Chapter 3 Anna
Anna
“You know what your problem is?” Gemma says, rubbing lotion over her fair skin. “You need to get laid. You’ve barely left this flat since you moved in! All you’ve done is work and mope around.”
I watch as her diamond engagement ring twinkles under my bedroom light.
A little over a year ago, Gemma was assigned to work with Max on the prestigious launch campaign for the new Gray Hotel in Mayfair.
What started as a business relationship turned into something more.
They fell in love, moved into a stunning new apartment in Kensington, and were engaged shortly after.
They can’t keep their bloody hands off each other.
It’s funny, really. Two years ago, my best friends were single and I was the one dreaming up baby names. Now, Gemma’s marrying my brother, and April is expecting her first child with James.
I’m the fifth wheel.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely stoked for them. They’re both glowing with happiness and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for my best friends. Still, sometimes it’s hard not to feel like I’m being left behind.
“Give me a break,” I say, adding a wing to my eyeliner.
Tonight, I’ve finally agreed to go out. We’re headed to the Mayfair Lounge, a glitzy bar in the heart of Mayfair, for my thirty-fifth birthday. Coincidentally, it’s the same place April hooked up with her now-husband and baby daddy, James, the bass guitarist for Atlas Veil.
“Ease up on her, Gem,” April says. She’s kicked back on the bed, arms folded over the curve of her stomach. She looks ethereal with her blue eyes smoked out against her porcelain skin, red tresses curled.
“Thank you,” I say, glaring at Gemma before eyeing April’s baby bump. “Besides, should you even be going out in your condition?”
Her mouth drops. “My condition? What is this? The eighteen hundreds?”
“What if you shake the baby loose?” I ask, pointing at her belly.
April’s eyes turn to saucers as she stares at me, horrified. “Holy crap, that can’t happen… can it?”
“No, April. Your baby isn’t going to fall out your vagina,” Gemma says, mussing her blonde locks before shifting her eyes to me. “It’s your birthday, Anna. You’re about to start the summer term. You’ve had two weeks off teaching and done nothing. We’re going out.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one deciding what I do for my birthday?” I ask. The last thing I want is to get sloshed and pretend everything’s fine, when turning thirty-five feels more like a funeral than a celebration. Gemma and April share a look I don’t quite understand. “What was that look for?”
April studies me with those soft, concerned eyes.
“Hon, you’ve been holed up in your flat since you moved in a month ago.
You’ve barely stepped outside, apart from going to work.
I understand you’re hurting and going through a lot, but we’ve left you to your grief long enough.
” Her eyes slide to Gemma. “I won’t let you wallow.
We’re starting to get a little worried.”
“That’s not true,” I say, mashing my brows together. “We still have brunch on weekends and wines together after work.”
“No, Anna. You cancelled the last few brunch dates,” April says.
“Oh.” Did I? Crap. I didn’t realize.
“You don’t even go to yoga anymore,” Gemma says. “You loved yoga.”
I point at her. “In my defense, you stuck an amethyst crystal up my yoga instructor’s rectum.”
“Oh, please.” She guffaws. “That was one date and it was ages ago. He told me he could handle it!”
“How was I ever supposed to show my face in his studio after that?”
She shrugs. “Find a new class.”
I fix her with a hard look. “I liked Rafael’s class.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “All I’m hearing are excuses.”
I must admit, they have a point. I haven’t been very social this last year. And she’s right—I did stop yoga classes. When things with Mason were falling apart, I lost enthusiasm for everything. The spark. The joy. All of it.
I’ve been as flat as my mother’s arse.
“You love yoga, Anna. I think booking in some classes would be great for you. You deserve to do something that brings you peace, especially after everything you’ve been through,” April says, reaching for a glass of water from my bedside.
I sigh.
“Listen here, you sorry sack of shit—” Gemma starts.
Water shoots out of April’s nose, splattering across my bed as she chokes on a laugh. My mouth twitches. Despite currently being a pain in my arse, I’ve always loved Gemma’s sense of humor.
“If April is willing to take her bump out, you can at least muster some enthusiasm for tonight,” she finishes.
“Gemma!” April says.
“No, April. She needs some tough love.” Her stare slices into me. “Keeping your space tidy is a nonnegotiable, and frankly, Anna, your flat looks like a scene from 28 Weeks Later.”
“The zombie movie?” April asks.
“Precisely,” Gemma says.
My eyes scan my bedroom. I suppose I could have found a more productive way to deal with heartache than burying myself under unwashed clothes, takeout bags, and tubs of half-eaten ice cream. On my nightstand I think I spot a large takeaway cup of Coke from a week ago.
I wave a hand. “I’ll clean up later.”
“You need to pick yourself up and get yourself back out there, starting tonight,” Gemma says.
“I would be just as happy watching a movie with you guys,” I reply.
“Boring. It’s your birthday, Anna. You should celebrate it the proper way,” Gemma says.
I cross my arms. “And what constitutes proper to you, Gemma?” I already know I’m going to regret asking her.
She lifts her chin. “With a decent shagging.”
Yes, I immediately regret it.
I snap my eyeliner lid shut and toss it aside, uncrossing my legs to stand. “I just don’t think I’m ready yet.” I make my way to the wardrobe, fling open the doors, and begin rummaging through my options.
“You know what they say,” Gemma says, with a wink. “The best way to get over a man is to get under another.”
“How insightful,” I deadpan, pulling out a little black number and holding it against my body. Gemma nods in approval.
April giggles. “No one is pressuring you into doing anything except getting dressed up and having a good time.”
“And spreading your legs. Anna,” Gemma says, her voice low. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
I stare into the distance, trying to remember. Shit, was it really that long ago?
Before Mason and I officially announced our split, we’d decided to sleep in separate rooms. My wanting a baby made him feel like that was the only reason we were having sex, so our marriage very quickly lost its flare.
And once that pull toward each other weakened, the final embers of our marriage extinguished.
Where love once blazed, there was only coal and ash.
Mason wouldn’t touch me, not where it mattered most, and that was crushing.
“It’s been a little over a year,” I reply.
Gemma’s hand flies to her mouth. “She’s joined a nunnery.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” April says, smacking Gemma with a throw cushion.
“What? She’s practically a virgin! Her poor vagina has probably stitched itself back together by now,” Gemma says.
“I’m still in the room,” I say, waving my hand.
Gemma’s expression sobers. “I’m serious, Anna. You can’t stay locked up in this flat forever, pining over what’s-his-face.”
“Mason. The man I was married to for eight years. The man who was one of your best friends,” I say.
“Not anymore, he’s not. He kept his feelings from you for four rudding years. I’ll never forgive him.”
I sigh. “It’s complicated, Gem.”
April offers me a small smile, but it flickers, turning sympathetic.
I shake my head. I respect Gemma’s loyalty, but her anger is misplaced.
Mason isn’t the villain in this story. Yes, he broke my heart and shattered dreams of motherhood, but our marriage ended as amicably as it could have.
We didn’t throw dishes or scream at each other.
There were no nasty words or final blows.
We sat at our dining table, cried together, and agreed that splitting up was the right thing. For both of us.
I don’t blame him for not wanting kids—how can I? That’s his decision.
I don’t blame him for the hurt either. I know he felt it too.
What I do hold against him is the silence.
The years he hid his change of heart. Years I spent dreaming about a future he’d already decided he didn’t want.
If someone who shaped your happiness for eight years could hide something so monumental, how do you trust again?
How do you believe anyone who says they love you, when they might be quietly pulling away at the same time?
The thought tugs at my frayed edges.
So, no. I definitely won’t be looking to sleep with anyone tonight. In fact, I’d rather stay as far away from men as possible.
April watches me with her big, kind eyes and hopeful expression—the same look she gave when she begged me not to tell Gemma that she took too much magnesium and shat her pants at work.
She bats her beautiful lashes at me.
For fuck’s sake. I can’t say no to that face. I never could.
“Fine. I’ll go out and be social. But,” I say, pointing to Gemma, “I’m not sleeping with anyone. I’m simply having a couple of birthday drinks with my best friends. I will not partake in any one-night stands. I’m thirty-five now.”
“Exactly. You’re thirty-five, not bloody dead. You have a working vagina. Do something useful with it,” Gemma says, snatching her purse off the tallboy.
I throw Gemma a scandalized look and turn to April for support, who holds her hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me! She has a point. It might make you feel better.”
My shoulders drop and I jab a finger at the pair of strappy gold heels beside my bed. “Pass me those bloody shoes.”