I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. “So what are we discussing, ladies?” They both jumped backwards, putting space between them.
“Oh … you know, the weather.” Mum’s cheeks flushed.
“And the newsroom,” Sammy added.
“Well, they’re both great topics of conversation. I’m sad I missed it.” Liars.
“We didn’t hear you come in, sweetheart.” Mum walked over to me, pulled my head forward, and kissed my cheek. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like flowers blooming in spring. Never better.”
Sammy rolled her eyes at me, then huffed. “Save us the sarcasm, will you?”
“What? I feel great.”
“Yeah, and you look it.”
“See. Flowers in bloom … Spring … Happiness.”
“If you say so, petal.” Mum smiled. Her blue eyes no longer gleamed like they once did. I knew my downfall was breaking her heart. “Have a good day, you two.” She winked at Sammy, which pissed me off. Cahoots.
“Come on, Ginger, you’ve got your way. I’m up. I’m dressed. Let’s go.” I sighed.
“Seriously. Is Ginger going to be my new nickname? I ask because I hate it.”
“Well, yes. It suits you. The ginger hair. The pale skin. Those soft blue eyes. Definitely a Ginger. No longer a Sammy.”
“I see.”
I hopped into the passenger side of her Mazda6. “What’s with Dorothy, anyway?” Sammy had recently come up with a nickname of her own for me.
She laughed, obviously pleased by her own creativity. “The Wizard of Oz. You, my friend, are lost and in need of finding your way home. You need an awakening to slap you back into life.”
“No, I don’t. I know where I live, so Dorothy is a stupid name.”
“If you say so.”
After bickering about nicknames for the duration of the car ride, Sammy pulled up outside our regular meeting place. We glanced at each other briefly. Ginger then chewed on her bottom lip. She was nervous. Why?
“The Coffee Club,” she stated, slowly, strangely, although it was obvious where we were. We came here all the time.
Making my way from the car, I tripped on the guttering. Fuck my life.
“Come on, hop along like a bunny,” Sammy called back to me, entering the restaurant. “Booking under Spencer,” she stated when I caught up.
“Spencer. Yes. Your party has arrived. Please follow me.”
“Party ...? Sammy, what party?” I whispered in confusion. I couldn’t people right now. Why was she doing this to me? “Sammy, what party? I repeated. She said nothing, and before long, I was faced with said party. Ange and Sophie. Great.
“Samantha. Abigail. It’s so good to see you.”
Sophie stood, rushing towards us. She was dressed in the latest fashion. Her short blonde bob was styled perfectly, and as always, she radiated beauty. I couldn’t help wanting to mess her hair a little. I mean, when did messy ponytails go out of style?
Ange was quiet; she always was. Perhaps Ange was someone I could tolerate. She too was well-presented, not a brown strand out of place, nor a single lash framing her wide dark eyes uncurled. Nope! I couldn’t do this. I needed out. I wanted to say, “Why do we have to do lunch with people?” Instead, I forced a smile and accepted a soft kiss to the cheek from Sophie’s red-stained lips.
“OMG!” Her excitement was apparent as we sat. “I have so much to tell you, Abigail.”
Sammy moved her hand back and forward in front of her neck, the universal sign for shut the conversation down.
What was that pain-in-the-arse trying to hide from me? Normally, I’d roll my eyes and fake interest in any conversation, thinking about my own shit rather than listening. But good old Sammy had sparked my curiosity.
“OMG. Seriously, I cannot wait to hear all about it, Soph. It’s been too long. I’m afraid I’m completely out of the loop on everything.” I glanced at Sammy. “Order me a thick shake, will you, Ginger? I can’t wait to hear the news.”
Sammy’s eyes grew big, and the fake smile she was displaying was funny. “Why don’t we do the catch-ups after we order?” she insisted.
“Really? I think we should hear Soph’s news first. Why don’t you read the menu and get your order ready?” I placed both of my hands under my chin and stared into Sophie’s baby blue eyes. God, they sparkle.
“Okay. So you know how Rodger and I moved in together last year?”
How could I have forgotten? I mean, we were gifted a month of social media updates on Chatterbox about every little thing those two did while sharing a new home. I’m instantly annoyed, picturing all their stupid deco photos. Seriously. Who posts pictures of yellow cushions? Nobody cared, Sophie.
Realising I’d drifted away from the conversation at hand, I tried hard to focus.
“Well …” She drew out whatever she so desperately wanted to tell me. “Yesterday morning … on the beach right across the road, Rodger got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.” She threw her hand out into the middle of the table. I cringed. A shiny diamond sparkled under the lights and I felt as though I’d been punched in the guts.
Ange and Sammy squealed with congratulations. So fake. Who were they trying to fool? They knew about this already. Fuck. I feared I turned whiter than old Ginger’s legs sat beside me. Why do people try to be happy? Happiness didn’t exist. It was an illusion we created for ourselves. It’s wasn’t real. Neither was love. Love equalled a heap of bullshit.
I wanted to scream “He’s going to destroy you” but instead I smiled and muttered the words, “That’s great. Congrats.”
Double fuck!
The room shrunk like heated clingwrap around my face, and steam rushed through my limbs. “Is it hot in here?”
Nobody replied.
“Seriously, is it steaming hot in here?” My body was heating up as each millisecond passed.
“No, it’s actually a little nippy with this air conditioning,” Ange finally stated.
What was happening?
Sammy must have seen the distress on my face. She excused us quickly and pulled my arm, dragging me into the restrooms. “You’ve gone so pale. It’s going to be all right. I knew this would happen. I knew it.”
Concern wrinkled the corners of Sammy’s eyes. With each passing second, the restroom blurred.
“Abi, talk to me, please?”
I opened my mouth, but no words come out. I lowered to the floor.
“Oh, crap.”
I reached out my hand and latched firmly onto her arm.
Sammy crouched beside me.
Without warning, I burst into tears.
The worst part of it all? I never figured out why I was crying.
***
“We’re here.” Mum sounds so far away. “Petal, we’re here.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, snapping out of my thoughts, glaring out the car window at the three-storey monstrosity in front of me. Trish comes from money, a lot of money. She’s also marrying into wealth. Her dad is a big-time solicitor, her mum a paediatrician, and she grew up to be an interior designer. Stuart, her soon-to-be husband, is some fancy architect. They’re nice people, yet I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be home in bed.