Page 20 of The ABCs of You & Me

His left eyebrow arches high, pulling his lips up on one side. “I’m more surprised you ever found joy in eating raisins.”

A sudden flurry of activity distracts us both, and I realize that while we were discussing the great raisin extraction of yesteryear servers have placed bread and big bowls of salad on the table. Several other people have joined us as well, and I’m happy to discover that the woman sitting next to Gregory has pulled his attention away from me.

“Don’t judge me too harshly, but I love a banquet-style salad,” Foster says, holding the bowl out for me so I can serve myself.

“Why’s that?”

“They always have those little hot peppers.” I look down at my plate, and sure enough, a pepper is peeking out from below some shockingly pale iceberg lettuce.

“Do you want mine?” I spear it with a fork and hold it out to him. Instead of plucking it off and putting it on his plate he drags it off my fork with his teeth, pulls off the stem, and chews like he’s in heaven. How the fuck is that so seductive? “Good?”

“Judging by the lettuce, that will probably be the culinary highlight of the night,” he whispers while passing the bowl to his right.

“The food at this thing has never been spectacular.” I shrug and move the salad around my plate.

“Be careful with that one,” I hear Gregory say, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “The salad has chickpeas. Might be too exotic for our girl Sophie.”

Before I can say anything though, Foster’s hand gives my knee a squeeze. “Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Ya know, I’ve never had a problem with making her food she likes. Hell, we had Korean the other night, and she had seconds. Then she thanked me for…” He stops, pretending to think. “What was it, like two hours?”

“Oh, at least,” I confirm. “But you’re forgetting the balcony, I think.” I watch Foster bite the inside of his cheeks, trying not to laugh.

A choking sound comes from across the table, and we look over to see Gregory dab the corners of his mouth. “I guess one is never too old to learn to like new things,” he says with a sneer.

“You’ve made that quite obvious,” Foster mumbles, earning a glare from my ex and a confused look from his date.

The exchange between them seems to have ended Gregory’s desire to engage further, and we spend the rest of the meal talking to the people on either side of us until the speeches. Gregory stands at the podium looking out across the ballroom before his eyes land on me. He looks at me the way he did when we first got together, when he wore a veil to hide the kind of person he really is, and I feel sick.

“I’m just going to run to the washroom,” I whisper to Foster.

He turns back to me looking concerned. “You alright?”

“Oh yeah, fine,” I lie before rising and walking briskly from the room.

In the washroom, I stand in front of the mirror trying to calm my mind. I hate the effect he still has over me. I thought I’d show up here and power through, and I think I’m pulling it off, on the outside at least. On the inside, it feels like bugs are crawling beneath my skin. Just as I feel like I can go back out and face him the door opens, and his date walks in. I don’t mean to stare at her, but once my eyes lock on her, it’s like I’m in a trance.

“Um, are you okay?” she asks, looking partly concerned but mostly terrified.

I bet everything with him is wonderful, right? He showers you with gifts and praise. I bet you’ve eaten at all the best restaurants in the city and you feel lucky to be on his arm. He’s probably jumped enthusiastically into your life, taking an interest in everything that means something to you.

I blink several times, slowly realizing not a word came out of my mouth and I’ve just been standing here staring with my face on fire.

“The left sink isn’t working,” I stammer before brushing by her and rushing back to the table, to Foster.

Gregory is still talking, and I hope for his girlfriend’s sake he didn’t notice her leave during his time in the spotlight.

“Good?” Foster asks when I sit down, concern etched on his handsome face.

“Um, I’m just a bit nervous,” I admit, forcing myself to take a sip of my lukewarm wine.

The rest of Gregory’s speech is a blur of soft touches from Foster, as if he’s reminding me he’s there. When my name is called from the stage, I desperately wish I could grab his hand and bring him with me. I don’t want to be up there with Gregory. I don’t want to be anywhere near him ever again.

I rise slowly and look up to find Foster standing as well. He pulls me gently into his body and drops his head to whisper in my ear. “You’ve got this. You’ve earned it, sunshine.”

He gives my hand a quick squeeze and I turn to the stage with my head held high.

“I knew this program was a good idea, and I can recall many nights of talking Soph into it. So in a way you have me to thank as well. Sadly, there is only one plaque, and my walls are pretty full as it is.” I keep the smile plastered on, but inside every muscle tenses as I cringe at his narcissistic diatribe. The crowd laughs, of course; they always do. He’s the golden boy, the favorite son. They clap and cheer and throw funding at him, and his ego grows and grows.

On the stage, Gregory hands me the plaque with one hand but pulls me against him with the other. “Maybe you can thank me for this in my office later, baby,” he whispers. “Like old times.” The fake smile falters for the briefest moment, but he’s made sure I’m the one on the outside, I’m the one everyone can see, so I force it back into place.

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