I can feel their eyes on me as our bill comes and Simone insists on paying for the whole thing quickly, saying we can just transfer her our shares later. We slide out from our benches and I silently follow them out of the restaurant, too mortified to risk looking over at Matthew, wondering if he’s filling his date in on what just happened, painting me out to be the bitter, rude, obnoxious ex that just can’t seem to move on. We step into the evening air and I take a deep breath in, the girls huddling round me.
“How dare he?” Ruby begins, shaking her head. “Honestly, I know you would hate me if I did this, Freya, but he really deserves to be taken down a peg or two.”
“He thinks he’s got the moral high ground?” Simone hisses furiously. “He was trying to be civil. You know what’s civil? Apologizing for drunkenly phoning your ex over and over until they pick up.”
“And what was that ‘mature’ comment, too?” Cali says. “Freyahas handled this more maturely than anyone in the world. He’s an idiot, he shouldn’t have come over.”
“The audacity,” Ruby agrees.
“Let’s get home,” Cali says, rubbing my arm. “You ready to go, Freya?”
I don’t know if it’s because the surprise of the encounter is beginning to ebb away or because they’re going over what he said again, but my shock is starting to change into something else.
Anger.
“Hang on,” I say, my voice calm and steady. “Did he just imply that I’m the one pretending we don’t know each other?”
Simone nods.
“He just referred to me, to the four of us, as ‘very mature,’ sarcastically,” I say slowly.
“Yeah.” Ruby looks at me curiously. “Are you okay, Freya? You look…”
“Enlightened,” I finish for her, my eyes narrowing at the door of the restaurant.
Without saying anything else, I storm right back in there, pushing open the door and staring at him. He glances up and sees me.
“Do you need a table?” a waiter asks cheerily.
“No, thank you,” I say, my eyes locked on Matthew. “This won’t take long.”
As I march over to his table, I hear the girls pile into the restaurant after me and then hurry to keep up, flanking me as I stop, ready for battle.
“Freya,” Matthew begins nervously. “What are—”
“How dare you accuse me of acting as though I don’t know you?” I say, my cheeks flushing hot with the rage I feel right now toward this man.
“Freya—”
“How dare you?” I repeat, louder now, noticing that othertables around have stopped their conversations and are watching with interest. I don’t care, though. I’m too angry to care. “I’m not sure if you remember, Matthew, butyoubroke up with me thedaybefore our wedding. And then you told me not to contact you, because we needed time and space. Isn’t that right?”
His eyes dart nervously around the restaurant as he grapples with everyone watching. His date looks horrified at my statement. He obviously hasn’t got to the part about how we broke up, then.
“Then,youcalledmewhen I was having a lovely time in Dublin and you wouldn’t stop calling until I picked up!” I remind him. “You told me that you missed me! That you wanted to talk things through! That you didn’t like the idea of not being inmy life!”
“F-Freya—”
“Andthenwhen I called and messaged you the next day to ask when we should schedule this chat you so desperately needed,you never replied.”
There’s a satisfying gasp that ripples through the restaurant. Matthew is sweating, the beads forming on his forehead, his upper lip growing noticeably moist.
“You made me feel like afool!”
I’m not sure why I’m speaking like I’m in a Shakespeare play, but I’m going with it.
“You acted like nothing had happened! Even though,youwere the one who calledme!” I cry, pointing my finger at him accusingly. “Now here I am, having a lovely meal in a lovely restaurant with my friends and you have theaudacity—” Stealing your word, Ruby, thank you. “—to come sauntering over to our table while you’re here on a date to tell me that I’m the immature one when I don’t gush over you! That you are just trying to becivil!”
“Look,” he squeaks, “I know—”
