Cream of Tartar

Chapter 7: Grounded

"You again!" Tar lunges at me. The restaurant patrons all move to hold him back. He struggles against them but can't break free because he only goes to the gym 4 days a week instead of 5, like a freaking loser.

"Crema!" Laim yells, "Who is that guy?!"

"Tar! I literally just told you about him," I say as I cross my hands over my chest. Some best friend Laim is turning out to be. I shake my head in utter dismay.

"Oh! That guy that looks like an Abercrombie model who keeps pouncing on you for no reason."

"Exactly! You remembered!" I say, beaming. Laim is the bestest friend ever!

"You weren't lying about him looking like an Abercrombie model," Laim admits as he inspects Tar's figure appreciatively.

"When have I ever lied to you?"

Laim turns back to look at me with a raised eyebrow, "You really want to go there, Crema?"

"Go where?" I ask confused.

"It's a figure of speech, you braindead idiot!" Tar rudely interrupts my conversation with my BFFL, while trying to make another lunge for me.

Laim glares at Tar. I glare at Laim glaring at Tar. Tar glares at me glaring at Laim glaring at Tar.

Someone clears their throat, "Can I let go of this raging bull of a man? My hot chocolate is getting colder by the second."

"Whatever," I dismiss the patrons with a wave of my hand.

Tar rolls his shoulders back and shakes his feet, clearly relishing in his newfound freedom.

"You," he points to me, "and me. Outside. Now" Why is Tar talking like a caveman?

"You and I are standing inside," I correct the neanderthal, shaking my head at his truly pathetic grammar.

Tar screams into his hands, "You and I are going to walk outside so that we can have a talk."

"Oh, that makes way more sense."

"Can I come too?" Laim asks, with his puppy dog eyes.

"No!" Tar and I answer in sync.

"Oh ok. I'll see you in the next ItELWbUCSWMWBHNRtt2C1000 lecture?"

"I guess."

"Are you sure you're ok to be alone with him? He seems to have some serious anger management issues."

"Ugh, stop trying to control me! You're not my real mom!"

"I never said I was your mom?"

"I never said you were either! But you're sure as hell acting like her. You're trying to make me see reason and stopping me from making questionable decisions. How dare you!" I scream as I shake my finger at Laim.

"I'm sorry?"

"Apology accepted. Now can you please stop talking so I can go and see what Tar has to say?"

"Yeah man. Shut the fuck up," Tar concurs.

"I'm sorry I was just trying to be a good friend."

"That doesn't sound like shutting up to me," I berate my best friend.

Laim looks down and flosses out of the most popular coffee shop/Italian fusion restaurant on campus - Rattucino.

"Shall we?" Tar asks as he holds the door open.

As soon as I'm halfway out of the building, he lets go of the door and it hits me in the face. I fall to the floor in pain, wailing on my trip down. Tar also falls to the floor but in a fit of laughter.

I stand up abruptly and ignoring the red river of blood running out of my nose, leap on Tar, flip him onto his front and begin my brutal assault; massaging the knots in his neck.

"Is this ok?" I ask as I knead a particularly tight area.

"Yeah."

"Let me know if it stops being ok. We can stop at any time. Because I know what consent looks like."

Tar hums in agreement as a young couple bustles around us so they can get into the most popular coffee shop/Italian fusion restaurant on campus, Rattucino.

I take my phone out of bag and play Massage Therapy Playlist #73. I find and light 150 vanilla scented candles for ambience. Finally, I pull out my travel-sized sweet almond oil. I squeeze some onto my hands before returning my hands to Tar's neck.

"Your neck is really tense, have you been feeling stressed lately?" I say to ensure I put the therapy in massage therapy.

Tar smashes his head into the ground as he nods, leaving a puddle of blood in his wake.

"That's no good. What's been happening?"

Tar exhales a shaky breath, "Someone tried to steal something really important to me yesterday."

"That's no good. I can only imagine what that feels like," I repeat the only empathetic response I know since I'm not actually a licensed therapist, "Why was this thing so important to you?"

"I don't feel comfortable disclosing that information to a relative stranger."

"Fair enough," I shrug as I continue massaging, "You said this person tried to steal your important thing but didn't?"

"Yes, some random girl just waltzed into my room and grabbed my book."

"What a bitch," I say with a vigorous shake of my head, "Young people these days... they have absolutely no manners. What happened next?"

"I grabbed it back from her."

"Good for you! And then what happened?"

"I kept running into that thief - at parties, on campus, at coffee shop/Italian fusion restaurants."

"What are the chances?"

"Higher than you'd think. She still won't apologise for what she did."

"Ugh, some people are so inconsiderate of other people's feelings. If that was me - not that I'd ever steal anything from anyone - I would apologise."

"Would you now?"

"Yeah, but like I said I wouldn't ever be in that situation." I remove my hands from Tar and blow out the 150 candles, feeling lightheaded as I stand, "That'll be $200 please."

Tar begrudgingly fishes two Benjamins out of his wallet and hands them to me with a smirk, his long but equally short fingers brushing against mine for 3.87 seconds longer than necessary to hand someone money and I feel disgruntled at his inefficiency, "I'm ready for my apology."