Tickle by Bree Williams

It was good to see them. It really was. 

Teagan was leafing through the cocktail menu with her chin in her hand. She had bangs now. Weird. Not that bangs were a mistake for her - it was cute, if a little twee - but it surprised me to see how much it changed the shape of her face. She looked younger now than she had in college. “Okay. Do we think two pm is too early for an espresso martini?”

“No one’s gonna turn you in,” Paige said. She was sitting to Teagan’s left, slung across her chair like she had thrown herself into it. That hadn’t changed. There was a loose-limbed ease to Paige that had fascinated a nineteen year old me. “You’re firmly in your wine mom era. Get what you want.”

“So true,” Teagan said, snapping the menu shut. “It’s what I deserve.” 

“How old are your kids now?” I asked, more out of politeness than interest. I had caught occasional photos of three dark haired, coltish little boys hanging off her hips on Instagram over the years, but I didn’t know their names, or when she might have had them. 

Teagan’s shoulders squared with pride. “Nine, six and two. Emmett’s starting first grade this year, so I’m getting a couple hours of my day back.” 

“Three boys,” Paige said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you do it.” 

“Edibles,” Teagan said, simply. 

It was good to see them, I told myself again. We hadn’t caught up in years, and getting out of the house was good for me. It was healthy. I dragged my eyes down the menu, considering and dismissing a burger, a plate of ravioli and grilled lamb in turn. My appetite wasn’t strong, and it felt like a loaded choice anyway. It would reflect on me in one way or another. 

“Two is all I can handle,” Paige said. “Absolutely no more. We are done.”

“Wasn’t Josh bugging you about it a few months ago?” Teagan asked, tilting her head. 

“He can bug me all he wants, being pregnant again would bug me more.” 

A server appeared at their table, smiling a skillfully deployed customer service smile. “Have we decided, ladies?” 

“The poke bowl, for me,” Paige said, handing over her menu. 

“I’ll try the skirt steak,” Teagan said. “And can I get that with an espresso martini?” She hadn’t been kidding. 

The waiter turned to me, and I glanced back down at my menu, no more decided than I had been when I sat down. “I’ll have the Cobb,” I said when the silence stretched too long, landing on what felt like the safest choice. 

The waiter disappeared, and I was sad to see him go. Yes, it was good to see them, of course it was good to see them, but every time we got together, I could feel our shared foundation eroding beneath us. We grew farther apart with every little milestone, every divergent experience, every birthday and every work trip and every library book read cover to wrinkled cover. I understood them less and less, and the distance made my stomach clench. It was hard to be alone with my friends now. It was hard to hear their conversations and know when to contribute, or what to say. It got harder every time. 

I was relieved when our plates were slid in front of us. Eating was a respite from talking. The salad I was presented with was an upscale-joint-in-Burbank kind of Cobb, a tidy serving of vivid greens heavier on tomato and chicken breast than bacon or egg. I wasn’t hungry enough to be disappointed. 

“So,” Paige said, turning her attention to me after a few bites of tuna. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to sound evasive or suspicious, but Paige and Teagan exchanged a look I couldn’t read, and my stomach gave a sickening flutter. 

“How’s your program going?” Teagan asked. “You were going back, right?” 

I skewered an enormous cherry tomato and bit half of it off the end of my fork, intending to take my time chewing. I had been workshopping answers to this question since Teagan had resurrected the group chat for a lunch invite, and I was still empty handed. No combination of words and tone could protect me from humiliation. 

“The fuck?” I said. 

My friends looked at me in complete bewilderment, but a distraction had presented itself. Something was tickling the inside of my cheek, like a popcorn shell lodged loosely between my teeth. Or several popcorn shells. I held a finger up, asking them for a second while I poked at it with my tongue, trying to dislodge it. 

Paige’s face went slack. Teagan’s eyes grew comically wide. 

“Hang on, there’s something…” A tickle ran down my hand. It was dancing along the bare hollow of my wrist. I looked down, and it took a moment to register what I was seeing. Hundreds of minute black bodies flowed across my skin like dark water. Hundreds of fine haired legs rose and fell. Thousands of pinprick eyes looked back at me, the first and only thing they had beheld in this world. 

A soft white snarl of what looked like wet cotton hung from my cherry tomato, split open from the bite I had taken. Spiderlings fled the ruined egg sac, racing down my arm and falling to the table, fragile legs flailing. 

From between my parted lips, a single spider crested and stuck in my lip gloss. 

Someone was screaming. I learned much, much later that it had been me. 

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Check out more creativity from Bree at larkspurns.bsky.social