I slid the Christmas sandwich with turkey, stuffing cranberry sauce and gravy on a soft roll over to him. He picked it up and took a bite.
“It is pretty good,” he admitted, “and probably better than those nachos. You need to burn those.”
I took a bite of the chips. They weren’t actually nachos—they were fried triangles of pie crust sprinkled with chocolate sauce, crumbled peppermint bark, pomegranate sauce, candied walnuts, sugared cranberries, and dried oranges.
“Delicious! It has all my favorite food groups.”
Matt jerked his chin to my Ho Ho Hoagie. “That’s not just a piece of cake, is it?”
“Nope. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, French onions, sliced and fried brussels sprouts, and a little pot of gravy for dipping.”
“None of that belongs on a hoagie.” Matt took another bite of his sandwich.
“Look who’s suddenly a Christmas food expert,” I teased, nudging him under the table with my foot.
Matt grabbed my leg, his thumb lightly caressing my ankle before releasing me.
“I’m just glad Brody lost.”
I knew I shouldn’t ruin the celebratory dinner, but I just couldn’t help myself.
“Why did Hensley choose him over you?”
Matt scowled.
I held my breath.
“Never mind,” I said, taking a bite of my hoagie.
Matt gazed out over the restaurant. Inflatable snowmen hung from the ceiling and twisted slowly in the air.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know. I thought I had it all. But she just didn’t think I was good enough.” He looked at his drink.
You should have ordered him a scotch on the side, I scolded myself.
Matt looked unhappy.
You need to learn to keep your big mouth shut.
“She probably didn’t think you weren’t good enough,” I said. “She probably thought she could get away with cheating on you and have the rich hot husband, the nice house, and her small-town fantasy boyfriend.” I stuck a fork in one of the figgy pudding fried bites and ate it. It was filled with a sweet cream cheese mixture.
“I just—” Matt shook his head. He took a sip of his drink then scowled. “I just wish I knew what I had done wrong.”
I laughed.
He bared his teeth.
“I’m not laughing at you,” I said. “Well, a little. It’s cute that you think Hensley’s decision had anything to do with you. I know girls like her. I went to middle school with girls like her. There is nothing she likes more than controlling people around her. She likes to whip people up into an emotional frenzy. Trust me: the thing she was getting out of this was that she got to know that she brought a powerful man to his knees. The best thing you can do with emotional vampires like your ex-fiancée is to not even think about them. Just pretend she doesn’t exist. Above all else, mean girls hate being ignored.”
Matt leaned back in his chair. “How do you know?”
“About mean girls?” I asked, eating another peppermint nacho. “Let’s see: my first run-in with a mean girl was fourth grade. I had packed up my stuff to go to my dad’s house—they did a week on/week off—and I somehow brought mismatched shoes and had to wear them to school the entire week because he wouldn’t let me go back to my mom’s house to grab the other shoe. This girl in class told everyone that I had stolen the shoes because my family was homeless. Then she told everyone a lie that I slept in a dumpster. To top it off, she made posters to organize a charity drive for me. People were starting rumors that they saw me sleeping outside!”
“Did they see you sleeping outside?” Now Matt had his turn to laugh.
“My sleeping outside is a recent and temporary development in my life. No,” I said loudly. “See, that’s the thing—when I complained to the teacher, this girl was just like, ‘Oh I was just trying to be nice.’ That’s how a mean girl gets you.” I stabbed a nacho in his direction. “They’re playing both sides, pretending like they’re caring, then bam.” I speared the crust of the eggnog crème brûlée. “Mean-girled.”
My phone beeped with a reminder.
