Page 14 of The TV Show Rival
The heat rose in her cheeks as she forced a smile. Part of her wanted to stick to her guns, to assert her own culinary preferences. But another, more unsettling part, recoiled at the thought of causing a scene or disappointing Amy.
The waiter raised an eyebrow in question, pen hovering over his notepad.
Amy placed Jamie’s order to the waiter, adding her own suggestions for sides. He scribbled it down with a nod, leaving her feeling like a bewildered bystander in her own date night.
A cold realization hit her. In all this time, did she even know Amy? They’d been on “dates” for months, exchanged texts, sure, stolen a few kisses, but beyond that surface layer, there was a gaping hole.
She didn’t know Amy’s favorite movies, her childhood dreams, or even her preferred meal. And tonight, the biggest revelation of all—Amy’s complete disregard for her choices, masked by a veneer of concern.
The arrogance in Amy’s tone, the dismissive way she treated her initial selection, made the nervous flutter that used to be excitement now feel more like apprehension.
Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something with all those “llama emergencies.” Maybe this date, like so many others that never materialized, was a sign that Amy wasn’t the right fit for her after all.
For the first time, she saw Amy clearly. The charming girl who captivated her might have been a facade all along. Maybe the real Amy was the one sitting across from her now—controlling, judgmental, and utterly selfish.
The question wasn’t whether tonight would be the start of something real. The real question was, did she even want it to be?
The meals arrived, sizzling and fragrant. For a moment, the awkward tension was forgotten as Jamie dug into the juicy goodness.
But across from her, Amy launched into a monologue about her recent trip to Barcelona that grated on her nerves.
She threw out names of trendy restaurants, boasted about exclusive clubs she managed to weasel her way into, and described the designer clothes she “had to have” while there. She described tapas crawls and flamenco shows, her voice brimming with self-importance.
With each passing minute, Jamie’s frustration mounted. Amy hadn’t even glanced her way the entire time, oblivious to her silence and the growing storm brewing behind her frown.
Didn’t she see the way Jamie clenched and unclenched her jaw with each clink of her cutlery against the plate?
Apparently not. Amy’s world revolved solely around her. Her experiences, her preferences, her opinions; all delivered in a monologue that could rival Shakespeare himself.
Finally, Jamie couldn’t take it anymore. The fork clattered onto her plate, and the jarring sound momentarily halting Amy mid-sentence.
Amy blinked, startled. “Isn’t the food good?”
The question provoked a surge of anger that nearly choked Jamie. “The food? The food is perfect. But some company that isn’t a self-absorbed narcissist would be the real improvement,” she said, her voice tight with barely suppressed emotion
The words wiped the smile finally off Amy’s face. For a moment, there was only stunned silence, then a slow flush crept up her neck.
“What do you mean?” she sputtered, her wounded pride showing.
“You know exactly what I mean. This entire night has been about you, your trips, your preferences. Have you even asked me a single question about my life?”
For the first time that night, a genuine emotion crossed Amy’s eyes. Was it anger, hurt, or the fear of losing control? It didn’t matter.
Tonight wasn’t about her anymore. Tonight was about Jamie realizing that self-absorption wasn’t a charming quirk, it was a personality red flag she couldn’t ignore.
“You haven’t even noticed I haven’t spoken a word in ten minutes, have you?”
“I just assumed you must be tired from work.”
“No, Amy. I’m not tired. I’m simply… disappointed.”
A frown creased Amy’s brow. “Disappointed? Why?”
“Because in all this talk about you, your trips, your clothes… there hasn’t been a single question about me, about my day, about anything other than yourself. This isn’t a date; it’s an audience with Queen Amy,” Jamie retorted.
“Oh please. Why are you making such a fuss? If you wanted to talk about your day, you should have just said something!”
The audacity of her statement made Jamie’s head reel. “Is this what you call a relationship, Amy? You showing up whenever you’re in the neighborhood after vanishing for weeks on end on your self-indulgent trips, probably funded by your father’s inheritance? You rarely respond to my messages, let alone pick up my calls!”