Page 23 of Things We Fake
I twirled in front of the mirror. “Isn’t it a bit too elegant?”
Ange wiped an imaginary tear of pride. “Cam won’t know what hit him. He’ll propose before dessert.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hugged her. “I’ll buy you dinner if this ends with me not crying into a bottle of wine.”
“Just don’t wear that old robe again. I still have PTSD.”
* * *
By the time I collapsed on my couch Wednesday night, I was held together by nothing but sheer willpower and under-eye concealer.
School had been a disaster zone—rainy day, indoor recess, and a Science Fair looming on the horizon. The kids were wound tighter than the strings on a cheap guitar. One was launching spitballs across the room with disturbing precision, while a few others were arguing over who got to play the serial killer in their group project skit. I felt less like a teacher and more like the reluctant warden of a low-security, co-ed juvenile zoo.
And to top it all off, the fill-in spin instructor had clearly confused our class with Navy SEAL training. By the time I limped home, I was nothing but spaghetti legs and pain.
I nuked a frozen turkey entrée, shoved some kale around a plate to pretend I was healthy, then collapsed onto the couch with a mug of mint tea. I was close to falling asleep with my face in my mug when the phone rang.
“Hey, Sue,” Lily said, skipping hello entirely. “We’re downstairs. Your buzzer’s still broken, right? Let us up.”
We?
Curious—and too sore to argue—I pressed the button. Less than a minute later, Lily and Nikki were in my doorway, all smiles and mystery.
“Okay,” I said, waving them in. “Is this an intervention or a bachelorette party?”
“Neither,” Lily said, walking over to the couch. “Ange told us about Saturday. We came bearing gifts.”
Nikki held up a pink gift bag and set it on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Lily. “It’s a seduction kit from all of us. For our first real date with Cam.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ourdate?”
“It’s a Singleville tradition,” Lily protested. “As your single friends, we have the right to live vicariously through your sex life.”
“There is no sex life,” I pointed out. “There’s not even a sex forecast.”
“There will be if you let us help,” Nikki said. “Ange also told us about your parents coming over and your little lie about a boyfriend.”
“Fast work,” I said dryly. “Nothing’s private among friends. Let me get you some drinks. I need one before I look into that bag.”
I returned with beers for everyone.
“Have you heard the news about Neil and Sally?” Nikki asked, sipping her beer.
I squeezed myself next to them on the couch. “What, that they’re getting a divorce? Mom mentioned it, but she didn’t know any details.”
“Ooh, my cousin told me all the details.” Nikki stretched her legs, ready to gossip. “Sally dumped His Royal Truffleness after she caught him with the dental hygienist right in her home, on their new Tempur-Pedic mattress. Apparently it’s stain resistant, but not rage-proof.”
I felt my eyes pop out of my sockets. “He cheated on her too? Well, I guess I’m not surprised. Once a cheater, always a cheater. She probably thought she was special when he cheated on me with her. I bet she never thought he would cheat on her.”
Lily shook her head. “All mistresses believe that, until they get cheated on, too. It’s a very common cycle when it comes to adultery.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Nikki said. Her eyes gleamed with morbid delight—the kind she usually saved for describing decomp timelines. “Sally didn’t just kick him out. She retaliated in the most agriculturally devastating way possible.”
I sat forward. “She didn’t—”
