Page 90 of Secrets in Love
“Of all people, why did you have to shut me down like that in front of him? I fucking hate that guy. He hurt you, Gidge. He bruised you. I don’t give a shit if he was high on elephant tranquillizers at the time, you don’t lay your hands on a woman. Especially not my woman.”
If I thought she looked pissed before, my words inspired her discovery of a whole new level of rage. Her face was beyond red, almost purple, as she took to the balls of her feet, straining to stand as tall and strong and proud as she could, her chin jutted in defiance.
She looked at me like she hated me. “I am notyourwoman.”
I stepped back, blinking away the tears I could feel building as adrenaline coursed through me. Sweat beaded on my brow, and if I clenched my jaw any tighter, I wouldn’t have a tooth left in my mouth. I waited for my brain to deliver a stinging comeback. To tell her she was wrong, that she was mine. For my hand to snake around her waist and claim her. For the fight to arrive.
But it never did.
Something else had replaced it.
Resignation.
“No. As always, Gidge, you’re right. The Evie I’ve loved my whole life would never defend someone like him”—I stabbed the air in Christian’s general direction—“over me. You’re not mine, and you’ve told me a hundred times. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get it, but it is now…gotten.”
Evie
According to almost every sitcom I had ever watched, ice cream was the universal cure for all the problems of womankind. Whatever the crisis, be it work life, love life, or no life, we gals loved nothing more than shoveling down a pint or two of Ben and Jerry’s. Since I was currently facing dilemmas in all of these areas, I decided to stop for a scoop on the way home.
If the fun and games of the afternoon hadn’t been enough to end me, a text message from Polly as I swallowed my first mouthful of Peanut Butter Half Baked plunged me further into the abyss. That bird sure had some shitty timing.
Hearing from her had become a weekly occurrence, with each jagged little pill of a message planting another seed of self-loathing paranoia in my belly. It felt like she and Christian had formed an international support group, the sole purpose of which was to fuck up my life even more than I had done myself. The scene inTheOfficewhere Dwight proposed an alliance with Jim popped into my brain.God, I love that show.
But it wasn’t the time to muse over my love for Kelly Kapur or hatred for Todd Packer. Everything with Nate was shit, I was in a certifiable stink, and had an unread message from a bitch staring at me from the table.
Hope you’re well, my homely little friend. I was just cleaning and found this pair of boxers behind the bed. I think Nate threw them across the room in a fit of passion, haha.
Can you let him know I’ll drop them off when he comes home. Oh, and tell him I can’t wait to see him. Xxoo.
As she often did, Polly had attached a photo with the message. This one featured her artificially whitened smile, her giant rack, a tiny bikini, and the offending briefs held in her claw-like nails as she posed before her unmade bed. Sitting smack-dab in the middle of that bed was a multipack of the very same briefs she apparently “found”while cleaning.
I’d politely blown off her provocations for weeks, holding my tongue till the damn thing near bled, but the shit had to stop.
Hi Polly, I’m doing incredibly well, thanks for asking. Though, girlfriend to girlfriend, I can hardly walk. Nate absolutely railed me with three rounds of the most amazing sex before I left for work. Haha. And I’m so glad you finally cleaned—a little birdie with a massive cock had let it slip that your room was filthy and smelled weird and kinda funky.
Oh, and next time you send me a photo of something Nate left behind, make sure you hide the packaging before you take the photo. XXOO.
I then celebrated my pettiness with another scoop, this time Salted Caramel Blondie, the flavor of which lingered on my tastebuds till I finally got home.
The house appeared empty as I hung my jacket by the door, so I sulked to my oasis, my room, hoping to find Nate lying on the bed, ready and waiting to make up. But like the rest of the house, the room felt empty, like it had lost its newly acquired ambient serenity. The beachy, boho-princess sparkle was gone, as were Nate’s things…and Nate.
My declaration of independence in front of Christian was nothing I hadn’t said before in the heat of various moments, but doing it in Fuckface’s presence seemed to have added some extra sting.
I should have sought Nate out, tried to make things right. After all, you should never go to sleep angry. But I was too freaking mad at him for going back to his room and too freaking proud to ask him to come back. I was also too scared.
So, I lay on my bed—our bed—worrying that I had pushed too far this time, and stared at that patch of paint on the ceiling. Just like old times.
Not that I was standing by the door listening or anything, but I heard Nate emerge and clomp down the stairs around seven am. Neither of us had left our rooms all night.
Trying to avoid the appearance of over-eagerness, I waited seven seconds before venturing out. Braiding my hair as I walked, I was forced to pause at the top of the stairs to ride out a wave of panic-chuck, but sorted myself out and carried on, only to be told by Jocie as I entered the kitchen that he was already gone.
She was sitting at the table, eating breakfast beside Finn and Iris, and all three kept their heads low as I stomped around and made myself a coffee and some toast. I think my overly aggressive Vegemite spreading triggered a fight-or-flight response in Finn as he quickly stood and grabbed Iris by the arm.
“Hey, Bub, why don’t we go to the park before school?”
“But I haven’t finished my toast!”
“Never mind your bloody toast. I’ll stop and get you some pancakes.”
