Lydia and I used to talk or text nearly every day, but I’m struggling to remember the last time we exchanged words. To be fair, I wasn’t fun to be around right after Joel dumped me. We did have a few late nights together with a tub of ice cream. Or something stronger.
She’s examining dresses from a rack. In addition to her attorney’s salary, her husband Pete is an ER doctor like Joel, so she could afford to buy clothing from this store, rather than trying it on and looking at it longingly for several minutes before replacing it in the rack. For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if I should say hello. But then I realize I’m being silly. This is Lydia—one of my closest friends.
“Lydia,” I say. “Hi.”
She looks up. Blinks. “Oh…”
Immediately, I wish I hadn’t said anything. I wish I had quietly slinked out of the store while I had the chance.
“Are… are you busy?” I ask. Of course she’s not busy. She’s looking at freaking dresses.
“No.” But her smile is tight. “How have you been? You look… good.”
Oh no. Now I remember the last time Lydia and I got together. We went out to a bar, I had a few too many drinks, and I cried, and then threw up in the ladies room. She had to get me home in an Uber. No wonder she’s looking at me like I’m a mental patient.
“I’m well,” I say, forcing a confident smile. I don’t have to tell Lydia she looks good because she knows she looks good, in her expensive dress with that white-blond hair swept up in a loose French twist. I’ve seen Lydia put her hair into one of those twists in five seconds—I tried to do it once and it was harder than solving a Rubik’s Cube. “And how are you?”
“Very well.” Lydia always talks so formally, like she’s at a royal dinner party. She even calls her husband “Peter” while everyone else says “Pete.” I used to find it charming, but now it’s grating on me. “That dress would look wonderful on you.”
I look down at the black cocktail dress I’m still clutching in my right hand. I should have put it back—it’s far too expensive. Lydia must know that. Or maybe she doesn’t. I’ve always tried to hide my financial situation from her. It was easy when Joel and I were a couple and he always footed the bill when we went out with her and Pete. But the last time Lydia and I went out to dinner, she suggested a swanky French restaurant, and I had to invent a reason to veto it. My French restaurant days are over.
“Maybe,” I lie. “But it’s just a little too…” Horrendously expensive.
“Short?”
“Yes,” I say gratefully. “Too short.”
She nods, because “too short” is something Lydia can understand.
“So,” I say, “have you seen Joel recently?”
Why did I say that? I hadn’t intended to ask about Joel. It was the furthest thing from my mind. It just… popped out. And now Lydia is giving me a strange look.
“Yes,” she says. “I have.”
“Oh.” I shrug like I couldn’t possibly care less. “I hope he’s doing well.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “He is.”
Change the subject. Change it quick.
“I should tell you,” she says, “he’s been dating. Other women. One in particular.”
“Well, so what?” I force a smile. It feels odd on my lips. “So have I.”
Lydia gives me a skeptical look. Rightfully so, since I absolutely have not been dating. I haven’t been on one single date since the night Joel moved out.
“I have,” I insist. “There’s one guy who I’ve had… well, our fifth date is coming up. He’s great.” Lydia is still giving me that look so I keep babbling on. “His name is Charles. He’s in sales, so he’s on the road a lot.”