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The message could be for her, not me.
Now I’m thinking like a rational person. But I should still call Sylvia, not to blame her but to find out what I can about the woman who looks like me. Maybe she can tell me something useful to help me make sense of things.
Then I can move on with my life and forget any of this ever happened. If there are any more fake sightings of me, I’ll be able to set people straight. This is actually good news.
I don’t want to talk to Sylvia, but if I can find out what’s going on, it’ll be worth it. All I want is to forget the entire week ever happened.
Now that I’m finally ready to speak with her, I press the call button with a steady hand. I don’t even need to take more deep breaths. I’m simply ready to move on.
Her phone rings several times. She’s probably waiting for it to go to voicemail so she doesn’t have to hear my voice. The feeling is mutual, but I need to find out more about the woman she saw.
I’m ready to disconnect when the ring cuts off.
“Angelina?” Sylvia’s voice is out of breath.
“Yes.” Now I’m off guard because I wasn’t expecting her to answer. I close my eyes for a moment to regain my focus. “I have a question for you.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Then why did she answer? As much as I want to ask, I don’t want to start an argument, either. “I know you don’t believe I wasn’t at the cake shop, but I wasn’t. I think there might be someone in town who looks a lot like me. In fact, you aren’t the first person who thinks they saw me somewhere I wasn’t.”
“It was you, and you need help. If you won’t seek it for yourself, think of your children. They don’t deserve to grow up with a mom who has an eating disorder.”
I bite my tongue.
Need to stay calm. Want to defend myself. Don’t care what she thinks about me. “Nobody cares more about my children than I do. Can you please tell me about the woman you saw?”
“You mean you?” Her tone drips with sarcasm. “For starters, you were sitting alone with six extra-frosted cupcakes. Then you devoured them all. What else would you like to know?”
“What was I wearing?” If I’m going to get anywhere with her, I’m going to have to play along.
“Does that matter?” she snaps.
“To me, yes.”
“I wasn’t paying that close of attention. I was more taken by the amount of carbs you were inhaling.”
“Anything you remember would really help me out.”
She sighs dramatically. “Then you’ll let me go?”
“All I want is to figure out what’s going on.”
“Maybe you’re getting early-onset dementia like your dad.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. What was I wearing at the cake place?”
“Give me a minute…” She pauses even longer than my email took to load. “You had that awful purple tank top with some denim shorts.”
“Awful tank top?”
“The tacky one with the little flowers that you’ve been wearing every summer for the last five years.”
My mouth falls open. That shirt iscute. But she’s right about one thing. I’ve had it since before Owen was born. It was actually from a maternity boutique. In my defense, it’s made for the first trimester and I’ve hung onto it because it’s so comfy.
However, I haven’t worn it this week. And definitely not while gorging on cupcakes alone.
“Are you still there?” Sylvia’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
