If Ever(99)

"How mad is he?"

She cracks a smile. "I think he's fine."

"I need to talk to him." I strain to stand. My head swirls, so I sit on the toilet.

"Why don't you finish your water and take a shower first?"

"I need to apologize."

"Honey, it might be best to wash the vomit out of your hair first."

I touch my hair. Sure enough there are clumps of hurl cemented in it. Evidence is also dried on my arm, and my dress is wadded around my waist. I hide my head in shame. "Oh God, he must hate me."

"Hardly, despite your efforts to change his mind, the chap seems quite smitten," she says in a British accent and chuckles.

But he must be horrified by my behavior. I am. After a hot shower and another cool glass of water, I ease into the kitchen. Pastries are laid out on the kitchen table. Tom's making scrambled eggs, pancakes and bacon, and Bloody Marys to chase the hair of the dog.

He glances up. "You're looking better."

I spot his phone on the counter and remember sending him pictures of me flirting with other men. My heart sinks, and not only does my whole body ache from a raging hangover, but how could I have been so childish?

"I'm so sorry," I say softly. He gives me a tight smile and returns to cooking breakfast for my friends.

A half hour later Tom has his backpack and is putting on his coat. "It's been a pleasure meeting all of you," he says.

Normally he doesn't leave for the theatre for another hour. I'm afraid to ask why he's going so early, because likely he just wants to get away from me, but Megan saves the day by asking, "You have to go in this early for your show?"

"Not usually, but the understudy I worked with yesterday is out with the flu. The second understudy has never actually performed the part live before. I'm going in early to run scenes with her." He glances at me and I'm not sure if it's to see how I'm digesting that information or to throw it in my face. I'm too miserable to care.

"Have a good show," I eek out.

The girls all pop up to say their goodbyes with quick hugs. And Tom leaves to go to work and make out with a new girl.





My friends have headed to the airport. Saying goodbye brought tears to my eyes. I still feel like death warmed over despite a nap and eating nothing more than toast and saltines. I've sipped water to rehydrate and scrubbed the bathroom floor and toilet. I'd like to sleep away my crushing hangover, but I need to do something to show Tom how sorry I am.

My laptop is open with several recipes that are completely foreign to me. I stopped down to the market around the corner for the ingredients, and now I'm a gooey mess wrapping raw sausage around a peeled hardboiled egg.

When I've got it cobbled together, I drop it into a fry pan and watch it spit and sizzle in the hot oil. As I work on the next one, I replay my actions of last night and desperately wish there was a way to travel back in time and erase everything I said and did. Can he even stand the sight of me after that?

I plop another globby egg into the oil, turn the first one with a fork, and fish out two others that are brown. They look nothing like the picture of perfect crispy ovals. Mine are huge lumps that look more like hunks of coal.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, I jump, bumping into Tom. "Oh my God, I didn't hear you come in."

He peers at the mess I've created. "Are those..."

"They're supposed to be Scotch eggs."

He tilts his head skeptically and examines my poor execution. He cracks a smile. "Why?"

He looks so handsome next to me, a sloppy hung over mess. "I thought this might help make up for last night. I know you miss home, and you mentioned Scotch eggs one time." I look at the disastrous results of all my work. "But I can't seem to get anything right lately."

And without intending to, I burst into tears.

Surprised at my sudden meltdown, he pulls me into his arms. "Hey, love, don't cry."

"I'm so sorry. I've made a mess of everything."

"The kitchen, yes, but what else?"

"Stop being so nice. I was horrible, and you must hate me."

He looks into my eyes. "I could never hate you. I might have been a bit mad, but after seeing all the trouble you've gone through here, I'd say it's mostly passed.

"I really am sorry. I have no excuse for the way I acted." The frying pan starts to smoke. "Shit." I quick move the pan off the burner and take out the last two eggs before they go up in flames.

Tom turns off the stove, then leans against the counter to face me. "You were saying."

I gaze at him. He deserves the truth. "You always have girls at the stage door hoping for a picture and a hug. After those French girls you were so nice to ended up being my dad's other family..." In reality they are my half sisters, but I'm not ready to face that fact yet. "...I'm just having trouble with it."

He nods, so I continue. "And then watching you with Tanya pushed me over the edge. I have no choice but to stand by and just take it, to pretend I don't care. But sometimes it really hurts."

"You know I can't change that," he says gently.

"I do, but if I were to kiss another guy it would be cheating." There's turmoil on his face, but I'm being honest.