Page 86 of Fake It 'til You Make It

So what I am wearing is an old dress that I’ve probably had for a decade. It’s pale blue with daisies all over it. It has long sleeves and a high, square neck and it floats down over what would have been my flat chest at the time I bought it. Compared to my new wardrobe, it’s baggy and shapeless, which I might not have minded even a month ago, but today I’m acutely aware that this is not a flattering dress.

Last night, I went to bed feeling desired. It was surprising and strange and pretty incredible. But this morning, I’m just the sameold Abbey, who isn’t being looked at the way Mike looked at me last night. In fact, we’ve barely spoken to each other so far today and when we have, there’s been an odd tension. As if he regrets our almost-nearly kiss.

Hardly surprising. Why would he want shapeless daisies when he could have Chanel?

I hate to admit that my mom has been right all these years; I’ve hidden my body and I don’t know why. In hiding my body, what am I trying to conceal about myself? I’m sure there’s a podcast that could help me answer that question but right now, I just need to accept that this lunch is happening. That last night was nothing more than a blip to Mike. That today, I’m going to be scrutinized and analyzed and picked apart by my mom’s old friends, including Andrew’s mom, and I need to haul my ass.

Mike has opened Mom’s door – nice touch, charming, she’ll like that – and as she gets out, he comes around to my side of the car and opens the door. I watch our hands as I place mine in his, and I see that my fingers have a tremor.

I try to get out and find that I haven’t undone my seatbelt. Mike watches me as I release myself from the seat and step onto the ground in front of him – at least my shoes are sexy, though extremely painful. And in these shoes, I don’t have to strain my neck to look up to Mike; he’s only a couple of inches taller than me.

Anxiety has stolen my words and seemingly my ability to close the car door behind me. Mike leans around me, nudging me back against the side of the car, and closes the door for me. He’s close, tantalizingly close, leaning into me, and I’m leaning further back into the car.

Unexpectedly, he brings his fingertips to my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, ‘I think that your mom would expect me to kiss you goodbye. Would that be okay, if I kiss you?’

He’s going to kiss me? I spent most of last night wondering what it would have felt like if we had kissed. This morning, I’ve thought I’ll never find out.

I really,reallywant to know.

I think I nod my head; I mean to.

Then his lips are pressed against my cheek where his fingers were just seconds ago. He feels safe and whatever else has been filling my head this morning is gone with his touch. Closing my eyes, I imagine that I’m really his for the first time. That he can kiss me any time he wants.

This crush is like a spaceship. It’s prepared and loaded, the burners have been switched on, and it’s being propelled out of the atmosphere to a place beyond the ordinary world.

I know, despite everything Andrew put me through, that this crush I have on Mike is going to come crashing down and when it does, it will be the crash to end all other crashes. I want to stay here just a little while longer before coming back down to earth and eating lunch with the bitchy doctors waiting to give me an all-over check.

‘Alright, Michael, that’s enough,’ Mom says.

At her words, I finally feel my eyes open. I don’t know if I expect to see him smiling but he isn’t; he’s just looking back at me.

‘I’ve watched you through the rearview mirror fidgeting and chewing your lip through the whole drive here,’ he says. ‘You are beautiful, Abbey. You’re clever and witty, and you’re worth a thousand of any person who wants to try to tear you down. Where’s the stubborn and vivacious actress I’ve seen plenty of, huh? You walk in there with your head held high, okay? Fuck Andrew and what he did to you. And screw whoever in there thinks you don’t deserve better than that dirt-bag.’

Angry Mike. I find him kind of… staggering and… hot.Sheesh, I findeverythinghe does hot at the moment.

He’s right; what would gregarious, artiste Abbey do?

‘Good pep talk, buddy,’ I say, patting him on the upper arm as if he didn’t just rock my entire world with one kiss on my cheek.

I move out of his space and around the car toward my mom.

Before we head inside, I cast one last glance across my shoulder, and see that Mike is facing forward, his forearms resting on the roof of the car, his head bent as he blows out heavily. Maybe, just maybe, he has even the tiniest sense of what I’m feeling, what is stirring up my insides every time I’m near him.

Mom and I are shown through the grand hotel, abuzz with meandering guests, and out back to an alfresco dining space on the lawn. I take a beat to appreciate my native scenery. Towering mountains, tall trees and birds tweeting all around us.

The area is shaded by a canvas canopy and I spot a long table, already half full with familiar faces sitting on seven of the fourteen chairs. One such familiar face is the woman I thought would become my mother-in-law.

Victoria, Andrew’s mom, appears to be smiling at me through gritted teeth.

‘If it isn’t the lady of the hour,’ one of Mom’s friends says. She is up from her seat as we approach the table and engulfs first Mom, then me, in her copious bosom. ‘Little Abigail, let me see you. It must have been three, maybe four years since I’ve seen you. You haven’t changed a jot.’

She holds me at arm’s length and considers the dress I may well have been wearing the last time she saw me. I cringe inside, my momentary conviction stirred by Mike’s touch disappearing rapidly. All the while, I sense the gaze of Victoria on my back.

I’m embraced and petted like a child by another five of the women around the table and, somewhat unsurprisingly, the lastwoman to stand to greet me is Victoria. I have sought her approval, her love even, for most of my life. Now, the look on her face tells me unequivocally that I have neither and I hate to admit even to myself that I’m disappointed.

Another guest arrives as Victoria and I come face-to-face, meaning happily the watchful eyes of everyone else at the lunch are diverted when Victoria simply stands before me and says, ‘Abigail.’

I feel chastised. I’m the child outside of the principal’s office after a fallout.

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