Page 127 of Someone Like You

‘So, how are things with you?’ she asks me. ‘Are you going to tell Raff how you feel?’

‘Shh,’ I hiss.

I stick my head through the door to Issy’s room where Raff is now staying, but it’s empty. I listen out and hear movement in the kitchen, meaning the coast is clear. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about Raff.

I turn around and Mom and Issy are watching me, twin frowns of concern etching their faces.

‘What?’ I look away and take out a small brush to shape my full brows.

‘Things seemed a little tense when you got back from the store yesterday,’ says Mom. ‘Everything all right between you two?’

‘Close,’ says Issy, and Mom closes her eyes, then Issy starts smoothing taupe eyeshadow over her lids.

This gives me time to decide if I should tell Mom about seeing Eric. It might shift her focus away from me and Raff.

‘We ran into Eric at Trader Joe’s.’

Mom’s eyes fly open and Issy looks at me over her shoulder, her mouth open.

‘With Donna and their three-year-old,Tyler.’

‘Oh, hun, why didn’t you say anything?’ Mom asks.

‘Because when we got home, we were straight into cake making. Besides, I didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘Was Raff with you?’ asks Issy. ‘Like, right there with you?’

‘Yeah… I’m pretty sure he gave Eric the impression we’re a couple. And that he did it on purpose – to protect me.’

Issy faces me, pressing both hands to her heart, one of themstill holding the eyeshadow brush. ‘I heart Raff so much. What a man to do that for you.’

‘Issy’s right – that is a stand-up guy, right there.’

My throat closes, just like it did yesterday, and all I can do is nod. Because what is there to say? It’s yet another reason why Raff’s the perfect man for me – heliterallystood by me as I faced my past.

No, he didn’t just stand by me; he held me up.

I exhale slowly and direct my eyes back to the mirror. I grab a tube of lip gloss and run the wand over my lips, smacking them together. Then I squeeze out a dollop of hair product, rub my palms together, then run my hands over the loose curls I barrel-tonged earlier.

When I look back at Mom and Issy, they’re still watching me, empathy practically oozing from their pores.

‘Stop, I’m fine,’ I say emphatically. ‘Let’s just get over there, do Aunt Christine’s bidding, wish the bride and groom a happy life, then get drunk at the reception. Okay?’

I leave before they can answer. In my old room, I pop the lip gloss into my clutch, step into my heels, and head downstairs to see if Raff needs my help.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’

‘Everything okay?’ I ask, eyeing Raff sympathetically. It’s not that he never swears, but he’s almost always unflappable. This is not him being unflappable.

‘Fine,’ he replies curtly, frowning at a petal-thin fondant snowflake. He places it on the cake and it falls off. ‘Fuck.’ He tuts at himself, then sighs.

‘Any reason you’re channelling Hugh Grant inFour Weddings?’

‘I don’t have the equipment I’m used to and unless I make another batch of sugar syrup, I can’t get this final snowflake to stick.’

‘Give it.’

I hold out my hand and he places the delicate snowflake in my palm. Then I walk over to the trash can and throw it out.

---