Page 69 of She Used to Be Nice
“Hey, did you hear me?” Morgan called out, a little louder. “I said you need to eat pizza for me.”
Avery looked up. “Oh. Sorry. Don’t worry, I will.”
Morgan went back to admiring herself in the mirror. “I just want to feel beautiful on that day, you know? It sounds so lame to say that out loud …”
A few beats of silence passed. Morgan looked at Avery through the mirror, and it was only when Avery caught her eye that she realized she hadn’t replied.
“You will be beautiful,” Avery said in a voice she hoped was convincing and present enough. But she felt so terribly far away. “I promise. You always are. Even if you gain multiple pounds.”
Morgan’s mouth pressed into a line. She took a beat before saying, “Were you able to mail back the bridesmaids dresses, by the way?”
“Yeah, mine are all set. I know Blair’s pissed that she had to carry all those boxes back to UPS, but she only had four so she can relax.” Avery didn’t have the energy to filter herself. Nothing seemed as big of a deal as whether her worst fear that she was too broken for Pete was coming true.
Morgan raised a brow. “I mean, sure. But I agree that it was annoying and could’ve been avoided.”
Avery softened and met Morgan’s eye. She put her phone down. She wasn’t being fair. The fact that she’d messed up the bridesmaids dresses order was a huge deal, and she knew it.
“I know,” she said. “You’re right. I really am so sorry.”
Morgan’s face remained neutral. “Whatever.”
Some minutes later—Avery had no idea how many—Morgan materialized fully dressed in her cropped jeans and white T-shirt. Avery hadn’t even realized she’d started changing. She could really use a cigarette. She dug through her purse to find one as she followed Morgan out of Kleinfeld, but she must’ve left her pack at home because she came up empty. Her spirits brightened when she spotted a Halal cart across the street. Caffeine would suffice in place of nicotine.
“Thank God,” Avery said after she and Morgan each bought a cup. She lifted her drink to her nose to let the nutty, earthy vapors revitalize her.
“Cart coffee is so underrated,” Morgan said. “Even Blair, who you know is bougie about her coffee, thought it was great when I introduced it to her last week.”
Avery paused taking a sip. “She was hereagain?”
“Yeah, visiting Noah. Those two are so in love. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get engaged next.”
A heavy, drowning sadness washed over Avery. Noah and Blair were in love, and Avery and Pete were … well, who even knew?
“Hey, are you okay?” Morgan asked. “Today was supposed to be fun but you’ve been out of it all morning. Kinda killing the vibe.”
Avery stared down at the sidewalk, observing the mosaic of cracks and fossilized pieces of chewing gum etched into the concrete. The chipped burgundy polish on her fingernails caught her eye. A disgusting manicure: something else to add to her list of things to hate about herself. She glanced at Morgan’s nails, painted a neat pale pink. Essie Ballet Slippers.
She stopped walking. “Can I have a hug?”
Morgan tilted her head in confusion but stopped, too. “You want a hug?”
Avery nodded. If things continued the way they were now, with Morgan being pissed and Pete being distant and Noah on the fast track toward his own happily ever after, these last few months until the wedding were going to wear her down to nothing.
“Of course you can get a hug,” Morgan said. She held her arms out. Her citrus perfume wafted toward Avery in a way that made her want to cry, so she did. She did her best to hide her tears from Morgan, not wanting to ruin the day more than she already had. “Is everything okay?”
Avery sniffled with her cheek pressed against Morgan’s chest. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. And she was getting really, really tired of faking it.
20
IT TURNED OUTPETE’S“ha” was not the omen Avery thought it was. On her way home from Morgan’s dress fitting, he texted Avery asking to have a picnic in Central Park the following weekend. Avery felt light-headed with relief when she saw his name pop up on her screen and flew her fingers across the keyboard to accept his invitation. As she watched the word “Delivered” appear underneath her blue iMessage bubble, she thought about how just a few months ago, she’d have thought this suggestion was nauseating. Picnics in the park always felt so cringeworthy, like a performance of romance. Any traditional romantic gestures had always made Avery cringe. Buying a dozen roses or a box of chocolates required no original thought, which made it feel meaningless. And the mere knowledge that it was a romantic gesture put pressure on you to be grateful. You’re a specific kind of bitch if you don’t swoon over the teddy bear your boyfriend gets you for Valentine’s Day. But now, Avery didn’t even care about the cringe factor. In fact, she was thrilled to have a picnic with Pete, and not in spite of the romance but because of it.
“Wait, you’re doingwhat?” Morgan asked the next day on FaceTime. She was in the middle of giving herself a pedicure, her foot propped up in front of her phone on her coffee table, bright pink toes wiggling on screen. “Can you please repeat that?”
Avery was in the middle of stuffing her dirty clothes into a bag to bring to the laundromat. The situation was dire. She was running out of underwear.
“I can’t go to brunch this weekend because I’m having a picnic in Central Park with Pete,” she said.
