Page 15 of The Widower's Girlfriend
My winged eyeliner is like an omen for today: why even bother?
After my twentieth attempt, I wipe off the jagged line with a makeup remover cloth and settle for a minimalist look of mascara and foundation. My friends won’t care anyway. To them, I’m just Jay, the tomboy they felt sorry for in high school and tried to mentor. A follower to prop them up. A charity case.
Walker was like a magnifying glass at dinner last night, highlighting all the ways my friends were disrespectful. Previously, I knew they were not so nice, but with Walker there to witness it all, I saw the truth of our relationship with startling clarity. They were nasty.
I just had to get through today and tomorrow and then I’d be done. I’d find a way to remove myself from their clutches. Fading into the background and then disappearing forever is my preferred method of extraction. Barring that, I’d have to put on my big girl panties and face the nastiness when I broke things off with them in plain terms. Either way, it’s happening, I’m sure of it.
Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I head down to the lobby to meet them. We have plans to go shopping, then lunch, then head back to the hotel for happy hour. I’m not a shopper per se, but anything is preferable to staying in the hotel and possibly running into Walker.
After last night’s disappearing act, I have no intentions of texting him again. He sent me a text this morning, but I’ve vowed to ignore it. I’ll make all the excuses necessary to my friends, but I’m not including him in my weekend any longer. Fake boyfriend act is over.
Because here’s the thing: last night opened my eyes to how terribly my so-called friends treat me. I’m going to do something about them because I respect myself. But when Walker ditched me at the hotel and walked away like he didn’t even know me after blowing my mind with that kiss? He made me feel the same way my friends do. Maybe even worse. And I’ve learned my lesson. No more crappy people in my life.
Period.
Surprisingly, my friends don’t mention a thing about dinner last night, or Walker correcting Amy. She’s a little cooler than normal with me while we shop, but that’s to be expected anyway. She’s gotten progressively nastier each year. Shopping turns into the perfect distraction, possibly because this is their happy place. By the time we make it back to the hotel, I’m feeling like I can survive this weekend without permanent damage.
“I’m going to run to the restroom real quick.” I place my one small shopping bag on an empty chair at the bar and head off to the ladies’ room. When I come back, the rest of the girls are already seated with their huge shopping bags piled on top of mine at the end of their row. There’s nowhere to sit.
“Uh, guys?” They swivel their heads to look at me blankly. I gesture to the bags. “You going to let me sit or what?”
“Oh, sorry!” Diana hops up and moves the bags to the floor with a giggle.
Nothing better than feeling like an afterthought.
I control the eye roll and have a seat.
“What can I get you, miss?” The bartender gives me a nice smile and the girls giggle, shamelessly trying to draw his attention. Did I mention they’re all married or engaged?
“Just a glass of white wine, please. Oh, and an iced water.”
“So, any ideas for my bachelorette party?” Justine takes a sip of her rum and Coke, her meaning clear. She wants us to be planning something epic for her.
Before I can censor myself like I usually do around them, I remember how one of my coworkers is a flamethrower. “What if we did a Vegas weekend and saw one of the acts? My coworker was telling me about this flame-throwing show called Up In Flames going on in Vegas right now. He said it’s phenomenal.”
“Flame throwing?” Amy’s looking at me like I suggested we eat bugs.
“Yeah, you know, where they—” I swing my arm in a wide arc to demonstrate how they make huge flame circles and instead, I hit the glass of wine the bartender just placed on the bar, sending it spilling to the floor with a loud crash.
I lurch backward in a futile attempt to avoid the shower, then hop off my tall chair to grab the broken glass stem off the floor. The glass is lying in several pieces, having broken on contact with the tile floor. Everyone’s stare is like a weight on my back as I try to fix the damage I caused.
“Oh my God! That better not have gotten on my new dress!” Amy squeals above me.
The bartender materializes crouched next to me with a thick white towel.
“Stay back. I don’t want you to get cut.” He sweeps the liquid and glass shards into his thick towel then looks up at me. “That was my bad. I shouldn’t have placed the glass right by your arm.”
Even though my face is on fire, I give him a small smile. “No, no. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been gesturing wildly like that. Thanks for helping me.”
He smiles back, then stands and offers his hand to help me up.
“Jeez, Jay. Way to go full klutz-mode on us.” Justine is smiling, like it’s a joke, but there’s nothing funny about it.
Suddenly, flames are licking up my spine and making my head feel like it’ll blow. My embarrassment burns away to ash, not much different than the state of this friendship. Previously, I’d slink away and hope they forgot my awkwardness, but now I’m just plain mad. I don’t deserve to be talked to that way. I’ve had enough.
My hands are on my hips and my mouth is moving before I realize what I’m doing. “You know what? Thanks so much for your concern. I didn’t hurt myself, not that you asked.” I roll my eyes and grab my purse. “I’m going upstairs to change. Have a nice evening.”
Spinning on my heel, I march off to the elevators, not even seeing their gaping mouths in my wake.
