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“I asked you who the hell you are.” My fists curl.
“Wow, got some steel in your spine have you? Well, I’m Elena and I've been his girlfriend for more than a year.”
“I see. And where the fuck is that asshole?”
“Oh I think I like you.” She seems amused. “He's just having a shower. Have a seat. It should be interesting enough watching this.”
“Wow.” He’s in the shower. “Not necessary.” I turn on my heels, Feeling the rage beginning to color my vision. I need to leave before I do something I might regret, not to mention land me in trouble. Something like scratch the smirk off this bitch’s face.
“Who shall I say came by?” She calls as I reach the elevator.
I pause. “The woman who fucked him up. The reason why you have had to settle for a shell of a man. Why he’ll never commit to you. Tell him that and he’ll know exactly who I am.”
I get into the waiting elevator car and turn around. It’s a small comfort to see the smug smile wiped off her ashen face. It’s only when the door closes that I finally allow the tears to fall.
I go straight to Dalia’s but not before texting Jordan.
Me: I met your whore. Interesting, exotic woman. For both our sakes, let me make it clear this time around. I don’t EVER want to see you again. Stay the fuck away from me.
I switch my phone off.
By Sunday, my phone is still off, and I’ve been at Dalia’s since Friday evening.
“Are you sure it's okay to tag along?” She's putting some mint leaves into the lemonade we're taking to Uncle Ben's barbecue
Jordan and I were supposed to go to Staten Island today and I’d told Uncle Ben and Aunt Bea to expect a friend of mine at his barbecue.
Of course, that's all gone to shit now, the lying, cheating cad. I couldn't bring myself to update Uncle Ben, not wanting anything to take me back to the head space where I'd start crying again. I'm all cried out.
Dalia was furious when she heard what happened at the penthouse, but she thinks I should have waited to hear what Jordan had to say for himself.
“Really?” I’d been shocked when she said as much.
“Bree, you realize that your leaving means you took the word of some girl you don’t know over your man.”
“He’s not my fucking man!”
“Fine. But still, you believed a stranger—”
“Who was half naked, in his penthouse, in his clothes!”
She paused thoughtfully. “You’re right actually. It does look bad.”
“Thank you! I’ve had it up to here with Jordan Farrington’s nonsense. I’m just about ready to move on.”
"Bree?" Dalia waves a hand in front of my face.
“Oh, yes of course. You're more than welcome. The only thing is, Aunt Bea tends not to get with the program a hundred percent of the time because of her Alzheimer's, so she might not quickly process that you’re not my girlfriend.”
“Well if she doesn’t, let's not correct her so she won't get any more confused.”
“You’re devious,” I carefully pack up the potato salad I promised Uncle Ben I'd bring. "All ready?" I ask Dalia.
Cooking had taken twice as long as it should have because groceries aside, the girl just couldn't be bothered to have basic things like a juicer, or a pot bigger than the size of her palm.
"Yes, I think we got there in the end." Dalia blows out the large vanilla-scented candle in the lounge and leads the way out, carrying the pitcher of lemonade.
"You know, Aunt Bea makes candles too."
