“You’ve just admitted you’ve been lying to me, and yet you expect me not to think ill of you? It doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe you should take a minute to think about who delivered this message, Lil. And why.” Ant picks up his phone from the table.
“You’ve just admitted what Warren said is true.” I can’t bend. I need to stay strong.
Ant’s shoulders drop, and all the fight seems to go out of him.
“You know what? It seems like no matter what I say, you’re going to believe what you want to believe. I need some air.” And before I can think of a response, the door is swishing closed behind him.
Somehow, I get up off the sofa and drag myself out onto the lanai, curling up on the big round chair where Ant and I had kissed and napped and given each other more pleasure than I would’ve believed possible. Now, it’s where I sob. And sob.
It was all a lie.
I can’t explain how he worked out who I was, but it’s all just too convenient.
Warren was right. What would a man like Ant want with a woman like me? I’m hard work. A prickly, demanding, work-obsessed control freak. My own family don’t love me, why would he? I use work as an excuse for why I have no social life and hardly any real friends. But the truth is, I’m not likeable. And certainly not loveable.
Ant, or at least the Ant I thought I knew, is full of humour and life. Easy going. Friendly. Likeable. Charming. Was all that an act too?
But I can’t square the circle, no matter how much overthinking I do.
Warren doesn’t have all the facts. He doesn’t know it was fake. But it is true that Ant didn’t say yes right away. So, is it possible he saw Warren on television and jumped on an opportunity?
I think about everything that Ant has said and done, the way he’s looked at me, touched me. I can’t believe it was all a lie. But maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.
And even if everything Warren said about Ant was a lie, what he said about me was true. How could it ever work between us? He’s handsome and lovely, and I’m … me. Hard work. Difficult.
Regardless of what’s true and what’s not, perhaps this is for the best. I’m only going to get hurt—more hurt—if we continue with whatever this is. It saves us the awkwardwell, this has been great, but… conversation. It saves me the embarrassment of being discarded. Because long term? The reality of being with someone so difficult would take its toll, and he’d move on.
If I’m this devastated now, imagine how shattered I’d be if he broke it off—which he’d inevitably do—weeks or months in the future. Broken-hearted wouldn’t even come close to how I’d feel.
Yep, this is for the best.
If only I didn’t feel like my heart was being gnawed on by one of the turtles in the bay.
My thoughts are like the ball in an old-fashioned pinball machine, bouncing madly, changing direction with no discernible logic. And the clanging bells and flashing lights are disorienting me, making it impossible to focus.
I have no idea what I should believe. What I should do. Or even what I want to do.
I need a rational voice.
Mei answers on the third ring.
“Hey, what’s up?” she mumbles. I hear sheets rustling and what sounds like a man whispering.
“Are you in bed? It’s lunchtime in Sydney!”
“Yeah, on a rainy Sunday.” A door closes. “That guy from the bar on my birthday? Sooo glad I called him.”
“Oh my God, I’ve interrupted a sneaky link.” Information I wish could distract me from my own dramas, but it doesn't.
“That’s okay. We were just dozing. Aren’t you supposed to be at the wedding of the century right now?”
That’s all it takes for the whole story to come tumbling out with barely a breath.
Mei is quiet until I peter to a stop with a miserable “What do I do?”
“Well, I have to say, this is classic Lili Gordon.” She’s taking this seriously because there’s the sound of her coffee machine whirring in the background.
