‘‘Smile’’

By: MissGangamash
Short Story

TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT “I can’t believe you’re thirty. We’re getting old!”
Beth cries. “It’ll be you next!” shouts the birthday girl from across the table. Beth frowns deeply
and mock cries into her hands. I’m five years younger than the both of them but I keep quiet. It
seems that as soon as you pass twenty-five, you’re basically thirty. Our party is the biggest in the
restaurant- eight rowdy women surrounding a long table at the back of the room. Families and
dates keep turning their heads in our direction, rolling their eyes and sucking their teeth. I feel heat
rise on my cheeks and I send them pleading looks whenever our eyes meet like I am not a part of
the issue. I’m squashed between Samantha and Abby. They’re both Jen’s work friends. I don’t
really know them. As soon as I sat down I regretted my seating decision. Jen was at the head of
the table, too far from me for her to even catch my discomfort. Or maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe
she was having too much fun. This is her thirtieth; after all, she shouldn’t have to worry about me
today. I’ll be fine. I can be fine. I just need to make it through the night. I take a sip of my glass of
wine, knocking my elbow against Samantha’s as I do. She doesn’t notice. It’s like I’m not even
here. There’s a phone being passed around the table of a girl’s holiday I wasn’t invited to. Jen had
told me it was nothing personal, they just thought I would feel left out because I didn’t work with
them but I knew the truth. I’m not as fun as I used to be. But that’s not my fault. The phone
reaches me and there’s a picture of Jen, Samantha, Beth, Abby and Georgie on a beach
somewhere in Spain drinking margaritas in their bikinis. They all look so happy it makes a lump
swell in my throat. But I manage a smile and look around the table. “Looks like you had a great
time,” I say, knowing no one is listening. Samantha takes the phone and starts talking about a
barman that had hit on her that night, turning to block me from even pretending to be involved in
the conversation. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and the pressure of tears hits the backs of my
eyes. My skin feels itchy. I can’t breathe right. The toilets are all the way on the other side of the
restaurant and our chairs and crammed so close together I am going to cause a fuss if I try to leave.
But I am not going to cry in front of these girls. Not after I promised Jen I would be fine. Not after
telling her I’ll be okay for her big day. That I will manage. That I will enjoy myself. “Excuse me,”
I say to Abby. She’s deep in conversation with Georgie, her wine glass sloshing as she laughs
hysterically. “Excuse me.” My cheeks are burning. My heart is pounding so fast it hurts. I jerk my
chair back, taking one of Abby’s chair legs with me. Her head snaps to me, curls slapping me in
the face. Her expression is one of complete contempt, before she rights herself and smiles politely.
“Sorry, I just need the toilet.” “Oh, sorry!” she apologises overdramatically to make up for
scowling at me. This just brings more attention to us. I manage to get free, my boots knocking
against the bag containing a bottle of champagne I was supposed to give to Jen but I had seated
myself before she had come and I hadn’t built the courage to go over and give it to her. The bar
runs across the length of the restaurant and I have to pass a group of men huddled around the
stools to get to the toilets. I pause behind my chair, gripping the back of it. There are six of them.
They’re being just as rowdy as us but they seem to be getting none of the dirty looks. I can’t tell if
there is a gap behind them or I am going to have to squeeze my way through the pack. But I’m
already on my feet now. The girls are already giving me weird looks. My eyes flicker to Jen. She’s
looking at me, eyebrow lifted in concern. I show her a smile I hope doesn’t look too forced and
push myself from the chair and in the direction of the men. There isn’t space behind them. I want
the world to split open and swallow me whole. Should I turn back to the table? But I can’t not go
to the toilet now. I’d look like a weirdo. They already think I’m weird enough. “Sorry, love, do
you need to get past?” one of the men says, noticing me standing awkwardly beside him. “Yes,
thank you,” I reply, head bent so I don’t have to look him in the eyes. He moves aside but not far
enough. I bite down on my tongue and slip through the bodies. Their backs and chests press
against me. The bare skin of my arms prickles at the feel of their clothing. The mixture of their
aftershaves assaults my nose and makes my eyes sting. One of them calls to the other, a deep
baritone right down my ear. Revulsion sends me dizzy. The other man answers and I freeze. That
voice. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere.