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Every time the bell on the door of the restaurant chimed, Jean looked over his shoulder to see if it was Marco, only to be disappointed.
“When’s your date getting here?” Marlowe set his menu back on the table, turning his attention towards the man sitting across from him.
“I bet he doesn’t have one,” Hitch idly stirred her water with the straw, her cheek resting in the palm of her other hand, “he’s gonna pretend he got stood up so I feel sorry for him and pay for his shit.”
“Will you guys shut the hell up? He's just...late.” Jean bit the insides of his cheeks, resisting the urge to look out the window to see if he could catch sight of Marco on the streets.
“Oh, come on, Jean,” she cooed at him, “it’s ok if he’s not real at all. The only action you ever got was with me.”
Marlowe huffed.
“Baby,” Hitch purred, “don’t be so upset, he couldn’t even get it u-”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Jean pulled out his phone, checking for any messages from Marco. None. He drummed his fingers on the table and bounced his knee under it.
Marco was never late for anything. Even when he showed up to his apartment for the first time Jean idly suggested 5:30, assuming that the other man was like him and would arrive sometime between 5:45 and 6:00, only for him to show up at 5:30 on the dot. Seriously, it was like the second the minute hand hit 6 Marco was knocking on his door.
He checked his phone again, just to see if Marco had sent something in the 30 seconds that passed since he last looked.
Nope.
The bell rang again, and Jean turned to look. Another couple - a short woman with messy black hair and a taller man with a pushed-back undercut. Damn it, where the Hell was Marco.
He turned back towards Hitch and Marlowe, his back facing the door again.
“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable,” Marlowe pinched the bridge of his nose, “for not wanting to hear about how my wife slept with the man we’re on a double date with!”
“If it wasn’t for all the people I fucked before, you wouldn’t be getting the greatest sex of your life,” she sucked her teeth, “which you are, by the way.” Hitch lifted the straw from her drink and pointed it at Marlowe, “honestly, you should be grateful,” she snickered, “maybe you should even thank him!” Hitch turned to face Jean, her grin growing even wider, “besides it’s not even a double date - he’s just third-wheeling!” She stuck the straw back in the glass, ice clattering around it, as if to punctuate her sentence.
“I’m not!” Jean's voice was loud enough for other patrons to turn towards their booth.
“Oh?” Hitch pressed her index finger to the base of her throat. “One,” then pointed at Marlowe, “two,” and finally at Jean, “three.” She tapped her finger against her chin, “seems a bit like a tricycle here to me.”
Jean could feel the back of his neck start to heat up, “he’s coming, shut up!” He dragged his fingers through his hair, shaking it out and fluffing it. He was starting to regret not taking an extra five minutes to comb his hair before coming out.
Before Hitch could open her mouth for another smart retort, the bell above the entrance to the restaurant chimed, signaling the arrival of another customer. Jean sank down in his seat, not wanting to turn around a third time and face Hitch’s mockery.
Marlowe shifted his gaze to look. “Isn’t that the priest who married us?”
“Huh! It is!” Hitch’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of surprise. “What a coincidence!” She waved at him, a gentle smile playing at her lips.
Jean let out a sigh of relief. Third time's the charm, he supposed.
Marco slid into the booth next to Jean, “it’s nice to see you two again!” He smiled warmly, “I haven’t seen either of you in church since the wedding.”
Hitch’s eyes followed Marco as he sat, quirking an eyebrow. “Mommy and daddy would only pay if I had a church wedding.”
“I’m Jewish,” Marlowe replied flatly.
“Ah,” Marco’s smile faltered for a moment, unsure how to proceed.
Jean wrapped his arm around Marco’s shoulders, tugging him closer. “Told you he’d come.”
“Wait…” Hitch made a face like she was asked to solve a Millenium Prize Problem without a calculator. She and Marlowe turned to look at each other.
Marlowe was the first to turn away, looking Jean dead in the eyes. “Your date is…”
Jean grinned. “Father Bodt.”
Before Marco could interject to ask everyone to, please, call him Marco, he was interrupted. He couldn’t even get his mouth open before Hitch slammed her hand against the table and laughed so raucously that it was difficult to tell if the table was shaking as a result of the sheer force of her laughter or the blow.
Marco chuckled, unsure of what else to do, and looked at Jean.
“Oh God, Oh God,” Hitch swiped her fingers across her eyes, “I’m actually crying, oh my God.” She snorted, covering her lips with the tips of her fingers, “this degenerate with a priest ?”
Marlowe put his hand on her back forcefully, “I think what she’s trying to say,” he shot her a venomous glare, “is that she’s surprised to see you here, Father.”
Hitch took a sip of her water, “you know the first time I went to Jean’s apartment I saw all these weird dildos - all different shapes. None of ‘em looked human. So I say to him ‘you better not be planning on putting any of those in me ,’” she put the glass back on the table and ran her fingers through the condensation. “And you know what he says?” She looked at Marco expectantly, running her finger around the rim of her glass.
He tugged at his collar. “Um...w-what did he say?”
Hitch cleared her throat, lowering the pitch of her voice to do what was, presumably, an imitation of Jean. “Oh, no. Those are for me. Sorry.” She burst into laughter again.
The waitress’s arrival just seconds later reaffirmed Marco’s belief in God.
“Ready to order?”
Before Marco could open his mouth to say no, he wasn’t - he just got here and barely got to take a look at the menu before Hitch started talking about Jean’s weird dildos. The blonde woman responded in the affirmative. He would have to quickly scan the menu while everyone else ordered.
“I’ll have the chicken caesar salad,” Hitch said.
“Grilled or fried?” The waitress asked.
“Grilled,” she replied immediately.
The waitress nodded, scribbling it on her pad. She turned to Marlowe.
“I’ll have the BLT”
Jean closed his menu, “I’ll get the same.”
She turned to Marco expectantly.
“Um,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I’ll have the grilled chicken caesar salad as well.”
“Well, that’s easy enough!” The waitress said, tucking her notepad back into her apron. “Holler if you need anything else!”
Her departure, in turn, reaffirmed Marco’s belief in Satan.
“You know, I always knew he was a sex freak,” Hitch tilted her chin towards Jean, “whenever I visited Marlowe I always heard him grunting and moaning up a storm all night, so I thought to myself ‘hm. This guy fucks!’” She fiddled with the silverware on the table. “But then I realized I only ever heard him! Nobody else.” She tilted her head to the right, pressing her index finger into her cheek, “I mean I was right about the sex freak part, but the only action he got,” she paused for a moment, laughing as though she were telling the funniest joke in the world, “was with his right hand!” She pointed at his right hand for emphasis, despite the fact that her audience most definitely did not need it.
“And your parents’ priest, apparently,” Marlowe added.
Jean rolled his eyes. “I use my left hand, too.”
Marco’s jaw dropped. “Jean!”
Marlowe grimaced. “I’m sorry, Father,” he clasped his hands in front of him, “I’m sure even in your confessional you never hear talk as vile as this.”
Marco choked on his spit, bringing his fist to his mouth to play it off as a cough.
Jean grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the shit that goes on in there.”
With a knowing smirk, Hitch put both elbows on the table, interlocking her fingers and resting her chin on them, “oh I couldn’t imagine.”
The two of them shared a laugh, Marlowe giving Hitch a confused look and Marco giving Jean a cold glare - the intensity of which was dampened by the pink flush on his cheeks.
Marco was grateful when the waitress returned with their entrees.
Marlowe took a bite of his sandwich and turned to Marco, “so, Father -”
Marco cut him off. “Please, you can just call me Marco.”
A nod. “Marco...If you don’t mind me asking, was there something holding you up?”
“Yeah, why were you so late?” Hitch spoke around a mouthful of lettuce.
“I’m so sorry! When I was walking over, I saw some kids whose kite got caught in a tree,” Marco poured the dressing over his salad, “I wanted to help them out but lost track of time in the process.” He took a bite, continuing his story after he swallowed, “it was really stuck in there, I don’t think they could’ve gotten it down themselves.”
Jean picked a leaf out of Marco’s hair.
Marco laughed nervously, watching as Jean flicked the leaf onto the floor. “I run some youth groups and have some younger siblings, so I couldn’t just leave them.”
“Ooh, look at you! Saint Bodt over here, huh?” Hitch dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, giggling behind it.
“I just did what anyone else would do,” Marco said, a blush once again dusting his cheeks. Jean’s friends were...certainly something. Hitch seemed much louder and, dare he say, obnoxious than her well-kept appearance would have suggested. At least her brazen personality was offset by her husband, a man who was just as reasonable and calm as he seemed.
“Jean wouldn’t,” she replied, not missing a beat.
“Fuck them kids,” Jean quickly shot back, he and Hitch falling into laughter.
Marlowe sighed. “They’re insufferable, aren’t they?”
“And yet you’re still here. Curious!” Hitch laughed.
“You’re the dumbass who married her,” Jean chimed in.
Marlowe rolled his eyes.
“So, how did you two meet?” Marco asked.
“Me and Marlowe? Or me and Jean?”
“Marlowe,” Marco quickly replied. He didn’t know how much more about Jean he wanted to hear from Hitch.
She smiled, “it’s not all that exciting. I cheated off of him in bio.” She took another bite of her salad.
“And I told her if she wanted to pass that bad, maybe she could consider studying.”
Hitch twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, “he started tutoring me.” She winked at Marco, “then I started to tutor him.”
Marlowe cleared his throat, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “How did you meet Jean?”
Marco did not like the way Hitch started grinning at him after Marlowe asked. “It was at your wedding, actually.”
Jean nodded. “I just had to introduce myself.”
He and Hitch laughed again.
“I am just constantly doing you favors, huh Jean?”
“The biggest favor you could do anyone is shutting your mouth,” Jean said between bites of his sandwich.
Hitch pouted at Marlowe, “won’t you defend me?”
“He has a point.”
The whole table laughed, though Marco felt a little guilty joining in.
“They’re only this bad when they’re together,” Marlowe told him, probably sensing his discomfort.
Hitch frowned, “yeah, and now that you moved we never get to see each other! I mean, I’m grateful to not have to sleep in that shitty little apartment,” she turned to Jean, “no offense.”
“Gotta make up for lost time,” Jean added.
“Maybe next time we’ll go to McDonald’s so you two can go in the play place while the civilized adults have their own conversation,” Marlowe sipped his water.
When the waitress came back, Hitch took the bill, putting her credit card in it.
“My treat!” She smiled at Marco, “you deserve it after being stuck with this guy,” she jutted her thumb towards Jean.
“So I should pay for Marlowe’s?” Jean shot back.
“I think you owe me more than just one lunch,” Marlowe said, sliding out of the booth after Hitch got her credit card back from the waitress.
“Which means we’ll have to go out again!” Hitch grinned, holding her hand out to Marco. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Marco.”
Marco gripped her hand in his and shook it. “Likewise!”
He watched the two of them leave, unsure if his heart would be able to handle going out with them again.