A Veneer of Perfection by Benaissa Bouhaja
Susan and Don go on a double date with old friends who seem to be the perfect couple.
The sun was setting behind the towering buildings as the street lights flickered on. Don and Susan sat in their small rented coupe, one of many cars lined up bumper to bumper in rush hour traffic. Don's eyes were fixated on the red lights in front of him as Susan glared down at her phone.
They flew into the city the night before. Don had a conference to attend the next day, and Susan, having never been, wanted to come along to do some sight-seeing. Although Don was originally excited for the few days to spend by himself in a new city, he didn't want to come up with some excuse as to why she shouldn't come. In the days leading up to the trip, Susan posed the idea about reaching out to old friends of theirs, Ted and Minnie, who had moved to the city years ago. Neither of them had been in contact for some time, and Don agreed that it would be good for them to reconnect. Susan messaged Minnie, and the two of them coordinated the dinner date Don and her were heading to.
The light at the intersection turned green, and one by one, brakes were released. Don pressed down on the gas, clearing through a few intersections before returning to his spot in line.
"Shit, you were supposed to make a right back there, it's saying make a U-turn now," Susan said, turning back towards the street they missed. She exited out of the social media account she was stalking; an old fling had begun dating a girl she knew, propelling her to scroll through both their feeds with tunnel vision.
"What?" Don replied. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Why didn't you point it out to me?"
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
Don stopped in the left turn lane and when the light turned green he flipped the car around and headed back in the direction they were coming from. "You're in charge of GPS," he said, "you're the one that is supposed to pay attention."
"I'm sorry, jeez. It's not like you couldn't have checked, too."
"What is it saying now?"
"I don't know. It's not loading."
"Great," he said. Ahead of them was a long line of red lights. "Just fucking great."
"Well, there you guys are," Minnie cried as Don and Susan walked into the restaurant. By the time they found parking they were almost thirty minutes late.
"So, so sorry," Susan gasped as they reached the table. "We took a few wrong turns and the signal was spotty so the GPS wasn't able to load. It was a nightmare."
"No worries," Ted replied, "It took us forever the first time we tried to find this place. I hope you don't mind, we already ordered our drinks and we got some appetizers on the way."
God, they are still perfect, was Susan's first thought when she saw the two of them get up from their seats. They were both well-dressed, well-polished, and in shape. Susan had gone through Minnie's social accounts repeatedly the past few days: on the plane, in the hotel, on the car ride over. Minnie carried a particular aura around her that exuded pure perfection. Every post of hers was perfectly curated, seamlessly crafted, beautifully aesthetic. Even the ones meant to show little effort expressed a concentration akin to a talented artist. Ted exuded it, too, yet not in Minnie's way, but one that complemented her, as if there could not be one without the other. They were always smiling, always giving cute comments to each other, somehow always effortlessly together. Seeing them together, both online and in person, fed further emptiness into Susan's void of loneliness. Don and her hadn't posted anything of them together in over a year, as though they couldn't even manage a veneer of happiness in their public lives, and the time they spent together felt forced; the both of them wanting something from the other that neither could express.
The four of them sat at a table towards the center of the restaurant's large dining room, under dim orange lights. Waiters dressed in all black button ups as they took orders and brought food and drinks to guests. Distantly, at the bar, the sound of ice shaking in tins rattled over the jazz that encompassed the space between the walls of the restaurant.
Ted and Minnie's drinks arrived; Don and Susan ordered theirs. A whiskey sour for Don, preferably a bourbon whiskey he made sure to add, and a glass of chardonnay for Susan. Not long after, the appetizers were brought to the table and smells of citrus and sea filled their vicinity.
Ted and Minnie hadn't changed at all, Don thought. Minnie's hand had been placed on Ted's lap since they sat down. Their seats close together as if they were sitting on one big chair rather than two separate ones. Noticing it only made the space between Don and Susan more pronounced. Seeing how Minnie was with Ted made him miss the Susan of the past, back when they had first dated, back when they were stuck together like glue.
Susan watched as Don took a shrimp and dipped it into the sauce, taking a bite, then dipping into the sauce again. Her face sneered, and she wanted to say something but didn't.
"I don't understand why they burn the lemon," Ted said, nudging the half-charred lemon half with his fork, turning it over to reveal its smooth unburnt yellow peel.
"They always do it at these sorts of places," Don said.
"I like it," Minnie said. "It adds character."
Ted leaned over and kissed Minnie's head. "You add character." She leaned into him.
Don adjusted himself in his seat and Susan smiled faintly. Ted leaned forward and began to dish himself. Minnie began to speak to Susan. Her hand stayed put.
The night went on. Don and Susan got their drinks, more appetizers were ordered, and then another round of drinks, then they each told the waiter what entree they wanted, and two bottles of wine to go along with it. All throughout, they talked. They talked of work, of new hobbies they were trying, the movies they watched, the shows they hadn't, and the books they planned on reading. They talked about the concerts, and festivals, and vacations they were excited about over the summer. Everything, it seemed, far and between, was spoken of, as they chewed into their food and sipped their wine and cocktails. Sometimes Ted and Minnie would talk just amongst themselves and a subtle silence would fall across the table between Don and Susan. By the time dessert reached the table, each of them was flushed with drunkenness.
Don looked down at his watch. "Holy smokes, it's almost nine."
"Time flies," Ted said.
The waiter dropped the bill off at their table, in the space between Don and Ted. Both men reached for it. Don was determined to foot the bill. Over the years he had watched Ted with a bit of jealousy. The way his career grew exponentially since they were in college together. How he kept his shape even after all the years of going out, drinking until the sun came up. But most of all, jealous of how Minnie still looked at him. The way their presence drew them together. That same presence had been missing between him and Susan for some time now. Now when he looked at her, he only saw an amalgamation of subtle life regrets formed into one person. He knew that she saw it too. If he could just pay their bill, he would have won one small battle in an endless war of self-loathing.
Susan watched the two of them argue over which card should be put down, her attention, for a moment, averted from Minnie. Don had that look of determination, a look she hadn't seen for a while, a look she missed. It made her miss them, how they were, what they had lost as time grew them apart.
Susan turned back to Minnie and asked, "How do you guys do it?"
"Do what?" Minnie asked.
"How do you guys love each other the same way you did after all these years? You guys are still all over each other and so, so infatuated after all this time. I don't mean it in a bad way. I'm just wondering, well, how do you do it?"
"Oh, honey," Minnie's voice dropped a level, a shade of seriousness creeping into her tone. "It's not like that at all."
Don and Ted both looked over now. Their prior back and forth was placed on hold.
"Honey..." Ted started.
"It's alright, Theodore, they're bound to find out at some point."
"Find out what?" Don and Susan asked in unison.
Ted sighed and looked over at Minnie. The slight wrinkles around her eyes flattened.
"Theodore and I have been broken up for about half a year now."
The rush of the restaurant around them halted, deafening the space around. Conversations put on hold. Arguments ceased. Waiter and waitresses, bartenders and bussers, put on standby. They dared not look around the room, though it seemed the piercing feel of eyes were on them from every corner. It felt as if everyone was watching. Everyone was listening. But no one could believe it.
Ted looked like a scared dog, retreating into himself. His upright composure eradicated as his chest caved and shoulders rolled forward. The space between the supposedly perfect couple was suddenly cavernous. Minnie's face held no expression, as if possessed by nothingness itself.
"How come..."
"I thought..."
"It's a transitionary period for us. We decided we were no longer compatible, and we've decided to move on with our lives. We were just...waiting for the right time to make it public."
"But you met us out for dinner."
"You have summer plans together..."
"We do," Ted said, his boisterous voice now a hollow, decrepit version of itself as Don and Susan strained to hear him. "Those plans are all with family or with close friends. It would break their hearts if we were to announce we were over before we had those experiences with them. We aren't ready to have those conversations. We plan to make an announcement after Labor Day. We have been working with a local speech writer here in the area."
"Nowadays that's the only time we actually spend together," Minnie said. "We each have our own apartments now in the city. I've started seeing other people, too." Ted slumped even lower as Minnie added the last part.
"But this long?" Susan asked. She couldn't imagine it. She barely even believed it. Was it some sick joke they were playing on them? But they weren't the type to do something like that. Yet, they didn't seem like the type to hold onto each other by a strand of rotted rope just to appease those around them. She thought back to their posts. They were recent. Where in the timeline of their adventures and stay-ins and selfies had they split?
"Everyone moves in their own time," Minnie replied firmly.
Ted nodded, and when the waiter came back, gave him his card. Don didn't have the fight left in him, looking at Ted, the jealousy that once filled him had dissipated. Pity flooded into the hole it left behind.
It wasn't long before the waiter came back to return the card. Ted signed the receipt and they all got up immediately after. They walked single file through the tables, passed the people still enjoying their meals and their own companies, and out the front door where they exchanged awkward hugs with each other before parting ways.
Don and Susan walked to the parking garage and got into their car. The rental smelled of synthetic cleaner. For a while, the only sound within the car doors was their breathing. The city outside had been drowned out as they boxed themselves into the vehicle. Susan was holding back tears as Don sat in the driver's seat, palms sweaty on the wheel.
Finally, Susan leaned over and pulled Don's face to hers. Their lips pressed together, first softly then more aggressively. Both their hearts raced, flooded with emotions. The years spent together, the good ones, the bad ones, were all expressed between their mouths in that moment.
"I love you," Don said.
Susan pulled away from him. The tears in her eyes could no longer be held back and began to flow down her face. He could smell the wine on her breath still as her face held close to his.
"I want to separate," she said.
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
They flew into the city the night before. Don had a conference to attend the next day, and Susan, having never been, wanted to come along to do some sight-seeing. Although Don was originally excited for the few days to spend by himself in a new city, he didn't want to come up with some excuse as to why she shouldn't come. In the days leading up to the trip, Susan posed the idea about reaching out to old friends of theirs, Ted and Minnie, who had moved to the city years ago. Neither of them had been in contact for some time, and Don agreed that it would be good for them to reconnect. Susan messaged Minnie, and the two of them coordinated the dinner date Don and her were heading to.
The light at the intersection turned green, and one by one, brakes were released. Don pressed down on the gas, clearing through a few intersections before returning to his spot in line.
"Shit, you were supposed to make a right back there, it's saying make a U-turn now," Susan said, turning back towards the street they missed. She exited out of the social media account she was stalking; an old fling had begun dating a girl she knew, propelling her to scroll through both their feeds with tunnel vision.
"What?" Don replied. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Why didn't you point it out to me?"
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
Don stopped in the left turn lane and when the light turned green he flipped the car around and headed back in the direction they were coming from. "You're in charge of GPS," he said, "you're the one that is supposed to pay attention."
"I'm sorry, jeez. It's not like you couldn't have checked, too."
"What is it saying now?"
"I don't know. It's not loading."
"Great," he said. Ahead of them was a long line of red lights. "Just fucking great."
"Well, there you guys are," Minnie cried as Don and Susan walked into the restaurant. By the time they found parking they were almost thirty minutes late.
"So, so sorry," Susan gasped as they reached the table. "We took a few wrong turns and the signal was spotty so the GPS wasn't able to load. It was a nightmare."
"No worries," Ted replied, "It took us forever the first time we tried to find this place. I hope you don't mind, we already ordered our drinks and we got some appetizers on the way."
God, they are still perfect, was Susan's first thought when she saw the two of them get up from their seats. They were both well-dressed, well-polished, and in shape. Susan had gone through Minnie's social accounts repeatedly the past few days: on the plane, in the hotel, on the car ride over. Minnie carried a particular aura around her that exuded pure perfection. Every post of hers was perfectly curated, seamlessly crafted, beautifully aesthetic. Even the ones meant to show little effort expressed a concentration akin to a talented artist. Ted exuded it, too, yet not in Minnie's way, but one that complemented her, as if there could not be one without the other. They were always smiling, always giving cute comments to each other, somehow always effortlessly together. Seeing them together, both online and in person, fed further emptiness into Susan's void of loneliness. Don and her hadn't posted anything of them together in over a year, as though they couldn't even manage a veneer of happiness in their public lives, and the time they spent together felt forced; the both of them wanting something from the other that neither could express.
The four of them sat at a table towards the center of the restaurant's large dining room, under dim orange lights. Waiters dressed in all black button ups as they took orders and brought food and drinks to guests. Distantly, at the bar, the sound of ice shaking in tins rattled over the jazz that encompassed the space between the walls of the restaurant.
Ted and Minnie's drinks arrived; Don and Susan ordered theirs. A whiskey sour for Don, preferably a bourbon whiskey he made sure to add, and a glass of chardonnay for Susan. Not long after, the appetizers were brought to the table and smells of citrus and sea filled their vicinity.
Ted and Minnie hadn't changed at all, Don thought. Minnie's hand had been placed on Ted's lap since they sat down. Their seats close together as if they were sitting on one big chair rather than two separate ones. Noticing it only made the space between Don and Susan more pronounced. Seeing how Minnie was with Ted made him miss the Susan of the past, back when they had first dated, back when they were stuck together like glue.
Susan watched as Don took a shrimp and dipped it into the sauce, taking a bite, then dipping into the sauce again. Her face sneered, and she wanted to say something but didn't.
"I don't understand why they burn the lemon," Ted said, nudging the half-charred lemon half with his fork, turning it over to reveal its smooth unburnt yellow peel.
"They always do it at these sorts of places," Don said.
"I like it," Minnie said. "It adds character."
Ted leaned over and kissed Minnie's head. "You add character." She leaned into him.
Don adjusted himself in his seat and Susan smiled faintly. Ted leaned forward and began to dish himself. Minnie began to speak to Susan. Her hand stayed put.
The night went on. Don and Susan got their drinks, more appetizers were ordered, and then another round of drinks, then they each told the waiter what entree they wanted, and two bottles of wine to go along with it. All throughout, they talked. They talked of work, of new hobbies they were trying, the movies they watched, the shows they hadn't, and the books they planned on reading. They talked about the concerts, and festivals, and vacations they were excited about over the summer. Everything, it seemed, far and between, was spoken of, as they chewed into their food and sipped their wine and cocktails. Sometimes Ted and Minnie would talk just amongst themselves and a subtle silence would fall across the table between Don and Susan. By the time dessert reached the table, each of them was flushed with drunkenness.
Don looked down at his watch. "Holy smokes, it's almost nine."
"Time flies," Ted said.
The waiter dropped the bill off at their table, in the space between Don and Ted. Both men reached for it. Don was determined to foot the bill. Over the years he had watched Ted with a bit of jealousy. The way his career grew exponentially since they were in college together. How he kept his shape even after all the years of going out, drinking until the sun came up. But most of all, jealous of how Minnie still looked at him. The way their presence drew them together. That same presence had been missing between him and Susan for some time now. Now when he looked at her, he only saw an amalgamation of subtle life regrets formed into one person. He knew that she saw it too. If he could just pay their bill, he would have won one small battle in an endless war of self-loathing.
Susan watched the two of them argue over which card should be put down, her attention, for a moment, averted from Minnie. Don had that look of determination, a look she hadn't seen for a while, a look she missed. It made her miss them, how they were, what they had lost as time grew them apart.
Susan turned back to Minnie and asked, "How do you guys do it?"
"Do what?" Minnie asked.
"How do you guys love each other the same way you did after all these years? You guys are still all over each other and so, so infatuated after all this time. I don't mean it in a bad way. I'm just wondering, well, how do you do it?"
"Oh, honey," Minnie's voice dropped a level, a shade of seriousness creeping into her tone. "It's not like that at all."
Don and Ted both looked over now. Their prior back and forth was placed on hold.
"Honey..." Ted started.
"It's alright, Theodore, they're bound to find out at some point."
"Find out what?" Don and Susan asked in unison.
Ted sighed and looked over at Minnie. The slight wrinkles around her eyes flattened.
"Theodore and I have been broken up for about half a year now."
The rush of the restaurant around them halted, deafening the space around. Conversations put on hold. Arguments ceased. Waiter and waitresses, bartenders and bussers, put on standby. They dared not look around the room, though it seemed the piercing feel of eyes were on them from every corner. It felt as if everyone was watching. Everyone was listening. But no one could believe it.
Ted looked like a scared dog, retreating into himself. His upright composure eradicated as his chest caved and shoulders rolled forward. The space between the supposedly perfect couple was suddenly cavernous. Minnie's face held no expression, as if possessed by nothingness itself.
"How come..."
"I thought..."
"It's a transitionary period for us. We decided we were no longer compatible, and we've decided to move on with our lives. We were just...waiting for the right time to make it public."
"But you met us out for dinner."
"You have summer plans together..."
"We do," Ted said, his boisterous voice now a hollow, decrepit version of itself as Don and Susan strained to hear him. "Those plans are all with family or with close friends. It would break their hearts if we were to announce we were over before we had those experiences with them. We aren't ready to have those conversations. We plan to make an announcement after Labor Day. We have been working with a local speech writer here in the area."
"Nowadays that's the only time we actually spend together," Minnie said. "We each have our own apartments now in the city. I've started seeing other people, too." Ted slumped even lower as Minnie added the last part.
"But this long?" Susan asked. She couldn't imagine it. She barely even believed it. Was it some sick joke they were playing on them? But they weren't the type to do something like that. Yet, they didn't seem like the type to hold onto each other by a strand of rotted rope just to appease those around them. She thought back to their posts. They were recent. Where in the timeline of their adventures and stay-ins and selfies had they split?
"Everyone moves in their own time," Minnie replied firmly.
Ted nodded, and when the waiter came back, gave him his card. Don didn't have the fight left in him, looking at Ted, the jealousy that once filled him had dissipated. Pity flooded into the hole it left behind.
It wasn't long before the waiter came back to return the card. Ted signed the receipt and they all got up immediately after. They walked single file through the tables, passed the people still enjoying their meals and their own companies, and out the front door where they exchanged awkward hugs with each other before parting ways.
Don and Susan walked to the parking garage and got into their car. The rental smelled of synthetic cleaner. For a while, the only sound within the car doors was their breathing. The city outside had been drowned out as they boxed themselves into the vehicle. Susan was holding back tears as Don sat in the driver's seat, palms sweaty on the wheel.
Finally, Susan leaned over and pulled Don's face to hers. Their lips pressed together, first softly then more aggressively. Both their hearts raced, flooded with emotions. The years spent together, the good ones, the bad ones, were all expressed between their mouths in that moment.
"I love you," Don said.
Susan pulled away from him. The tears in her eyes could no longer be held back and began to flow down her face. He could smell the wine on her breath still as her face held close to his.
"I want to separate," she said.
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