Excerpt: Hated By All

It was at the Chinese buffet and Hope and Rich were looking in the advertisements in the newspaper to see which store had the best sales on house ware items. Neither one of them had lived off campus before, so items like pots and pans were on their lists. New furniture was out of the question- not without a paycheck. Besides, both came from fairly large families who were more than happy to pass along their wreck room sofas and miss-matched dressers and bureaus.
“Ooh! Four settings of dishes. $40.00. Cute design!” Hope said, taking a bite of Kung Pao chicken. “Mmmm. Try some.”
“Thanks, Bubba.” Rich smacked as she fed him the forkful without actually waiting for his response. She had earned that nickname the weekend she had the flu and he nursed her back to health. She had pulled the sheets over her head out of embarrassment for the way she thought she had looked like a bloated old man. Rich teasingly called her Bubba, the most unattractive name he could think of at the time. She laughed, for she had a good sense of humor and Hope knew in her heart that Rich thought of her as the most beautiful girl on campus, as he had told her almost on a daily basis. So Bubba actually served as a reminder of his love and affection.
“Bleah. Garlic.” Rich was not a fan of anything with strong flavors. “Hmmm. $40.00. That’s too much. It comes with those little plates no one uses. So, really, it’s a waste.” He saw her reaction to his disapproval and immediately cushioned it. “You’re right about the pattern, though,” he quickly added with a little smile and hand squeeze from across the table.
She smiled back at him, taking a drink from her soda.
“Besides, we should start thinking about saving up for the future.”
There was a pause. Both became a little self conscious and aware of their bodies seated in the cracked vinyl booths. In their break of conversation, they were able to hear the interesting combination of a Led Zeppelin pan flute instrumental over the ceiling speakers, the tinny clanging of inexpensive metal forks in the kitchen, and the staccato cadence of the language spoken amongst the restaurant staff. Hope nervously fiddled with her straw and looked down at the sweat ring her drink made on the lacquered table. Rich kept staring at her as she averted her eyes. He was trying to picture her in thirty years from now. Will she be the type to let her hair grow grey naturally? What about her waist to hip ratio after bearing children? Her hands… at what point will they become her mother’s? He had one fleeting yet jarring wave of panic. “You can turn back now. It’s not too late,” darted through his brain. He swallowed hard to keep the adrenaline from filling his mouth.
After about half a verse of “Tangerine,” He broke tension. “I’m going to get more shrimp.”