Reg walks in, and it must be quite a feast for the eyes. He gives me the once-over, taking in my blotchy, swollen face, bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. He’s nice enough not to look horrified, just concerned. Nicole doesn’t let him speak. She starts directing. ‘Reg, I’m going to need you to get everyone to stay out of here for the next little while. Gertie needs to fix herself up.’
‘But what about the glassware?’ he asks, indicating the trayof dirty half-filled cups. Nicole waves a dismissive hand.
‘Do it in the kitchen. Also, if there are any of the lava cakes leftover, we’re going to need them here.’
‘Yes, boss.’ And I can tell he’s reluctant, but he leaves.
Within fifteen minutes, I have eaten three lava cakes, cleaned up the lava-cake explosion that burned my leg, redone my hair with a comb Nicole inexplicably carries around and been assured at least six times that my face doesn’t look like I’ve been crying before we finally leave.
Three colleagues standing behind the bar turn to look at us as we go. They clearly want to know what we were doing there, despite respecting Reg’s directive. Nicole just gives them a nod and walks out ahead of me.
I complete my shift on autopilot, staring at everything and nothing, probably not being particularly helpful to anyone at all. From one cocktail table out on the deck, I collect three of the six empty glasses. And I’m aware of that, somewhere in my brain, but my head turns away and my legs take me to the next table.
My head is crowded with Bee, taking up all the space.
Trying so hard to be friends with someone who just isn’t very interested.
At first, I am confused. I want to step into her reality and see because it seems so different from mine. I try to remember trying. I struggle to remember lack of interest. I wonder where I was if I wasn’t present. I think of empty, dark homes, of half-started conversations, of creaking bed frames.
I pick up some discarded bamboo cones containing the remnants of fries and Kewpie mayo. At the bin, Bee speaksto me again.An imbalance of effort in our friendship.My mind conjures images of cinemas, restaurants, rock-climbing walls, long dresses that push Bee out of the picture. My hands are shaking as I place the cones in the bin.
Jealous. Slam down a glass on the tray.
Projecting. Kick a stool out of my path.
Toxic. Consider knocking over a plant but think better of it because I’m not an animal.
Dissatisfied. Damn fucking right.
I think I hear someone screaming, but then I realise it’s me. And the glasses and tray I was holding are on the ground. I stare at my reflection in the dark floor-to-ceiling windows, alone, face contorted in pain, surrounded by broken glass, covered in sticky red premixed cosmo. The lights of the city bounce off the window and illuminate me in a ghostly glow. Behind my reflection, partygoers dance, unbothered; the music has swallowed my cries, and the tinted windows shield me from view.
‘I see you’ve finally reached anger,’ Nicole says. She has a broom.
‘Good work. I thought it would take longer,’ Reg adds, because he doesn’t know that I’ve been halfway there for days. He has a dustpan. He holds out his free hand to guide me out from the centre of my shattered control.
I can’t quite fathom how at one point I thought myself empty, a shell, a void. But maybe resentment is like those little sponge things that grow when you get them wet. I thought I was angry with Bee before, but this text has tipped me over the edge. I’m full to bursting, bubbling over. I stay in the back forthe rest of my shift because there is absolutely no guarantee that I won’t yell at some unsuspecting soul for looking at me funny or saying the word ‘anxiety’ in my proximity.
I’m not going to be okay. Not until we have a conversation and I can let the steam out of my pressure-cooker body. I can’t avoid it anymore, and I don’t want to.
I have the conversation at least a dozen times in my head, and I wish I could relocate it there. In my head I’m assertive, I’m direct. I don’t trip over my words, and my genius doesn’t get lost between my brain and my mouth. My words flow effortlessly, and Bee doesn’t interrupt me. And her reactions! God, her reactions to my words. Sometimes she’s stiff and contrite; other times she cries and begs for forgiveness. I like those ones.
One particular version has her screaming back at me and storming out, and I’m the one crying.
I think you need to take some time to really reflect on why you’re being like this.
Time probably means days, even weeks, to Bee. But I’ve had time. Years really, if we’re counting the years I spent as a frog in hot water, not noticing how close it was to boiling. This time, we’re doing this on my terms; we’re having the conversation the moment I see her tomorrow.
Once our shift is over, I clear out my locker and pass the team as they collect a stack of bottles. A few wary eyes clock me, but there is no invitation to stay. I don’t need one anymore.
‘She’s not staying for discarded champagne,’ Nicole says, eyes never leaving mine. ‘She has things to sort out at home tonight. Right, Gertie?’ Her words say it’s a question; her eyes and tone are telling me to get out now. Everyone acceptsNicole’s dismissal of me, turning back to the bottles as I wave goodbye. I don’t wonder if she’s going to tell everyone because I know she cares about me. She’ll probably just text me later to see if I’m all right.
Alone in my car, the panic sets in. I’ve got nothing to do but think about what I’m driving towards. It’s all well and good to craft perfectly executed slow-clap moments while doing hundreds of dishes, but every turn of the wheel brings it closer, makes it more real, and there won’t be any inspirational backing track to keep me going.
But no, I am going to be different. I have to be different. One deep breath. Two. Three. Hold it. Let it out. I won’t run from this.
It could be worse. I could have just spent forty thousand dollars on a marriage that’s already doomed.
I’m not expecting Bee to be home—let alone awake—on a Saturday night when I get back. Her light is on, and her door is open, and she pokes her head out when she hears me lock the door. ‘Would you mind coming in here for a moment?’
