Page 85 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“Did you see that Maisey is here?” he asks.
“Yeah, I figured that would make you happy, man.”
“It does. She’s coming to the wedding with me. I mean, technically she will already be there, but she’s going to sit with me at the ceremony and reception, so you’re off the hook with being my plus-one.”
“No problem at all. It’s not like I was going to enjoy watching her do this anyway.”
I watch as Tabatha turns to Hunter. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Hunter,” she says.
“What? You drinking? That would be true, yes.”
“No,” she scoffs. “Us getting married.”
“Don’t be daft, Tabatha. We are due to marry tomorrow. There are six hundred people attending. We have over fifty people here tonight. We can’t just cancel because you can’t control your drinking.”
“It was one fucking night, Hunter. I let loose with my girlfriends. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic. Jesus Christ, get over yourself.”
“One night?” He looks up and to the side, as though thinking. “If that was one night, what’s tonight?”
“It’s a celebration. Or at least it’s supposed to be.”
“I don’t even know you anymore, Tabatha. This person you are pretending to be. This facade you’re portraying. I don’t understand why you are doing this.”
She laughs, but it’s caustic. “You think that’s what I’m doing now? Ha! That’s what I’ve been doing upuntilnow, Hunter. You’ve only just begun to see bits of thereal me.” Tabatha’s voice rises. People from the restaurant have stopped talking and started watching.
“What are you talking about, thereal you?” Hunter sneers. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“I’m an actress, Hunter. All I do is play a part, for every facet of my life—for whatever role I need to play. And that includes with you. I’ve played the role of myself but only the part that you would find desirable. But it’s not the real me.”
“So, you’re trying to tell me that you’re just this elusive creature who plays someone different depending on who she’s with?”
“Yes, in a way. Except maybe with my girlfriends, and . . .”
“And what, Tabatha? Pax. Were you going to say, except with your girlfriends and Pax?” The look on his face is ugly and condescending.
“Yes, I was.” She juts out her chin.
I fist pump the air.
“I see, so your ex getsyou, and I get what exactly?”
“You get the Tabatha that you like.”
“I can guarantee I’m not liking this Tabatha,” he says. “I prefer the other you.”
“That’s because she’s fake!”
Gasps make their way through the crowd that has gathered to watch.
It’s too bad popcorn doesn’t go with scotch and cigars. This is such a popcorn worthy spectacle.
“Do you realize I get up before you most mornings to fix my face so you don’t see me without makeup?” Tabatha asks. “And this”—she reaches up under her dress and pulls something down—“is called a control top undergarment, to make sure I look sleek and thin, just the way you like me.” She steps out of the garment and picks it up, tossing it at him.
I chuckle.
She doesn’t stop there. “My hair is not naturally this thick, Hunter. No one’s is.” She fiddles with her curls then pulls a hair extension from it, along with two more, and tosses them toward Hunter. “My nails? Gel polish so they don’t chip. My eyelashes? Fake! I have them refilled every two weeks.” She blinks exaggeratedly at him.
“I would have sworn her lashes were real,” Gregor says. I look at him, not sure if he’s joking or not. The sides of his mouth twitch like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. I backhand him on the arm and resume watching.
