Chapter 23
Liz, May 22
Candy doesn’t know that a bunch of people have decided to hit up a bar near West High before the reunion. Josh, some old football star, organized the bar bash for the day before the reunion. I didn’t want to go, honestly, but part of me wondered if this was my chance to see Ben and show him the new me.
I dress to kill. My best purple shirt, chosen because it’s a good color and because it makes my boobs look amazing. A cute skirt, heels to make my legs look longer, and knock-out curls in my shoulder-length hair. I do the make-up I never wore in high school and top it off with a pretty necklace that nestles right into my exposed cleavage. I don’t invite Matt. This one’s not for him. I am thinking if I regret the reunion as an opportunity for Ben to appreciate his handy work, then this is my opportunity to make him wonder if it worked. Torture him just a little. Let him see what he gave up.
Of course, there’s the possibility he won’t even be there. Maybe he’s planning on sliding in just for the official reunion tomorrow. Maybe he’ll skip the bar to avoid all the small talk and the stares. But what if he does show up? What if I’m not there? That thought alone has me reapplying my lip gloss for the third time. If this is my chance, I don’t want to miss it.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the last month. I think I have mentally prepared myself for dealing with Ben. I am not upset or angry anymore. I think I am starting to come to terms with the fact that he meant well and I have accepted that, as much as anyone can accept being completely ignored.
Matt is grand, we are having so much fun. One thing continues to bother me, however. Matt doesn’t know a thing about Ben. I started this relationship pissed at Ben, so I just didn’t mention him. Then it became this thing I couldn’t mention because I couldn’t explain why I hadn’t mentioned him before. How do you pull off a “we’re just friends” excuse when you spent two months not speaking of this particular friend?
Thinking about how to explain Ben to Matt has little beads of sweat building up on my forehead and along my upper lip. “Hey honey, I swear he’s just a friend. I mean yes, technically, I adored him and we have a history. Yes, technically, he knows things about me that even you don’t know. Yes, technically, he’s seen me naked. But I swear, he’s just a friend.” Yeah, that would go over well.
I press my palms flat against the counter, close my eyes, and take a shaky breath. Damn, even I don’t believe it anymore.
I pace my apartment for ten solid minutes, heels clicking against the floor. I check my phone twice, my email three times, even open the fridge like maybe the answer is hiding behind the orange juice. Nothing. Just me, too much makeup, and a pit in my stomach. Why am I even nervous? It’s just a bar. Just old classmates. Just… possibly Ben.
I shake my head, gather up all the courage I can muster, remind myself I don’t care whether Ben’s at the bar or not, and head out. I’m going to see some old friends, turn some heads, and maybe drink too much.
Five minutes later, standing in front of the mirror one last time, I whisper to my reflection: “You’re over him. You are. You have to be.”
I hate men.