It’s been about three months of lunch breaks that feel like recess.
Laughter, I didn’t know I still had in me.
Stories from Jenn that make me smile so wide my eyes disappear.
Three months of not thinking too hard, just enjoying something that feels easy and whole.
We were at the salad bar again same one we’ve been to every Thursday since this started.
She was telling me a story about a customer who brought their cat to her tattoo shop, claiming the cat needed a paw print tattoo on them for “bonding.”
I was in tears laughing, mouth full of spinach, trying not to choke.
And then I felt it.
The sudden shift, but I was too afraid to admit it.
I looked up for half a second.
Just one glance around the small seating area, and everything changed.
The stares.
Not bold enough to call out, but sharp enough to feel.
That weird, tight-lipped smile from the woman two tables over.
The man who kept looking back as if we were on display.
The teenager whispering, glancing at Jenn’s sleeve tattoo like it was a warning label.
And just like that…
I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the story.
It confused me.
Jenn is my friend.
My favorite friend.
And she brings me lunch sometimes.
She knows I like extra feta and hates that I put raisins in my salad.
She listens.
And remembers things about my day that I forget to tell even my fiancé.
But after that day and those stares.
I started noticing more.
The subtle side-eyes. Assumptions. Disapproval.
And it started to chip away at the ease.
The safety I felt.
Like something sweet was being soured by judgment that had nothing to do with us…
and everything to do with what we might look like.
I didn’t want it to matter.
I didn’t want to shrink.
But it’s hard to unsee what you’ve already seen.
Hard to unfeel the shift once it settles in your chest.
What now?
Am I supposed to hide what makes me happy just because other people don’t understand it?
Or am I letting the world decide what joy I’m allowed to have?