Someone you know, but not really well, asks what you’re up to this weekend.
A small barbecue, you tell them. Nothing fancy. Just burgers and a few people.
You’re mid-sentence when you notice their face change. Suddenly more animated. They smile, lean in a bit. “Oh, that sounds like fun.” Then, almost as an aside, they mention they’ll be home all weekend. Just catching up on some household chores and stuff.
You nod and keep talking. It’s a normal thing to say. Not everyone has plans every Saturday, and you don’t read into it much, not yet anyway.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind an excuse to get out of the house. It’s been forever since I’ve done anything fun.”
Now you notice it. That wasn’t a response to anything you just said. In fact, they’ve just circled right back to something you intentionally weren’t planning to mention again.
You begin to feel like you’re playing a game of chess you never agreed to play. And apparently, it’s your move.
You could invite them now. It would only cost you a few words, though it might cost a lot more later. Something in you resists. Doing it now would reward the maneuver, not the person. And right now, you’re not sure you should reward either.
So you change the subject instead, and ask about their week. They answer, you talk for a while. You’re fairly convinced the diversion worked. Unfortunately, they aren’t.
You’re getting up to leave when they ask, “What time is the thing on Saturday, again?”
Wait. You didn’t invite them. Did you? No. You explicitly decided not to do that.
For a split second you almost answer. It starts at six o’clo… you catch yourself before the words finish, and instead you say, “Probably around six. Why, do you have plans too?”
It’s a small test, and they fail it rather politely. “No, no, just curious, that’s all. Have fun.”
You head home still thinking about it, and it’s kind of driving you nuts. You could invite them, or not, and never think about it again. Probably nothing bad would happen either way.
But you keep coming back to how you got here. You hadn’t invited them. They just filled the air with enough information to make you feel like you should have.
You almost admire the craftiness. It’s certainly efficient. And it leaves you holding all the awkwardness of not inviting them, while they hold none of the risk of having asked directly.
You finally text them two days later. Hey, we’re doing the barbecue Saturday around 6 if you want to swing by.
You know exactly why you’re doing it too. Not because you really want to, but because you don’t want to be the person who doesn’t. And even though you’re completely aware you were cornered into it, not doing it now would feel worse.
You’re almost surprised how quickly they accept. Omg yes!! Can’t wait, thank you for thinking of me.
For just a microsecond, you want to say that you didn’t, not really. But there’s no sentence that says that gracefully or without sounding paranoid about someone who, on paper, only ever mentioned their weekend.
So you simply say you’re welcome, and you mean it, mostly. You do, however, spend the rest of the week wondering whether somewhere in their mind they’ve already convinced themselves they were simply asked to come, the same as everyone else, no maneuvering on their part whatsoever. Or whether they know exactly what they did.
If so, maybe this was a game of chess after all. And they just got a checkmate.