Ambiguity

WRITTEN: SEPTEMBER 27, 2005

“Ambiguity”
Tim stood up suddenly, violently jarring the table and sending a small bowl of wonton soup coasting across the table’s heavily-lacquered surface. Nadia stopped the bowl with her hand, touching it in such a way that she did not burn herself; a trick she had learned from living next to a restaurant kitchen from the ages of fifteen to nineteen.
Tim’s primary thought at that moment was that searing-hot Teriyaki sauce has no place in one’s lap. This, of course, was the reason he had stood up so suddenly.
Nadia passed him a wad of napkins to use, because teriyaki stains khaki like nobody’s business and she was fully aware of how often Tim wore those pants. He was very fond of that particular pair.
“You alright?” She asked, as he attempted to wipe away the teriyaki ineffectively. He didn’t have much experience in “laundry-doing”, but she didn’t want to help him in this instance. The teriyaki has spilled in his lap, and quite frankly, someone’s lap is a rather personal region. It would have been immensely awkward, to say the least, and especially so in a mostly-empty Thai restaurant at eleven-o-clock at night.
Eventually, he gave up on saving the pants and sat back down to finish his meal. He hadn’t had a chance to eat with Nadia in a month.
Their relationship was non-romantic mostly by accident. They had met in one of those highly-improbable events which, despite their name, seem to happen all the time to specific people. In their sophomore year of college they had both been eating at adjacent tables alone, in the middle of the night during the week. Eventually they had a conversation, and they had become friends. After two years, they were still friends.
“Gotta love teriyaki sauce.” He said.
“Yeah…” She said in a falsely-nostalgic tone. “Gotta love that soup that you were eating.” She added, at which point he noticed that she was eating his soup.
He reached across the table to take his soup back stealthily, while she was cutting a dumpling with her spoon. When his hand got near the bowl, she hit him on the knuckles with the underside of the spoon.
“Mine now.” She laughed.
“You’re a cruel woman, Nadia.” He said, joking back at her.
“How many times have I heard that one from a guy…?” She said, pretending to tally up the total number.
“How many men have you stolen food from?” He asked, yet again not seriously, in a humorous attempt to help her construct a total.
“Every one I found attractive enough to talk to.” She said, absent-mindedly.
This struck Tim as a very peculiar phrase. She had stolen soup from him, and she had also stolen soup from men she was attracted to. By extension, then, she should be—He stopped that train of thought immediately and dismissed the phrase as a misspoken sentence. It troubled him that he had thought that in the first place.
Was it: 1. some kind of subtle remark? Or 2. Was he just imagining this, and therefore, becoming subconsciously attracted to her?
Now it bothered him. Now he had to test it. He decided to say something ambiguous and see how she reacted.
“Well, every woman I’ve ever been attracted to has eaten for free.” He said.
Was that some kind of hint? Nadia thought. Or am I just imagining things? Wait—why am I thinking about this?
She decided, after a moment, to use a sentence what would indirectly cause him to reveal them meaning behind his sentence.
“Well, who’s paying for this, then?” She said, wondering to herself why she had suddenly become so open to the idea that Tim may be attracted to her. The only answer was that she—
She sneezed, a subconscious method of terminating that train of thought. The kind of sneeze which came out, however, was uncharacteristically feminine.
The waiter came out with the check just as she sneezed.
Was that an attempt to corner me into responding? Does she know? He thought. Wait! Know what? It’s not like I have feelings for her…He then stumbled across something slightly surprising: Oh, crap. I do, don’t I?(/i}
Yeah, you do. You know it. His subconscious responded.
Come on, you jerk…take the bill. Nadia thought Wait! Why am I rooting for him taking the bill? Am I hoping his going to affirm—oh, wait, uh oh? It’s been two years and now I’m in love with him? Well, Fate just gave me a very impolite hand gesture, didn’t it?
And how long has this been going on? Her conscious mind queried her subconscious. It responded: About 23 months.
There was a long, awkward silence, that both of them neglected to notice, lost in their own thoughts.
Take the bill, you coward. His mind commanded him.
Is he going to take it? Should I take it? Do I look like an idiot? She thought.
His hand progressed slowly towards the bill, like he wasn’t exactly sure where it was. Nadia watched his hand with great interest.
He’s taking the bill! She thought enthusiastically.
Does she know what it means when I take the bill? He thought, unsure.
His fingers touched the bill, but they never left the table. Nadia had leapt across the table and thrown her arms around his neck, pinning his hand in the process.