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“You came,” I say as I approach.
She smiles but doesn’t seem her usual self as she does. “Michael and I decided to come after all.”
I look around for her husband but don’t see him anywhere. “Where is he? I want to say hello.”
Christina shrugs and reaches for a flute of champagne being carried on a tray by a waiter. “Who knows. Drinking with friends or something.”
It’s not hard to see she isn’t exactly pleased with her husband. I decide to try to cheer her up by saying, “You look pretty. I love your dress.”
She glances down and then chuckles. “Glad someone noticed.” She takes a deep breath, a large drink from her champagne, and then adds, “Okay, I’m shaking off my bad mood. No need to ruin a party.” I watch her paint on a new smile—a fake one—but regardless, she does appear to be shaking off her mood. “Where’s Christopher?”
I point in his direction. “I’ve met some really interesting people since being here. The party’s fancier than I’m used to, but I don’t feel nearly as out of place as I was expecting.”
“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” she says.
“I am, but if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go use the restroom.”
I find where one is and see a small line waiting outside to use it. I take my place, feeling a little uneasy as all the other women seem to know each other and are talking. They clearly came to the bathroom as pairs or threesomes. I wish I had convinced Christina to come with me now, but I didn’t realize going to the bathroom was a group effort.
Standing by myself, trying not to stare at anyone, and hoping I look casual and confident, I see Marissa approach me. I haven’t noticed her before at the party, nor did I know she’d be attending, but then again, there are so many people that I can see how that’s possible.
“Hello, Ember,” she says with a smile.
The friendly greeting doesn’t seem genuine, but I reply just as sweetly with “Hi, Marissa. Nice to see you.” I hate lying. It’s not nice to see her. My stomach dropping and my palms sweating prove that fact.
“I’ve been worried about you. How have you been since your incident?” she asks, not quietly, so anyone around can hear if they want to.
“What incident?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“I was with Christopher in LA when his mother called us about you having your… incident.”
“Wait… what?” A ringing begins in my ears, and bile forms in the back of my throat. “You were in LA with Christopher?”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
She nods and replies as if it’s only natural she’d be with Christopher. “We were at our favorite pub when the call came in. We were both so worried about you. With everything you’ve been going through, it’s so kind of Christopher to be there helping you work it out.” She reaches out and pats my arm. “Christopher and I are both here for you. You can count on me too.”
I inhale deeply, but air doesn’t seem to enter my lungs. I scan the room for my husband but don’t see him. I want to puke, but the line for the bathroom isn’t moving. All I know is I can’t stand here any longer. Not with her.
Not with Marissa.
They were in California together. He was going to spend the night….
They were at their favorite place.
He’s helping me out… so kind of him….
“Excuse me,” I say as I push my way by her and storm out of the penthouse.
I need air.
I need to leave.
I need…. What the fuck do I need?
Running down the stairs to the coat room, I close the door behind me so I can have a minute to myself and gather my senses. I can’t just go home. Home…? Where is my home?
Has Christopher been seeing Marissa the entire time? Is he just being nice to me and pretending to be my husband until I get mentally stronger? Is that why he’s helping me learn how to be independent? Is his plan to leave me and be with Marissa the minute he feels I’m ready to be alone?
The door to the coat room opens, and Michael enters. “Ember? Are you okay? I saw you running in here. What’s going on?”
He approaches me, and though I’m happy to see a familiar face, I can see his eyes are glossy, and he stumbles a bit as he walks to me. I smell heavy booze on his breath as he takes me into his arms in an embrace.
“I’m here,” he adds. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I try to wiggle free from his hug, but he holds me tightly against his chest. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
“You don’t seem okay,” he murmurs into my hair.
