I’d pretend for a while. I’d play along with the story the show was telling about what good friends we were, because my heart would hurt too much to tell them the truth. But eventually, we’d get drunk one night and it would all come out.
You’re waiting for him?Ayo would say, aghast.
He has a girlfriend, Flick would say.How the fuck does this all work?
We talk, I’d say.We text. We Zoom, sometimes.
He still has a girlfriend.
He has to wait three months after the finale to break up with her, I’d explain.It’s in his contract.
Then, what, you’re suddenly going to be together?Flick would demand.
You could have been the motherfucking queen-bitch Juliet and had a harem of men to choose from, and you gave it all up for a dude that’s keeping you a secret on the side?Ayo would say.
I don’t want a harem, I’d reply.I only want him.
Flick would roll her eyes. Ayo would groan.You stupid bitch, Lily Fireball would say, when I paid her out of my quickly dwindling bank account to be my image consultant and help me with Instagram.
But I’d have Dylan.
We’d talk. All the time.I miss you, he’d say,I love you. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.
He’d mean it. If I knew anything about Dylan, it was that he’d mean it.
But then what? I’d move in with him? And do what, exactly?
Spend my days avoiding the paparazzi, that’s what I’d do.Dylan Jayasinghe Mellor dumps perfect heroic pandemic nurse girlfriend for trashy gold-digging home-wrecking whore, the tabloid headlines would read.Worst Romeo ever.
Everything Dylan was terrified would happen would happen. He’d become the most hated man in the country. I’d be the most hated woman. His charity would suffer and the next fifty seasons of the Romeo and Juliet franchise would be wall-to-wall white people.
But through all of that, I’d have Dylan.
I love you, he’d say, every single morning as we woke up together.
I love you, he’d say, every single night as we went to sleep.
I love you, he’d say, standing opposite me in front of a celebrant.I want you. I choose you. I’ll never leave you.
I squeezed my eyes shut and banged my head on my knees, again and again. ‘Whyyyyyyy?’ I moaned.
‘You too, huh?’
I looked up. ‘Oh. Hi.’
‘Hi,’ Amanda said, her hand on the doorknob. ‘Nice to see you again, Cece.’
‘You too.’
‘Sorry for barging in on you. I thought this was the bathroom.’
‘No,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘That’s upstairs. First door on the left.’
She didn’t leave. ‘You look like I feel.’
‘Like shit?’
‘I was going to say miserable, but “like shit” works,’ she said, smiling wryly. ‘Want some company?’
