick!"
