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five
Lindy
The extra ten pounds I was hoping to lose is now gone, plus five more. I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten a full meal. I stand at the counter of my one-bedroom apartment, staring off into space, thinking about the thing… again, as I make myself a sandwich. Not because I’m hungry, only because I know I have to eat something.
A few days later I’ll find the plate discarded on my end table in the living room, half the meal left, the bread grown crusty and stale. So unlike me, a perpetual tidy-upper, to leave food lying around.
I’m not hungry. I give up, putting the cheese and meat back in the fridge. I hold the stem of my wineglass between my forefinger and thumb, twisting it this way and that, staring at the gold liquid before I take a long, cool sip. I make my way to the bedroom, giving myself a pep talk as I go.
Don’t go there, Lin. Do not let your mind wander there. You will drive yourself crazy.
It’s been over three months. High time to move on. Do not let his sorry, cheating butt have a hold on you. You’re so much better than that. Good things are on the way for you.
Drink the wine. Get ready. Try to enjoy the party.
Even with my encouraging words, as I get ready for tonight’s festivities, I find my mind wandering where it shouldn’t…
Thinking weak, pathetic thoughts.
What if…
I take my time making myself presentable. I glide a copper shadow over my eyelids. What if Patrick hadn’t cheated. What if that stick insect, Willow, hadn’t been interning at his office and they’d never met.
I smooth a cream blush across my cheekbones. What if I’d been different, held his interest? He’d be standing beside me at the party tonight, his arm around my lower back, whispering and laughing about how silly he finds my co-workers.
After piling my blonde curls into some semblance of an updo and pinning it in place, I slip into the gold gown that hugs my curves to perfection. Okay, so I never really liked that part of him, but still, he’d be here, and I wouldn’t be alone. I opt for the waterproof mascara.
I’d still have that gorgeous little rock on my finger.
We’d have just spent our very first engaged holidays together.
How excited this little fool would have been to put rose-gold-themed ornaments on our eco-friendly fake tree. Assembling it in the corner of the living room of that gorgeous craftsman, right by the fireplace. Fast-forward to Christmas morning, Patrick and me nestled on the couch in matching red-and-black buffalo-check robes, sipping on spiked hot cocoa while the fire burned.
Instead, I have a Value Store pre-decorated tabletop tree in my small apartment and spent the holidays alone re-watching the Bridget Jones movies. Still haven’t found the energy to take the tree down even though it makes me sad when I look at its cheap ornaments.
I leave the apartment, locking the door behind me and head out to hop in the Uber I called. It’s a short drive to the Rosewood theater Mike rented for CityScoop’s annual New Year’s kickoff. I check my coat and bag at the door. Grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and find a quiet corner by the stage to stand by myself and drink.
Ava’s elbow digging into my ribs snaps me out of my thoughts. Her dark hair hangs down her back, a hot-pink long-sleeve minidress showing off her figure. “Whatcha doing over here all by your lonesome? Come join us at the bar.” She tips her chin toward the makeshift bar they’ve set up for the evening.
I glance over at the linen-covered tables. Behind them, bartenders wearing black collared shirts and khaki pants are mixing drinks in silver shakers. Claire’s over there, talking to a few of the other women we work with. People I’ve barely spoken to about anything other than work since the breakup.
“Sorry,” I say to Ava. I take a guilt-tinged sip of champagne. “I’m not much company.”
“Oh God.” She rolls her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about him again. What’s it been—three months since you two broke up?”
“Today is, in fact, the one hundredth day since I found Willow and Patrick together.” I can’t believe I’m confessing to Ava I’ve been counting. She’ll surely find me more pathetic than she already does—
“You’re counting!” she practically shouts to the whole room.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. Haven’t I been humiliated enough?
“Really, Linds? Really?” Her brows knit together and her eyes narrow at me.
I’m insulted but I have to laugh at the funny face she’s making at me. “I know. I know. Pathetic-ville. Number one resident, Lindsey Gorse.”
“You’re not just a resident,” she quips, “you’re the mayor, town commissioner, street sweeper—”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupt her. I sip more champagne, grateful to feel a giggle rising. It feels like forever since I’ve smiled. “Let’s talk about something else.”
