Epilogue #2
Ah, I have missed her. We talk on the phone every couple of weeks or so, but there’s nothing like having her obliterate all my meaningless small talk to my face.
We still haven’t seen our dad, but Leila’s been in touch saying we’d both like to see him and he’s agreed.
We just need to set a date, but I asked if it could wait until I was settled in at work.
I’m trying this other new thing where I deal with one thing at a time, instead of throwing myself headlong into the shark-infested waters of all my problems and hoping I won’t get eaten.
“What is this?” Leila points to a table covered in a red cloth, with a tarot deck, a guidebook, and a candlestick laid out.
“It’s my new party trick,” I say. I’m coming for Spellbound Sue’s job. “Would you both like a reading later on?”
“I love tarot,” says Mia, deadly serious. That doesn’t surprise me.
I show them to the spare room and leave her and Mia to unpack.
An hour later, I haven’t had another drink, but I am still somehow managing to have fun.
Incredible. I guess parties can be fun if you try talking to other people, instead of spending them in a dark corner by yourself tracking your ex-boyfriend’s movements.
I’ve also given several, dare I say it, very insightful readings.
One of Phil’s mates said his “mind was blown” and keeps glancing at me in horror from across the room as if I’m an actual witch.
At that moment, I catch a glimpse of a familiar side profile. I recognize that slope of shoulder . . . that blond, wavy hair . . . that laugh.
NO.
WAY.
It takes me a moment to adjust to what I’m seeing.
It’s Vera.
Vera, the only person I actually fancied on a date in years.
The only person that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t turn into an amusing anecdote or convince myself was subpar in some way.
Vera, the woman who inspired that first glint of recognition that I might be partly to blame for my own tragic love life.
Is this it? My big movie moment where I finally cross paths with That Person?
Has fate come knocking?
I move closer . . . and see she’s holding hands with another woman.
Ah, OK . . . not fate.
Vera catches my eye and almost spits out her drink. “Becky!” She turns toward me and reaches in for a hug.
“Hey.” I try not to sound as uncomfortable as I feel. The woman she’s with carries on her conversation with one of Angie’s work colleagues, thank the Lord.
“So how’s Bali?” Vera grins. There’s no animosity in her tone.
I laugh awkwardly. “Ahem, yeah, that didn’t exactly work out . . . Funny story . . .”
“It’s OK, Becky, I’m only joking.” Vera playfully touches my shoulder.
“But . . . I really was moving there!” I protest. “And it really is a funny story. I didn’t lie. I mean, not that you care, but you know . . . just so you know.” I tail off weakly.
“Thanks. You did break my heart, I can’t lie. But it’s cool. We’re cool.” Vera smiles. Her eyes crinkle at the side and glint mischievously.
Urgh. Urghhhhh. There’s a palpable vibe between us. And she’s so nice and STUNNING. How did I not notice how beautiful she was the first time we met?! I mean . . . I noticed. But, like, I didn’t notice notice. Now I’m . . . NOTICING.
Did I really pass up sex with this woman because I was more interested in meaningless text exchanges and loaded glances with Max? I am so angry with past me.
“So how do you know Angie?” Vera asks.
“She’s my best friend. I live here!” I explain.
“No way!” Vera shakes her head fervently, then brushes a stray hair out of her face. “Such a small world. Angie works with Keira.” She nods to the woman she was standing with.
Ugh. Keira. Lucky hag. I pray she is making full use of all the sex I missed out on.
We chat for a bit longer before going our separate ways. “Well, it was nice to see you, Becky,” Vera says.
“You too.” I smile.
“Will you give me a reading later on?” she asks.
“I can already tell you what it will say. You will bump into some dickhead you once went on a date with, who is now kicking themselves a bit, but is glad you seem happy.”
She laughs. And although I am obviously kicking myself, I feel all right.
OK, so it won’t be Vera—unless she and Keira break up, and then I’ll be straight in her DMs—but there will be others.
Now that I’m actually open to the possibility of meeting someone, the next time I come across a Vera I’ll be ready.
As I walk away, I take note of how well I handled that situation and how it didn’t send me into the depths of despair like it might once have done.
I am collected and together and, dare I say it, mature.
Obviously, I drag Dami and Angie into the bathroom like we’re at school to tell them about every second of the encounter in between periodically groaning, so not entirely mature. But baby steps.
The rest of the night passes by without drama.
I don’t get so drunk I end up vomiting on the carpet.
Or even in the toilet. I hang out with my friends and my sister and listen to Phil’s long, loud anecdotes, gasping in all the right places.
I pay attention when other people talk about their lives; more than that, I want to hear about other people’s lives, because I don’t hate my own.
Every now and again, I can’t help looking around thinking about how lucky I am to live here.
When everyone is gone, I go upstairs and write one final letter.