You're Invited(11)

I guess I had nothing to lose by talking about it. Dr. Dunn would probably applaud. Talking about things is one of the best ways to cleanse your soul. Maybe he was right.

I took a deep breath.

“You guys know my friend Kaavi. She was my best friend growing up and in college?”

“I think you might have mentioned her, but I can’t really remember.”

“Anyway, yeah. She’s marrying the guy I was dating all through college. She posted about it on Instagram. That’s how I found out.”

I flushed. It was horrible when everyone’s focus was on me like this. I stared at my own drink as they made all the right faces, said all the right things.

“What a fucking bitch!”

“I’d be so pissed if I were you!”

“Show us the post!”

And so I hesitantly passed my phone over, while they continued to be aghast at what Kaavi had done to me.

I took comfort in their disdain. It was good to feel validated. To feel heard, for once. To not feel insignificant.

I even finished my eggs. Drank half my mimosa. My friends were getting rowdier, already on their third round of cocktails.

“And you know what I can’t stand? That bitch’s hair. I mean, honey, please, blond streaks on South Asian hair don’t make you look like Beyoncé. They make you look like a fucking German shepherd.” Deepa laughed and Imogen reached across the table and high-fived her.

I laughed along with them. It was the easiest thing to do. I finally had people on my side.

“You know what you should do?” The mimosas were starting to get to Jessica. I knew by the way she dragged her “sh”s. It normally made me wish her butter knife would miss her bread and slash her wrist instead, but it was easy to overlook these annoyances when it felt like your friends were finally on your wavelength.

“You should fly down there. And when the priest does that whole, oh, you know, the whole speak now or forever hold your peace bit, you should stand up and tell everyone that backstabbing bitches shouldn’t be allowed to get married.”

Imogen hooted with laughter.

“No way will Amaya do something so cray. Over my dead body.”

I was laughing too. Probably the most I’ve laughed in a long time. That’s why I didn’t think when I spoke next.

“No way. More like over her dead body. I mean, I could just kill that bitch.”

Their laughter wilted away.

Jessica turned her head toward me, a smile still on her lips.

“What was that, babe?”

“Oh my goodness, you guys, I was just kidding. It was a joke.” It really was. But my voice came out high-pitched and oddly tinny.

There was a beat. The tiniest of pauses. It felt like an entire year.

“Of course you were kidding!” Jessica forced a little laugh, but her eyes met Deepa’s for a fraction too long.

All three women nodded with such vigor that their perfectly curled and styled hair whipped around their faces like snakes. Like they were all modern-day Medusas. I thought about grabbing a fistful of Jessica’s hair and slamming her head against the table. Of course, it was just a thought. It went away, like all thoughts did.

I averted my eyes accordingly. It hurt to look at them, with their perfect hair and perfect smiles and perfect lives. Why was I always the one left behind?

“So anyways,” Jessica carried on, a big forced smile plastered on her face, “have you seen the new honey supplier? Mark something, I think? I bumped into him the other day when I was making my delivery.” Jessica makes chemical-free sea salt blends that sell really well at my little spice boutique in downtown LA.

I shrugged, but Imogen jumped in.

“You know, the tall guy? He had a really great ass.”

The conversation moved toward rating various men’s behinds, and I tried to shake off the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Great, now the few friends I have think I’m some sort of troubled freak, and I can’t say I blame them.

They were right, of course. I wasn’t doing myself any favors by being so obsessive. I have a life, regardless of how paltry it is in comparison to everyone else’s. I have a successful small business that I built from the ground up. I have a little apartment that I love. I have friends, or something that resembled friendship, anyway. And I have Alexander. I do. Even if I didn’t know a thing about him. Because if Kaavi’s announcement proved anything, it was that it didn’t matter if you grew up with someone or never saw their face; people still have a way of pulling the rug out from under you.

So when we did our goodbye half hugs and the ladies all took turns squeezing my hand and telling me that I was strong and amazing and that Kaavi and Spencer would probably be divorced before their third wedding anniversary, I held it together. I am strong. I am amazing. Their wedding didn’t matter to me.

All of these were lies, of course, but Jessica gave me a look that said maybe she bought it. Maybe, one day, I would buy it too.

“I wouldn’t blame you, you know, if you flew down there,” Deepa whispered to me, out of the earshot of the others. “I get it. You want closure. You should go. It’ll be good for you.”

I managed a laugh that I hoped was flippant. “Thanks, Deeps. I’m fine, though, really. Just caught off guard, that’s all.”

But it was like a disease. I was sick. Sick of the idea of Kaavi and Spencer.