CHAPTER 16
THIS MARRIAGE IS not going to last. The groom seems more preoccupied with drinking the menu with his buddies, and no blushing bride should give this much of a shit about the arrangement of the accoutrements on the charcuterie table that no one is touching.
(The crudités are leaking vinegar onto the smoked meats, which is an emergency.) And like, the bride and groom aren’t touching each other.
I give it a year.
For the first few hours, work is uneventful, if perhaps a little tougher because my body can no longer handle two days of drinking in a row and then be expected to function. That earns commiserations from Reg. Unsympathetic laughter from Nicole. I’m not worried about it; her time will come.
I’m counting down the seconds. I can hear my bed calling me. I didn’t even drink that much—last night, at least—so why is my body punishing me like this?
I just want to sleep and feel human again. And maybe I want to be well rested for when I see Arthur tomorrow.
Bee is here tonight, and I’m seeing her for the first time since before my date.
To tell the truth, I entirely forgot about her these last two days, and I’m not overly eager to jump into a conversation now.
It’s not like I’m avoiding her. Definitely not.
In fact I’m in the unprecedented situation of wanting to discuss (confront) some negative feelings (anger, hurt) that Bee has unintentionally elicited from me. It’s just not the time.
She’s a bit preoccupied with carrots and San Daniele anyway. And then she slips out while I’m in the kitchen serving mains.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I go into the glass room to see who it is, if my thinking of Arthur has conjured him into my phone.
It’s Bee. She probably wants me to stop at 7-Eleven for something on the way home. Or she’s drunk texting while watching Below Deck again.
I am confronted by a wall of text.
It must be serious because she has used proper grammar and everything.
Hi. I have been trying to figure out how
to reach out about this because we are in
such a weird place, but this is just creating
so much anxiety for me. I need to say
it without interruption. I really hate this
distance between us. But at this point, I feel
like I’m trying SO hard to be friends with
someone who just isn’t very interested. I
have spent some time meditating on what
has gone wrong in these last few months,
and I keep coming back to what I feel is an
imbalance of effort in our friendship. I clearly
communicated to you months ago that I felt
you were less present in our relationship,
and I have seen no meaningful attempts
at change. I just keep wondering why the
sudden shift in behaviour. We used to be
such good friends. We used to do everything
together. Everyone keeps telling me it’s
jealousy or just dissatisfaction with your own
life, but projecting your problems onto me and
treating me like shit when I’ve done nothing to
you is a really poor way to deal with whatever
you’re feeling. I think you need to take some
time to really reflect on why you’re being like
this. But I don’t know how much longer I can
go on this way. It’s just getting so toxic, and I
had to say something. To have these kinds of
things go on and NOT express them? I’ll get
sick and die. Anyway, I would love the chance
to sit down and talk this out with you, and I
hope you’ll be open. Xx
‘What the fuck?’ I flinch, and my shoulder knocks into something hard that yelps.
I turn, and it’s a chin, attached to Nicole’s face, which it turns out has been leaning over my shoulder.
I didn’t notice her entering the glass room.
I didn’t feel her presence behind me. ‘What the actual fuck?’ she says again, pointing at my phone.
Then she grabs it out of my hand, hunches over it and squints.
She looks back up at me, bewildered. ‘Why are you being so calm about this? Why haven’t you broken a bunch of glasses or something? Aren’t you angry?’
My vision is blurring. It might be tears.
It might be a heart attack. I don’t know how Nicole is already reacting; either she’s going fast or I’m in slow motion.
I can’t even compute what I’ve just read.
‘I don’t know what I am,’ I say. It must be tears, because my voice is shaky.
I feel Nicole’s arms wrap around me, and I lean into the comfort she offers.
After a while, Nicole says, ‘She’s wrong, you know.’
‘What?’
‘She’s calling you a bad friend. And you’re not. I know I’m one hundred per cent biased against Bee, but you’re way too good to her. And she’s just throwing that in your face.’
I break her hold and turn to look at her. ‘How can you say that? You lived it.’
‘Seriously? You were a bit shit for half a second, apologised and learned from it. We’re not going to stop being friends with you because of it!’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’
‘God, if my friends ditched me every time I did something stupid, I’d have, like, negative one hundred friends.
Or one hundred enemies. Did I not tell you that I accidentally sent a text to Nari last week talking about this fugly skirt she wore?
I apologised. She’s over it. She did also get rid of the skirt because she realised it truly is a shocker. ’
I sigh. Nicole’s words wash over me, and I don’t really comprehend what she has said, but I get the general vibe that she’s trying to reassure me.
I’m not sure I know how or even have the energy to make her see that it’s different.
Of course some friend she has known since high school is going to forgive her one transgression. But new friends?
I want to laugh at how secure I felt in this only last night. How smug I was, going from dates to drinks, laughing and feeling safe with new people.
But the reality hits like cold from the ice machine.
I’m the outsider, the interloper, trying to infiltrate an established group.
As the invader, you’re constantly on edge, wary, understanding that you’re there only on a probationary licence.
It’s to exist in constant hyper-awareness.
A seemingly endless audition, because if you pose even a smallest of threats to the established order, you’re done.
One foot wrong, and you’re out on your ass.
And I let my guard down too easily this week. I forgot to be vigilant.
That shouldn’t be the case with Bee, of course. She’s meant to be my ‘you’ve known them for years, so there’s room to mess up’ person. But she already put me on notice for that. I failed a second time, and now I don’t know if there’s another chance.
I’m staring into the blur when Nicole grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me.
My vision clears to show her insistent face.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘We’re friends. I’m not going anywhere.
And if you’re not going to get justifiably mad at her for pulling this shit, I’ll just have to be pissed on your behalf. ’
And I’m already humiliated enough that my body is just in for a penny in for a pound, which I think is why the next sentence escapes my lips when I’ve managed to hold it back all these months.
I know it sounds childish. But: ‘Why do you even like me?’ I’m wailing now.
‘You and Reg and the others, you just…you kept on inviting me!’ My voice drops to a whisper. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
‘Oh Gertie,’ Nicole whispers, lunging forward to hug me again. My shoulder feels cold and damp, so I think she’s crying too. ‘Why is it so hard to believe that we might actually like you?’
I mean, before I would’ve argued that it was because I was an NPC in my own life who added very little to any given situation. In recent times, I’d argue that it’s the fact that I’m a chaotic mess acting several years below my actual age, and now bringing drama instead of nothing.
In my ear, Nicole whispers, ‘You’re funny as.
Like, that really dry humour. And you’re so kind.
Not nice. Nice is a bland as shit word. But kind.
We’ve always said you give Bee way better than she deserves.
And you also actually care about this job and do it well.
’ I snort, because that’s a weird one. ‘Hey,’ she says, finally pulling back.
Her eyes are red like mine now, and a dribble of snot is coming from her nose.
‘Competence is hot. And so is caring about stuff. I bet you recycle your soft plastics.’
‘Yeah, I do,’ I laugh, sniffling. ‘I promise I wasn’t fishing for compliments.’
Nicole shrugs. ‘Friends are meant to hype you up.’
Reg walks in, and it must be quite a feast for the eyes.
He gives me the once-over, taking in my blotchy, swollen face, bloodshot eyes and shaking hands.
He’s nice enough not to look horrified, just concerned.
Nicole doesn’t let him speak. She starts directing.
‘Reg, I’m going to need you to get everyone to stay out of here for the next little while. Gertie needs to fix herself up.’
‘But what about the glassware?’ he asks, indicating the tray of dirty half-filled cups. Nicole waves a dismissive hand.
‘Do it in the kitchen. Also, if there are any of the lava cakes leftover, we’re going to need them here.’
‘Yes, boss.’ And I can tell he’s reluctant, but he leaves.
Within fifteen minutes, I have eaten three lava cakes, cleaned up the lava-cake explosion that burned my leg, redone my hair with a comb Nicole inexplicably carries around and been assured at least six times that my face doesn’t look like I’ve been crying before we finally leave.
Three colleagues standing behind the bar turn to look at us as we go. They clearly want to know what we were doing there, despite respecting Reg’s directive. Nicole just gives them a nod and walks out ahead of me.