I turned away from them and stepped up to the wine tasting table. The PCC employee was a grandmotherly type, and she handed me my small paper cup with a gentle expression, looking for all the world like a nurse handing out medications to terminal patients. I drank my half mouthful of rosé, then asked if I could have another.
“Of course, dear, here you are,” Her voice was so kind I almost wanted to cry. “And you have a little something right there.” She gestured to my forehead, and I wiped at it with dread. “That’s better,” she said. There was a crusty green smear of face mask on my fingertips.
There was only one register open, and Christopher and Xio were in line, clutching bags of chips, a tub of the expensive guacamole, and a twelve-pack of beer. Christopher gestured thatI should go before them, insisting on this awkward gallantry until I accepted.
With a silent nod of thanks, I stepped in front of them and placed my items on the conveyor belt with all the dignity I could muster, knowing as I did that I was wearing my old yoga pants with a penny-size hole in the center of one butt cheek.
After making a sizable dent in the bottle of wine, I found Xio on Instagram. She had over five thousand followers and a lot of photos of her posing leggily on the edges of canyons, waterfalls, and mountaintops. How did she find the time to keep up her beauty routineandhave an avid interest in nature? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had been on a hike.
Why did I care? I despised hiking and being outside in general. She could keep her Girl Scout badgesandChristopher Butkus. I had a fresh batch of brownies with my name on it.
On Saturday, Amy somewhat urgently requested a Valentine’s Day debrief, so we met at a coffee shop near Eva’s apartment. We swirled and sipped our cold brews, sharing a giant piece of coffee cake as Amy got straight to the point.
“I know your hearts were in the right place, and the lingerie is really pretty, but it backfired so badly.”
“How did it backfire?” My surprise was written on my face, my straw halfway to my mouth.
“Ryan and I had a really nice time at Copine. We were both a little tipsy when we got home, and he went straight for his Xbox.I told him I had a surprise for him in the bedroom and basically forced him to get up, so he was already annoyed with me for making him leave his game. When he saw me in the lingerie, I could tell he liked it, but all he said was, ‘Wow, you look great, babe,’ gave me a kiss, and tried to leave the room. I grabbed his arm and asked if he wanted to. I even had lit candles. But he claimed he wasn’t in the mood, and I immediately burst into tears.”
“Oh, Amy…” Eva sighed.
Sumira looked pale, her face reflecting my own shock.
“I told him I knew he wasn’t attracted to me and I didn’t know what to do about it and that if even this didn’t work then I must be the most hideous, unlovable woman in the world. And then he started yelling that I was beautiful andhewas the fat, ugly one, and me dressing up like a Victoria’s Secret model only made him feel a million times worse. He told me I was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and he had no idea why I’d married him, that he knew he would never be enough for me.”
“Oh no.” I covered my mouth with one hand.
“I had no idea he felt that way. I had never heard him say anything about being self-conscious before. I tried to tell him I love him, that I find him attractive, and that I just want us to have more sex, and then he sort of roared in frustration and left the house.”
“Where did he go?” Sumira asked.
“He texted me later that he’d gone to Peter’s to play video games and that he loved me and was sorry. But I feel like shit.”
“But… Victoria’s Secret model… that’s something.” I tried to sound encouraging.
“Yeah. I feel like a shitty, sexy Victoria’s Secret model. I feel guilty for being so gorgeous.”
“NEVER apologize for that, you beautiful beast,” Sumira said.
“I just wish I knew how to make Ryan feel better.” Amy gazed miserably at the crumbs of our coffee cake.
“I guess we should’ve gotten you a vibrator instead.” I received a kick under the table from Eva.
That night I received an unexpected but not unwanted text. It was Stephen, asking me to hang out.
I was relieved. Honestly, I was not a fan of all that ghosting business. And let’s face it, I was too young to be a spinster.
We spent a perfectly adequate hour in his bed—was he getting better? And then I filled him in on the Amy gossip, making her out to be a sexy, frustrated teacher (which is exactly what she is), and Stephen agreed that Ryan was a loser. I had sort of been hoping for a bit of advice from a man’s perspective.
That night I lay awake, my mind doing that stupid spiraling thing it does sometimes. Whatwasthe deal with Stephen ghosting me over Valentine’s Day? Logically I didn’t care that much because we had just started dating. But there was a part of me that was stung by it. And—it was almost hard to admit it to myself—his conversation left something to be desired. After sex, he tended to respond in monosyllables before reaching for his phone and then, a few minutes later, falling asleep. It’s not that I wanted long, soul-baring conversations as he held me in his arms and gazed into my eyes. But asmidgenmore eye contact might be nice.
Against my better judgment, I had agreed to spend my Friday evening with my mother at her (insistent) request.
When I arrived at the house, she had already nearly worked herself into hysterical tears. Dad was sitting with her at the kitchen table, sort of patting her head and pointing out things he thought she’d like in the Restoration Hardware catalog.
“Ooh, look, dearest, a weathered teak outdoor patio set. What do you think about that, hmm? The whole family could gather around the firepit”—he glanced out the back door, where frigid rain dripped invitingly in the seasonal five p.m. darkness—“in a few months’ time.”
Mom rocked back in her chair, moaning and counting something silently on her fingers. Whatever she was tallying seemed to displease her, because she let out a small shriek and muttered, “Hopeless… oh no…”
