Old Ginger is getting a roomy. There you go. I’m in shock. He’s going to ruin her. They all do eventually.
The door opens to the terrace once more and Leza, my old friend from university, hands me a fresh glass of wine. Her manicured nails are painted the same colour as her dusty blue eyes.
“Hi. How’ve ya been?” I immediately skull the contents of the glass. Its sweet fruity flavour is refreshing.
“Great. I think the question should be, how are you?” Leza eyes me with what can only be described as pity, and I stare back at her like she’s got fat since we left university.
God, I hate pity. God, I hate Leza. I hate everything. And I’m no longer a nice person. I’m mean. I’m mean to everybody. I hate myself.
“So how are you?” Leza asks.
“Yeah, yeah good … great even. Sorry I haven’t caught up with you for a while. Busy … busy, not enough hours in the day.” Blah blah blah. “We should definitely do coffee soon.” Or not! I’m rambling. Stop looking at me like that already. “Just doing my thing.” My hands clamp shut tightly into fists. Stop talking, will you?
“Abi …” She pauses. “You look so tired, so vacant.”
“Well, you look fat—.”
“That’s not very nice. She’s just joking, Leza. Of course Abi knows you’re having a baby.”
Oh crap! Sammy. A baby? What? Leza’s having a baby? Why are these fools tying themselves down to men?
“I was joking. She’s stunning. I was just about to tell Leza how amazing she looks. It was a joke.” Scrambling is definitely a strength of mine. Suffering from foot-in-mouth is another one of my pleasant traits.
Placing my hand softly onto Leza’s tummy, I stand. Her belly moves like an alien grows within, pressing hard against my skin. Yuck!
“You’re glowing. Pregnancy suits you.” I squirm, removing my hand as fast as humanly possible. Who would ever want a child?
“I’ve missed you,” Leza says with a wide smile.
“Ditto.” I take a deep breath. Make this moment end.
Sammy helps Leza back inside, glaring at me before closing the door behind her.
“I hate this bloody pretence bullshit conversation,” I spit.
Sammy’s expression softens as she steps towards me, placing her hand on the arch of my back. “Remember we all love you,” she whispers into my ear as she escorts me off the terrace and back into the house.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re going to the media room. It’s important.”
Walking behind her, I can’t help wondering why she would say such a thing.
My mouth gapes open. My vision must be deceiving me. Maybe that glass of wine was laced with something. Ten sets of eyes stare at me with despair or is it disappointment? You’ve got to be shitting me.
“What the actual fuck, guys?” I yell as my fingers press firmly into each hip bone. “Why do I think this little shindig is an intervention for me? Let me see … because there’s a huge fucking sign that says intervention.” I huff, furiously. “Why? Alcohol? Weed? I only smoke occasionally to help me sleep. The curse I live with? It’s real. Do you want me to spend tonight going through the bullshit that has been my life?” I take a shaky breath. “We only do interventions for real messed up issues. Like the time you refused to shave, Leza, for a year.” I point in her direction. She doesn’t reply. “Now, that was intervention-worthy. The time you refused to continue university, Sammy.” My gaze locks with hers. She remains silent. “What about the three months Ange said “righteous” after everything? Those were issues. Those were fixable problems. My shit, my issues can’t be solved. So back off.” I shout, my anger rising. I know my face is red because heat is radiating from my skin, and I’m sweating profusely. It’s not caused by the fucking humidity, that’s for sure. I’m so mad right now I could put my fist through the cinema-sized screen behind me. “Well? Will you all back off?”
“Abigail, you need to sit in the chair, right there.” Sophie points. One lonely chair—dead centre—up front.
“I know how this works,” I groan. “I invented the entire concept and rules of the intervention.”
After I plonk my butt into the chair like a dissatisfied toddler, Sammy clears her throat. “Stop scowling, Abs.”
“Screw you,” I scoff
“Charming.” She shakes her head.
I cross my arms defensively. Sammy sits with a sheet of paper, one leg placed over the other in the first seat from the aisle.
“Your skirt is too short, Ginger,” I spit in annoyance at this whole fiasco. “Nobody wants to cop an eyeful of your cooch.”
She ignores my taunts. “So, yes, this is your intervention. Tonight, we’re all here to help you. We’re your friends, and we love you.”
“You already said this before you blindsided me.” I throw my head back and sulk. Please make this night end. Please make them stop. And most of all, bite your tongue so you’re not cruel. These people love you, they’re your friends.
“Now you know the rules of an intervention. You must listen to each of us. We each get a turn to talk if we want to say something. We’ve written letters for you, which you can take home and read to help you understand how we feel.”
I roll my arms over, signalling they need to hurry up before my brain explodes.
“Tonight, we’re allowed to say his name.”
“You pinkie-promised, guys.”
“We’re not in primary school, Abs. Plus, interventions remove previous promises. You know that.”
Abruptly, I stand. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’m out of here.” My head spins. My heart thuds into my ears.
“It’s okay.” Trish’s tone is empathetic as she strokes my arm. “Sit down. It won’t take long.”
I sit even though my feet want nothing more than to run.
“I’ll go first,” Sammy says softly.
“Okay, Ginger. You do that,” I sneer.
“I love you and you know I do, even if you’re angry at me. But you’re my friend who needs help.”
“Best friend, traitor.”
“You’ve lost your spark, your soul. You were the most positive person I’d ever met, and even when Mike ended it …”
My entire body cringes as his name leaves her lips. I scowl. My legs jig.
“You still hung onto that part of yourself. But after the day he got engaged again and Bella passed away, not to mention the leave you’re being forced to take from work, everything about you has changed.” Her eyes become misty. She swallows hard. “We miss you. Please, you need to start somewhere. This is why we have pitched in to help you. Sophie, your turn.” She turns her head. She can’t even look at me now.
Miss Prim and Proper stands front and centre. I shake my head erratically in disbelief these fools would put me through this. Nothing can be fixed here, dammit!
“Hey, chick, sorry for springing this on you, but it has to be done. You’re a Debbie Downer, let’s face it, and you need something to do apart from sleeping all day and drinking. The weed thing I didn’t know about. Stop smoking weed, you idiot.” Sophie rolls her eyes. I do the same back to her, which causes her to glower momentarily. “It’s time for you to go back to work. It’s been over five months. You need to do something with your life. And since you can’t go back to your job, well, you know why, and because we love you, we’ve organised an interview for you. We’re offering you a fresh start.”