Page 22 of Fake It 'til You Make It

Before I receive an answer, Dee slaps a hand to my arm. ‘You. Have. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me.’

I know it’s bad before I even turn to follow her gaze.

Sure enough, when I do, it isn’t the opulent interiors of the restaurant that draw my attention but Andrew, who’s speaking to the guy on the welcome desk. Andrew, drawing a short whitejacket from the arms of an extremely well put together, long and flawless red-haired woman.

Not only did he show up, he showed up with another woman.

Everything seems to have failed me – words, breath, sensibility. All I can do is stand from my seat and gawp at the couple heading our way.

When I think I can’t be any more shocked than I am in this moment, my brother does something he never does. He leans in to my ear and whispers, ‘I’m sorry, Abbey. I didn’t know he was bringing anyone until an hour ago and I didn’t know how best to forewarn you.’

‘So you justdidn’t?’ Dee snarls.

I don’t know if I’m mad at my brother. I can’t process that right now. But I do know that I’m angry with myself. My naivety. That fleeting moment when my tummy danced.

I’m irate with Andrew. His brazenness. His lack of any semblance of compassion. The absence of any love or even respect for me whatsoever.

This isn’t even the woman he cheated on me with.

This is another woman.

He didn’t even plan to stay with the woman he cheated on me with.

He wanted her enough to leave me and not enough to stay with her. What does that say about our relationship?

Dee rises from her seat and I can tell she’s about to explode. Here. In this restaurant full of people. In front of my brother and sister-in-law and their perfect marriage.

I don’t know where I find it from but a wave of strength comes back into my jelly legs, then my backbone and eventually, my hand reaches out to Dee’s arm.

‘It’s embarrassing enough, Dee; please don’t make a scene.’

I’m flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Blown away that he woulddo this to me. But the overwhelming sense I feel is mortification. I am the woman who couldn’t keep the guy.

I watch the introductions and greetings take place around the table, silent, still.

Then, incredibly, audaciously, Andrew leans in to kiss my cheek.

‘This isn’t awkward, is it?’ he asks in my ear.

What I want to say is:You have got to be kidding me. It’s awkward as hell and you are the biggest asswipe walking this planet.

What I actually say is:

Nothing. Words have failed me. I’m speechless.

And what angers me more than my inability to respond appropriately is that, when he takes me into his embrace, his familiar scent is warming, comforting.

He is the sole reason that my brain and heart are completely fried. Yet, he’s the person who can help make it feel better. I close my eyes as I inhale the scent of nostalgia. Peace. A version of me I’m significantly more familiar with than the current me.

Once everyone is seated and a waiter has taken our drinks order, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room and do what every woman experiencing an existential crisis does – I stare at my reflection in the sink mirror.

I’m better than this, I tell myself.I don’t need to hide in bathrooms. I can do this.

It was going to happensometime. Andrew is a family friend. He’s been in our lives since my earliest memories – despite the fact I actually didn’t like him as a child.

I continue to stare at my face, which is full of more make up than the old me would have ever worn; I stare at my, admittedly rather gorgeous and figure-hugging, little black dress. I might feel like the old me on the inside but I’m not. Just look at me. I am actually the woman I intend to become.

New Me does not shy away from a waste of air like Andrew. She doesn’t pine after his cologne. She’s courageous and she’s about to walk back into that fine dining room and show Andrew and his new girlfriend that she has moved on.

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