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Instead of stewing in my sadness on a flight back to Italy, I get an up-close and personal show of my own demise, set up by my beautiful best friend.
Maya: This is your hourly reminder to not bail on me tonight. You won’t like what happens if you do. ??
Me: Threats work better when you don’t include a smiling emoji.
Maya responds by sending me the same emoji paired with a knife. I get dressed and look my best because I need to. If I’m going to pour my heart out to Maya at the expense of seeing Liam, I better look the part of an uncaring person. Nothing screams screw love quite like an open-back dress.
A couple hours later, I find Maya mingling in the gala’s crowd, her sparkly dress nabbing my attention. My hand wraps around the stem of her half-full champagne glass.
“Hey, I was drink—” She stops dead in her tracks.
Either I have an amazing poker face that stuns her, or I look as wild as I feel on the inside. I knock back the contents in a couple gulps, the cool liquid trickling down my throat.
I dub this version of myself as post-Liam.
“Remember during our sleepover when you told me to give Liam some time? That maybe he’d come around to accepting his feelings about me?”
She nods along, attempting to smile but deciding on a frown instead.
“Well, nothing has changed. I’m falling deeper and deeper into trouble by the day.” I pout my lip to stop it from trembling.
Maya’s frown deepens. “What kind of trouble?”
“The cleanup in aisle tenbecause my heart exploded on the ice cream section’sfloor type.”
A passing waiter makes an appearance. My hands grip his sleeve, not letting him go anywhere without hearing my request. “Sir, can we please have another round of champagne? Stat.” The man has a nose for heartbreak because he dashes away.
Maya offers me a sincere smile. “I’m sorry. I thought he would wake up and realize how much of an idiot he’s been.”
“Before we continue, we need alcohol. Lots of alcohol.”
Maya nods in understanding.
My dear friend the waiter shows up with not one but two champagne bottles. He’d be a man after my heart—that is, if I still had one.
We each grab the bottle from the tray and take off toward a corner of the gala. I learned nothing from my previous corner experience, but at least this time I have good company. Maya and I take sips straight from the bottle, forgoing the glasses, chugging between my confessions. We’re an image of etiquette and grace, sitting on the floor behind a table hiding us from other partygoers. I share everything with Maya, not skimping out on details.
I sip champagne every time I want to laugh or cry, which turns out to be rather often. A few tears escape, and Maya ends up crying with me, proving how I picked a winner for a friend.
By the time I drain half the bottle, I become a giggling mess, running on caloric fumes and poor decisions. I regret not eating a proper dinner because a cupcake doesn’t count as an essential part of the food pyramid.
“I hope you know—” I hiccup “—how much I appreciate you.”
“You’ve only told me three times so far. But I love the gratitude.” She laughs before taking another sip of champagne.
“How did you know you loved Noah?” Another hiccup escapes my lips.
“When it hurt more to be without him than with him.”
“I don’t think Liam loves me.” I hold back the tears.
“Why do you say that?”
I frown. “Because he didn’t exactly proclaim his love for me when I admitted my feelings.”
“And it was so brave of you to try. Maybe he has trouble sharing how he loves you, especially with his shitty contract deal and the pressure he’s under. He might be afraid of letting you down. But I don’t doubt he loves you.”
I take another large gulp of champagne. “He needs to drive more than he needs to breathe. That means I’m out of the picture, replaced by a tempting contract and a brand-new season.”
