Page 74 of Hello Darling
20
Stella
Idon’t know how it’s possible to be so happy and sad and comforted and scared at the same time. I’m at work, smiling at members and delivery people, floating on a fluffy white cloud that’s cushioned with every kind and sexy phrase and gesture that Evan has embraced me with, meanwhile the words: “premiere” “Los Angeles” “London” “Africa” and “wedding” thunder in the distance. I don’t want to tell myself that I should be more excited by the idea of traveling to be with him. I just know that he should be with someone who is. Even if it isn’t me. Even if it will crush me to not be with him.
I don’t feel capable of eating when it’s time for my lunch break, so I just head down to the beach for a walk to clear my head. To the spot my mother loved, the place where I first spotted a handsome stranger. The music of The National, whom I love, is too melancholy for me now. I switch to a Nineties pop playlist, and suddenly I’m ready for whatever love has to offer.
Almost as soon as I take a seat on my favorite log, I get a text that says:
Mona: Are you okay???
Me: I’m better than I have been in years. I think. Why?
Mona: Nothing! Glad to hear it! Never mind!!!
A three question mark “Are you okay” plus a three exclamation point “Never mind” equals I’m giving her a call.
I can hear Portland street noise in the background when she answers with phony cheer: “Heeeeey girl!”
“Mona. What?”
“Nothing! I’m so glad you’re happy!”
My stomach clenches before my brain even remembers The Kwas at the deli the other night. “Oh shit. Are there pictures of us online?”
She pauses for a very telling half a second before saying: “Yup! But it’s so not a big deal like—literally nothing compared to all the shit that’s going on in the world right now.”
“Oh god. I can’t look. I promised him I wouldn’t.”
“No no no—it’s seriously not bad! The pictures are so cute—really! You both look so in love and happy and I love that you were at the deli! There are just so many idiots and assholes with internet access, it’s depressing.”
“So are bloggers writing mean things about me or something?”
“No! No, they just post them and then people make stupid comments. Honestly it’s all so dumb, I shouldn’t have brought it up. How was your Thanksgiving?!”
“Tell me.”
“Nope.”
“Tell me the three worst things you’ve read.”
“Ummm. Well, I’m in line at a food truck, I can’t…” Her voice muffles and I can tell she’s putting in her order. “Hang on, Stel, I gotta get my money out.”
All I can think about is that I should have gone up to Jason as soon as I saw him with his phone and given him a piece of my mind. And that I shouldn’t have kissed him on Halloween. I refuse to regret going out to dinner with Evan.
“Hey,” Mona says, thankfully putting a halt to my spinning thoughts. “So first of all, this is just what it’s like whenever there are pictures of him with a new girl. I remember when he first started going out with Georgia March, all these die-hard Hunterhoes were like: ‘she isn’t good enough for him!’ ‘she’s too young for him!’ ‘it’s just a movie fling it will never last!’ And now they’re all: ‘he’s just rebounding from Georgia!’ and ‘she must be his assistant’ or ‘he’ll be back with Georgia in no time.’ One genius wrote that you’re just a decoy so people don’t find out Evan’s actually dating his current co-star. Which doesn’t even make sense. Oh but my favorite was when someone commented that you look like Renee Zellweger at the beginning of Bridget Jones. So there. The worst anyone can say about you is that you look like an Oscar winner.”
“Is there a picture of me making a face when I’m eating a crumpet?”
“What? No. You’re making a face frowning at whoever’s taking the pictures in one of them.”
“Kwas. It was Kwas.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? What. A. Douchebag.”
“So does it say who I am, or what?”
“No, you’re referred to as his ‘unidentified female companion.’”
