Page 72 of Omega Artist
“Eat yourrugelachand stop interrupting me, you moron,” she warns, her eyes glaring at me as she shakes her head. That’s when my mushy brain connects with reality. The tips of her hair are red. She’s pissed at me. Dammit! “I left my family at the crack of dawn and drove all the way to Brooklyn to deliver your favorite homemade dessert. You didn’t leave me any choice since you wouldn’t answer any of my messages.” She proceeds to berate me for what seems like hours. For keeping my mouth shut. For pretending I was alright. For shutting her out. Again. The fact that I insist that it’s nothing like Delia.
The bitter snort that escapes my mouth increases her annoyance.
“She’s right, you know...” My heart stops for a second. “Women are called ugly names when men are worshipped for the same thing… It’s happened to me more than once, you know… before I met Graham. I was just trying to find the right person and went from one guy to the next. And people couldn’t mind their own business!”
Should I place blame on her for wanting to make a statement because men and women aren’t on equal footing?
“But I never disrespected her!” I retaliate, slamming the counter in protest.
My Saturday was spent reflecting on Alie’s post, between spoonsful of ice cream. And I wavered between hating her for using me and agreeing with her claim. How ironic is it that she’s friends with the one woman that I bent my hookup rules for because she was about to leave the country, and I figured that it was harmless? How uncharacteristic is it that I turned down sex although I saw a notification on my soon-to-be-deleted app? How pathetic is it that I preferred wolfing down pints of ice cream for comfort like chicks do?
Fuck, I sound exactly like Alie described. She’s right: stereotypes die hard.
No wonder she fought against the double standard, regardless of the implications. I’m no better than the rest of them. We do live in a man’s man’s man’s world.
“Here’s my take on things: she believes that you didn’t treat her friend properly, so you were perfect to set an example. A drop in an ocean of unfairness. She prides herself on staying true to her word… Well, she certainly didn’t stay true to her heart. She’s so in love with you. If not, why would she feel the need to hurt you and make such a clean, deep cut? Trust me, her denial is much too excessive to be real.”
“Shrink much?”
She giggles this time. “Must be the pregnancy hormones!”
“She should’ve talked to me… I mean she did, but not regarding this.”
“Sure, but both of you could have admitted that what was going on between you two was anything but casual.” Before I have time to recover from her accusation, she asks, “Have you read the comments on her post?”
“Nope. I think I’ve read enough of her post and, for the record, don’t agree with you.”
Without paying attention to my reply, she snags my phone from the coffee table and forces me to open it. I oblige and browse through the numerous comments until one in particular catches my attention. I read it aloud and Soraya nods.
“Her father’s a real piece of work,” she quips.
Of course, he’s responsible for the comment. The man that I saw in Alie’s pictures, who looked like the epitome of an alpha male. Leader of an aristocratic pack. Self-assured breadwinner. Honorable man with undying values.
I chuckle at the thought. “And yet, he says that he wants her happy.”
While she denies the happiness that we shared in the name of proving her point… Who’s pigheaded now?
Soraya’s eyes widen as she lifts the mug to her lips, drinks, and asks, “What’s with the cowboy reference?”
I’ll need more caffeine in my system before we delve into that. Without another word, I grab another pastry that I scarf down without preamble. My friend’s amused glance follows my every move as I reheat what’s left in the coffee pot after licking my sticky fingers.
Going through my phone to take a breather from my inquisitive friend, I notice that I have more notifications from my hookup app. I’m about to press my finger on it to make it go away for good, but at the last second decide against it. I should probably check the messages first and answer that I’m no longer interested. Then, I’ll delete it. I do the former until one of them floors me. It’s from a handle that I thought I’d never hear from again. A handle that agrees with Soraya’s theory about Alie’s feelings. A handle that regrets being the source of my current misfortune. A handle that brings me a solution on a silver platter.
The person that Alie called Girl, who isn’t her friend, but—fuck me!—her sister.
PrincessChanel
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Head over Feet
Aliénor
“Oversized sunglasses and long gloves…Aliénor, you’ve transformed into Jackie O!” My best friend is bouncing around me, detailing my outfit. “Fitted ink blue cocktail dress with a signature belt to accentuate your small waist. Long enough to be appropriate for your sister’s engagement party, but short enough to show off your shapely legs and enjoy the sunny late June weather. Oh, and let’s not forget about the neckline that draws the eye to your classic pearl necklace and keeps your gorgeous phoenix hidden to prevent stealing the thunder on your sister’s day. And your hairstyle...” Sophie trails off, her thumb and index finger rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “You’re Jackie O on the outside.” She’s too funny sometimes, and evidently on a first-name basis with the late former first lady.
My head tilts so that I can meet Sophie’s eyes. “Joan Rivers, I implore you to vacate my friend’s body!”
I’ve missed her. We’ve been playing catch-up since I got back, and I’m glad she’s here. I’m far from a people person, and there are so many of them here. Interacting online is one thing; having an awkward conversation with someone simply because they happen to be present is another story. Good thing our dads are friends as well, so her family of five tagged along. “Nah, scratch that, there’s no famous dead spouse in the picture, so you can’t be Jackie. Maybe Lana Del Rey?”
