Chapter 2: The Beef and the Misunderstanding

I first met Derek through Caleb. Although two guys are more likely to hang out together and get along better, I get along with people easily, so I quickly became friends with Derek too. We often teamed up to prank Caleb.

Caleb’s college years were filled with our tag-team chaos—water balloons, prank texts, hiding his shoes. Derek and I bonded over a shared love of mischief, and soon he felt more like family than a friend.

But at some point, Derek became especially cold toward me—no more joking around, rarely interacting.

I started noticing the change after a prank that went too far—a party he ducked out of early and a text he left me on read. His texts got shorter, his jokes dried up, and he stopped joining in on family movie nights. It stung, but I shrugged it off—people drift, right?

Most of the time, he’d brush me off with one-word answers, as if he couldn’t be bothered to say a full sentence.

It became a running joke for me—"Derek, master of the one-word reply." I still tried to crack him up, but the wall between us felt thicker every year.

I treated him like another younger brother, but he seemed to want to keep me at arm’s length.

I stopped trying so hard, convinced he just needed space. Maybe I’d pushed too much, or maybe he really didn’t like me.

Whenever I thought about it, I felt indignant, but I didn’t dwell on it since we rarely saw each other.

Family drama was exhausting enough—I wasn’t about to chase someone who didn’t want to be chased. But I still felt a pang every time I heard him laugh with Caleb.

But now, who knows how long we’ll be living so close together. If he really disliked me, I’d better avoid him so we don’t both feel awkward.

I imagined myself tiptoeing around the hallways, hiding in my room like a high schooler. The thought was ridiculous, but it made me more determined to clear the air.

Luckily, he doesn’t!

Victory! I smiled to myself, feeling like I’d dodged a bullet. Maybe adult friendships really could survive a few awkward years.

I quickly stuffed a big mouthful of food to calm myself, then started a new round of creative compliments.

I rattled off praise for his cooking, his suit, even his haircut, hoping to keep the mood light. If flattery got me anywhere, I was going to use every trick in the book.

Derek clearly enjoyed it, the corners of his mouth curling up, but he pretended to dislike me: “Even eating can’t shut you up.”

He tried to sound grumpy, but the smile in his eyes gave him away. I grinned, basking in the rare moment of genuine warmth.

I knew he was just being proud again, so I didn’t mind, just smiled to please him, smoothing his feathers.

If there was one thing I’d learned from years of sibling rivalry, it was how to keep the peace with a well-timed joke. I flashed him a thumbs-up, hoping he’d relax.

Sigh, it’s not easy to be happy!

I leaned back, patting my stomach, content for the first time all week. Happiness was a moving target, but tonight, I felt close to catching it.

Caleb once said, when it comes to pushing boundaries, I’m an expert.

He’d tell anyone who’d listen that I was born to test limits. Every family story somehow ended with, "And then Natalie did the thing nobody else dared."

I’ve never denied it.

No point in pretending—I was a risk-taker, sometimes to a fault. It kept life interesting, if nothing else.

So after that day mooching a meal at Derek’s, I went next door every day after work for several days, freeloading with a clear conscience.

Derek started setting an extra plate without asking, and I stopped feeling guilty about showing up unannounced. We kept a running IOU sticky note on his fridge, and our “Dinner?” text thread became a nightly ritual with DoorDash-style rating jokes.

But Derek isn’t officially my brother-in-law, so I can’t go too far.

I made a mental note not to overstay my welcome—no late-night fridge raids or binge-watching marathons. If I was going to push boundaries, I’d do it with style, not desperation.

So, in the spirit of reciprocity, on Friday afternoon I called Derek and said I wanted to treat him to dinner.

I dialed his number with a little flourish, rehearsing my lines like a sitcom character. The thought of turning the tables, even for one night, made me giddy.

The voice on the other end sounded surprised: “Looks like the sun didn’t rise in the west today.”

He was so dramatic, I could practically hear the raised eyebrow through the phone. I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself.

“What are you saying?” I pretended to be annoyed. “Just come and eat your fill, don’t be polite.”

I tried to sound bossy, but the excitement in my voice was obvious. Treating Derek felt like a tiny act of rebellion against the world’s unfairness.

“Really?”

His voice softened, skeptical but hopeful. I pictured him pacing in his living room, trying to decide if I was serious.

“Really.”

I delivered my answer with the gravity of a judge handing down a verdict. He finally agreed, and I felt like I’d won something big.

Standing at the entrance of the buffet restaurant, I nodded at Derek with certainty.

The neon sign above the Golden Corral flickered in the evening air. Sneeze guards glowed under heat lamps, and the hum of the soft-serve machine felt like a promise. Derek looked at me with a mix of amusement and exasperation, as if he’d walked into a sitcom episode by accident.

“Natalie!”

Derek called my name, clearly gritting his teeth, but I wasn’t afraid. I turned and flashed a big white smile, ready to argue—no, explain.

I tossed my hair, flashing my best "I’m right and you know it" grin. He looked ready to launch into a speech, but I was already on the offensive.

“Buffet is great, you can take whatever you want, no need to worry if what I order doesn’t suit your taste, right?”

I rattled off my reasons like a seasoned debater, gesturing at the steam trays as if they were prizes on a game show. No way was I letting him turn this into a complaint session.

After saying that, I dragged him inside, not giving him a chance to complain.

He hesitated for a split second, then let me pull him in by the wrist. The host raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what kind of couple we were.

Derek seemed surprised I’d take the initiative, froze for a moment, but didn’t resist, letting me pull him into the restaurant.

He loosened up, shoulders relaxing as we settled into a booth. The clatter of plates and laughter of families around us made the world feel a little brighter.

“I know you don’t like eating out, think it’s not clean, but this place is really hygienic and delicious.” I said while putting some barbecue beef in his plate, “This spicy beef is their specialty, try it.”

I made a show of picking out the best piece, sliding it onto his plate with a flourish. He gave the communal tongs a side-eye and wiped the table with a napkin—classic Derek—but he let me fuss over him anyway.

I’ve known Derek for years, so I know his preferences. He’s not picky, doesn’t have any particular favorites, except for beef.

It’s practically his only vice. I’d seen him pass up dessert at birthday parties, but never say no to a steak.

But now Derek looked at the meat on his plate, then at me, and didn’t move his fork for a long time.

He hesitated, eyeing the beef like it might be a trap. The silence between us grew awkward, and I wondered if I’d messed up.

This isn’t right—I stared at Derek, confused.

I tried to read his expression, but he gave nothing away. I almost wished Caleb were here to break the tension.

“Oh oh oh.”

Almost forgot—he’s borderline germaphobe. If I use my fork to serve him food, of course he won’t eat it.

“Sorry, I’ll eat this piece, you can...”

I reached for the beef, ready to save the day before he could say anything. My cheeks were hot, embarrassment prickling at the back of my neck.

Before I finished, Derek suddenly stopped me from taking it back, then bowed his head and bit off the beef I’d just served him—the same piece he’d just rejected.

He leaned in, almost daring me to make a scene. The gesture was oddly intimate, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest. Was this some kind of challenge?