Rachel had made the reservation for seven o’clock sharp, and by seven-fifteen the four of them were already seated, water glasses sweating on the table, bread basket half-emptied. Dani checked her watch for the third time, muttering something about “classic Megan,” while Chris grinned like this was part of the entertainment.

Then, right on cue, the door swung open and Megan breezed in.

She didn’t so much walk into the restaurant as announce herself with movement - hair shaken loose from the drizzle outside, perfume trailing, heels clicking just loud enough to make heads turn. In one hand she carried a glittery gift bag, the kind with tissue paper exploding out the top; in the other, her phone, held aloft like it was guiding her path.

“Don’t even say it,” she said, sliding into the empty chair beside Rachel, lips already parted in a laugh. “Traffic was criminal. I nearly risked a speeding ticket just to be here for my favorite girl’s big day.”

Rachel smiled because Rachel always smiled. It was her birthday, after all, and Megan had that way of turning even lateness into theater. Dani just arched a brow and reached for her wine.

Megan leaned in, kissed Rachel’s cheek, then dropped the bag into her lap. “Don’t open it yet - you have to wait until dessert. Trust me, the timing is everything.”

She flagged down the waiter without glancing at the menu. “Prosecco for the table,” she said. “And keep it flowing.”

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “Megan’s here, party can start now.”

And in a way, he was right. Conversation picked up. The table felt lighter, buzzing with Megan’s energy. She told a story about a disastrous first date the night before - how the guy had shown up in gym shorts, ordered milk, and asked if she wanted to split the check “as an experiment in equality.” She pantomimed the whole thing, rolling her eyes, dramatizing each detail until even Dani was laughing despite herself.

Megan thrived in moments like this, soaking up attention as though it were oxygen. And truth be told, it was easy to let her. She had the kind of magnetic chaos that kept things from ever being dull.

But when the waiter returned, Megan paused mid-order, tapping the menu like she was stalling for time. “Wait, what was I- oh, right, the salmon. Extra lemon.” She covered the lapse with a dazzling smile, but Rachel noticed the flicker.

It was small, forgettable even. The sort of thing anyone could brush off.

Rachel brushed it off too.

For now.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » Cracks in the Facade