Page 32 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Absolutely brilliant,’ Julian groaned. ‘How long is she staying?’

I shrugged. ‘How long is a piece of string?’

Marcy’s plane was two hours late and despite the air con in Arrivals, I was self-combusting on panic fumes, sweaty and exhausted from waiting on the hard wooden chairs and the drive all the way to Pisa, which was on the other side of Tuscany. I’d told her that the closest airport was Sant’Egidio in Umbria, but did she listen? No. Hence the sweaty butt stuck to my car seat and the foul mood. And when she saw me, she’d certainly have a dig about my weight, my hair and the childish color of the nail varnish on my toes.

But whensheappeared, one of her Chanel silk scarves wrapped around her head like a Fifties Hollywood star, shades as big as bug eyes and some poor airport guy lugging her cases, she looked fresh and radiant. How the heck did she do it every single time? Trust Marcy to piss me off before she even opened her mouth.

‘Darling!’ she called – a term I’d become familiar with when people were watching.

I pasted a smile on my face and opened my arms… only to see her head for Julian. Puzzled, he hugged her back, slanting me a questioning but resigned look.

Marcy was like that, staging these little scenarios in public. Today, she was Beautiful Businesswoman (notice the Blackberry and briefcase, probably full ofVogues) reuniting with her younger lover. Hopefully, she’d be too full of herself to concentrate on me.

‘Julian, you look amazing. As fit as the day we met!’

‘And you, dear Marcy, look like a schoolgirl. How do you do it?’

‘Oh stop,’ she said, hugging him to her again, and he sent me a wry, resigned grin over her shoulder.

And then it was my turn.

‘Erica?’ she gasped. ‘Oh my God, what’s happened to you? And why on earth aren’t you wearing a bra?’

I folded my arms over my breasts as she briefly hugged me. ‘I am,’ I shot back.

‘Well, then, we need to get you some new ones. They aren’t working anymore. Come on –we don’t want to be standing around here all day,’ she said as she passed her wheelie suitcase to Julian and linked her arm through his.

Julian’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he looked back at me. I rolled my eyes and shooed them ahead. Two minutes in and she’d already shown her true colors.

*

‘Paul, you look grand!’ Marcy exclaimed when we were back at the house, giving him an even warmer welcome than Julian’s.

‘So do you, girl!’ he chimed, and I groaned inwardly.

But I had to admit, it was true. Marcy looked ten years younger. And faker. Me, all I wanted was to be ten years happier.

‘Botox?’ I asked, and she darted a glance at Paul before shooting me a chastising glare. How was I supposed to know I’d guessed right?

‘It worked better for you than me,’ Paul informed her. ‘I couldn’t open my mouth for a week.’

Now that was an uplifting thought. Imagine, Marcy unable to utter one single word the whole time she was here…

She turned her adoring eyes back to him, visibly more relaxed now that the cat was out of the bag.

‘Really? That’s a shame. I’ll give you my doctor’s name back in Boston.’

Yeah, next year, I thought. When she goes home.

‘So, what’s your good news?’ she finally asked as we all sat round the dinner table, having made a theatrical fuss of Maddy and Warren, in one giant cliché.

She never really gave a crap about anyone but herself. I was surprised she’d even remembered their names.

Julian shot me a smile and took my hand. ‘Well, Marcy, Erica and I are getting married.’

Her head snapped up and she almost dropped her fork. ‘Married…well. Have you thought it out carefully, both of you? Marriage is a big step. Though once you’re in, it’s not so painless to get out. Although Erica’s already done it once before.’

Julian eyed me and cleared his throat. ‘Oh, we’re both in all the way and we don’t want to get out, Marcy. I’ve already adopted the kids and they now carry my surname.’

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