Lunch

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The Place had been open for twenty years, about ten years less than Alex and Chris had been regularly meeting for lunch on Sunday afternoons. They had been good friends in high school, and reconnected after college. A bunch of them had. At first, Sunday lunch was a ritual that five old friends observed more religiously than church - it wasn’t lost on them that maybe lunch had usurped Sunday services as their weekly form of fellowship.

When it was the whole group - Mike, Larry and Byron in addition to Alex and Chris - lunches had been a lively affair. World problems were solved and world class insults were hurled. There were heated discussions over where to even meet up for lunch, with a standard list of about five places in the rotation. Six if Mike wasn’t coming. Mike couldn’t stand Asian food for some reason.

Over time, life did what life does, and people started showing up less often. By the time the guys hit thirty, they were all married. Some of them had to cut back on the weekly lunches because their wives weren’t wild about losing every Sunday afternoon. And once Byron’s wife had their first kid, he was toast. Mike had moved out of state due to a job relocation, and Larry - well, no one is sure what happened with Larry, but he just stopped showing up.

Over time, the frequency of lunches and the number of attendees dipped. The weekly five became an every two-week three or four. Eventually, it became a monthly meal with only Alex and Chris. Occasionally Byron would make an appearance, but that was the exception rather than the rule.

So, The Place on the first Sunday of the month became the standing appointment. It was a solid choice, with what could be called elevated bar food. There were plenty of TVs, but the volume was low, and the place wasn’t loud. This feature became more important as the guys got older, and it was more and more difficult to hear conversations over anything approaching moderate noise.

Alex spotted Chris at a four-top near the back of the restaurant. They always got a four-top because hope springs eternal, though rarely does it bloom.

A lot had changed since the two had started having lunch. Alex had gained more than a reasonable amount of weight, they both had a lot less hair than they did when the ritual began, and most of what was left was gray. Chris had divorced twice, and was working on his third. Alex was still married to his college girlfriend, but he had two artificial knees. Both of them, it seemed, had replaced key things in their lives.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, and Alex asked Chris if he had heard from Byron. He had not.

Alex sat down in the brown wooden ladderback chair and scooted in to the plain brown table. The Place was not empty, but it was not packed to the rafters. That was probably one of the reasons they kept coming.

A pretty young blonde waitress took their drink orders. Chris had a sweet tea. Alex went with unsweetened. “When did you switch to sweetened?” Chris asked?

“Recently,” Alex said.

“I thought you were watching your weight. I know we all are. You’ve gotten as big as the Michelin Man.”

“Weird reference, but fair.”

Chris laughed. The waitress came back with the drinks and to take their orders. They hadn’t needed to look at the menu. They had both memorized it during the Obama administration. Chris had a burger (medium, mustard, tomato, lettuce) with fries. Alex had chicken tenders (ranch and honey mustard dressing), also with fries.

“You still eat like an eight year-old,” Chris said.

“I do not. They aren’t even dinosaur shaped.”

“Is that waitress new?” Chris asked.

“I think so. I don’t recognize her.”

“She’s really hot,” Chris said.

“Dude, she’s young enough to be your daughter. Maybe even your granddaughter.”

“Granddaughter is pushing it,” Chris said. “Besides, it’s just an observation.”

“It’s not appropriate,” Alex said.

“Lighten up. A man can appreciate, say, the Mona Lisa and not try to sleep with it.”

“Well, first of all, the Mona Lisa wasn’t a blonde. Second of all, she’s a painting, so I would hope you won’t try to have sex with it,” Alex said.

“You know what I mean. And, for the record, I bet you’d sleep with the actual Mona Lisa - the subject of the painting - if you could.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I call BS,” Chris said.

“I’m married. Happily. So no. Besides, she’s dead. Has been for centuries.”

“I mean…”

“I’m not sleeping with a skeleton. That’s bad luck. I assume,” Alex interrupted.

“Probably. Though I don’t know if it’s technically illegal. Is a skeleton a corpse?”

They debated the finer points of criminal laws related to relations with skeletons, which devolved into a spirited debate about the intricacies of laws relating to vampire sexuality. They found common ground that vampires who appear to be teens are violating the law by dating high school girls (take that creepy, creepy Twilight!), but could not reach an accord on whether a human knowingly engaging in carnal acts with a vampire violated laws against necrophilia. The distinction being whether “undead” and “dead” are operationally the same.

As they reached that impasse, the waitress returned with their food.

“Thank you, Mona,” Chris said.

“You’re welcome,” she said and left.

“You think her name is really Mona?” Chris asked.

“No.”

“Why didn’t she correct me then?”

“She doesn’t care. At all.”

Over lunch they talked about recent shows they had seen. They talked about Alex’s job. Both of them had been in accounting, but Chris took a buyout from a big accounting firm that had done a round of cutbacks a few years earlier. He was doing okay.

They did the perfunctory check in on how each other’s kids (they both had two. The youngest was in college. The oldest was married and owned a home decor business out of state). They enquired about each other’s spouses (Alex’s was good. Chris’s was a pain in the neck).

And they debated politics. They were both on the same side of the political spectrum, but that rarely stopped them from brandishing verbal knives and attacking the other’s particular brand of party loyalty.

They spent a fair amount of time taking digs at Byron who was unreliable. Which is the one thing you could rely on with him.

Somehow they avoided any argument over what fiction character could defeat another fictional character in a fight. The week before had featured a rousing debate of whether Aquaman could beat Spiderman in a fight that took place in a field with no trees, with the further condition that Spiderman’s webs weren’t functioning. This conversation had lasted over an hour, and no one walked away from it enlightened.

They wrapped up their meals laughing over the same story they had told each other more than a dozen times over the years about that time during junior year when they almost got caught at a football game with a six-pack of Zima coolers by assistant principal Sanders. In retrospect they were pretty sure she knew they had the Zimas, but decided their infraction was pathetic enough that it didn’t warrant further action.

After they finished their entrees, Alex suggested they get coffee. Chris happily agreed, as that would guarantee he’d be out of the house a little longer.

As they sipped the coffee, Alex said, “Man, we have been doing this a long time. I know we joke about it and all, but I am really glad we’ve been able to keep this going.”

“Yeah, me too,” Chris said. “There are times where it’s the highlight of my week. That’s sad, isn’t it?”

Alex smirked. “No, I get it.”

“I mean, I know it’s different for you. You and Melanie always seem happy.”

“We have our ups and downs. But overall it’s solid. A real anchor, you know.”

“My last wife was an anchor, but she just weighed me down.”

“Well, you know what they say, third time’s the charm,” Alex said.

“Or three strikes and you’re out,” Chris said.

Alex and stirred his coffee for no discernible reason. A silent moment passed.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “There’s no good way to do this. This may be my last lunch for a while.”

“What’s wrong? You dying?” Chris asked.

“Well….yeah.”

Chris laughed.

Alex did not.

“Wait. Are you serious?” Chris asked.

Alex nodded. “I’m going in for an operation this week, and starting chemo after. It’s pancreatic cancer, stage three.”

“I am….I am so sorry,” Chris said. “But, chemo could knock it out, right?”

“Cure it, no. Maybe slow it down and give me a couple of more years. If I’m lucky, I’ll get five years, maybe six.”

Chris nodded. “Well, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex said.

“If you need anything….”

“I know,” Alex said. “But, look, I’m not dead yet, just out of commission for a few months. There will be a stretch of time after chemo before things go to hell.”

“Well…I guess this means I need to work on Byron some more if I don’t want to be stuck at home every Sunday.”

Alex laughed.

The waitress dropped off the check. Chris tried to pick it up, but Alex refused. “I appreciate it, bud, but I don’t want to be given the dead man discount just yet.”

They split the bill and the waitress took their cards.

“Well,” Chris said. “Don’t forget to put me in the will.”

“Oh, you’re in it. You will inherit my fortune if you spend the night in a haunted house.”

“Will you be doing the haunting?” Chris asked.

“I haven’t worked that out yet. I may recruit your mom’s ghost to help.”

“Bone chilling,” Chris said.

The waitress returned the cards, and they silently filled out the slips.

They stood and there was an awkward moment.

“Am I supposed to hug you?” Chris asked.

“Please don’t,” said Alex. “I’d like for all of this not to be any weirder than is necessary.”

Chris nodded. He was sad, but didn’t want to show it. Alex saw it, but didn’t want to let on.

“Well, I need to head on,” Alex said. “But, I have to admit something important and deeply personal.”

Chris looked at him.

“The waitress is pretty hot.”

Alex walked out as Chris laughed, unable to tell if the tears were from the laughter, the sadness, or a tangled mix of both.

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