{"id":2921,"date":"2015-11-27T23:08:48","date_gmt":"2015-11-27T23:08:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2921"},"modified":"2015-11-27T23:09:03","modified_gmt":"2015-11-27T23:09:03","slug":"the-other-woman-by-lana-weinstei","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/the-other-woman-by-lana-weinstei\/","title":{"rendered":"The Other Woman by Lana Weinstei"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"bilt\"<\/a><\/h1>\n

The Other Woman<\/h1>\n

by Lana Weinstein<\/p>\n

The restaurant is crowded and the hum is building as the place quickly fills and the overfilled plates and glasses arrive at the small, closely jammed tables. At the next table, there\u2019s a serious conversation going on, although I can\u2019t quite make out what they\u2019re saying. But he\u2019s talking, and she\u2019s looking sad, and I think to myself, no good will come of this.<\/p>\n

A few tables over, there\u2019s a large group, drinking, raucously laughing and ferociously attacking the buffalo chicken wings dripping with bleu cheese sauce and a plate of greasy-looking onion rings. They order another round and I wonder how many they\u2019ve had already.<\/p>\n

I look at my guy across the table but he\u2019s still staring at his phone. Facebook, Instagram, e-mail \u2013 whatever. He\u2019s not with me; he\u2019s deeply engrossed in another life that consists of interacting with his 3\u201d x 5\u201d screen. The other woman turns out to be his friends\u2026 or people he hasn\u2019t seen for 20 years\u2026 or some political cause he cares about\u2026 or not. He\u2019s staring at pictures of food they\u2019re eating somewhere else, what\u2019s happening at the ball game, their kids\u2019 swim team meet. One thing I do know — he\u2019s not here now.<\/p>\n

I stand up to go to the Women\u2019s Room and I look behind. He hasn\u2019t even noticed that I\u2019ve left. When I return a few minutes later, he gives me a blank stare. \u201cWhere were you?\u201d he asks. \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell me you were leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere were you?\u201d I reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was right here \u2013 I never left the table,\u201d he says with a note of puzzlement in his voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou left the table a long time ago,\u201d I replied. \u201cThe minute you pulled out your phone to check Facebook, you were gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says, \u201cwe\u2019ve been talking all along.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally, what topics have we covered since you asked me whether the beef tacos or honey mustard chicken were better. And you know what — I\u2019m not going to be the other woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no one else, I swear,\u201d he answers.<\/p>\n

The food arrives, and it\u2019s an ordinary-looking burger with fries. But his instinct is automatic; he pulls out his camera and shoots it. \u201cCome over here and let\u2019s take a picture,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

I stand up, adjust my hair and move to his side of the table. But he\u2019s already busy posting a picture of his dinner to Facebook for his world to see. I turn, grab my coat and purse, and leave. When I get to the door I look behind me, but he doesn\u2019t even know I\u2019m gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything okay?\u201d the waitress asks. \u201cSure,\u201d I answer. \u201cYou know the guy I was with? Tell him I hope he and his Facebook friends will be very happy together.\u201d I walk out the door and the chill blast registers as real life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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