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Melanie laughed while she typed something into her phone. “God no, I hate basketball.”
Amy shot me a look and I shrugged.
“Grab some food and make yourselves at home,” she said, walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll get the wine.”
Settling on the couch with an unusual combination of noodles, tacos and a side of fries, Melanie handed me an empty glass and filled it until the red wine ran dry. “Sorry, I started a bit early,” she said, placing the empty bottle on the coffee table. “I have plenty more though.”
Amy held up her hands and smiled. “No judgement here.”
“I finished stuffing all the envelopes this afternoon, so I figured we could just relax and have some fun tonight,” Melanie said, dishing up smallest serve of spaghetti I’d ever seen.
I winced. “Oh, Mel, you shouldn’t have done it all yourself.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “Grayson helped, so it didn’t take long.”
My mouth fell open.
“Don’t look so surprised. He’s not so bad outside of work.”
Amy cleared her throat to smother her laughter. “Mmm…this Pad Thai is amazing.”
I filled my mouth with noodles and scowled across at her. If I didn’t feel guilty before, I felt guilty now.
Steering the conversation away from Grayson, Amy and I relayed stories about how Maude used to be before Harlow Corp. took over. Melanie laughed along to our comfortable banter, until tears stung our eyes and it hurt to breathe.
“Shall I open another bottle of red or are you ready for something a little stronger?” Melanie asked after pouring the remains of the wine down her throat.
“Maybe we should slow down a bit,” I said, remembering what Grayson told me about her excessive drinking. “Some coffee perhaps?”
She grinned and stood up. “Expresso Martinis it is!”
Hiding my grimace, I helped Amy clear away the empty take-away containers while Melanie returned to the kitchen.
“Can someone check the basketball score?” she yelled over the rattling cocktail shaker.
“Sure thing,” Amy said, looking at me quizzically. She turned on the television and scrolled through the channels. “The Lakers are beating the Knicks by 10 points at half time!”
“Thanks for that,” Melanie said, returning to the lounge room carrying a tray of cocktail glasses. “You can turn it off now.”
“Why are you interested in the score if you hate basketball?” I asked curiously, as she placed the tray on the coffee table.
“Because everyone thinks I’m at the game,” she said, picking up her cell phone and passing it over. “See?”
Amy peered over my shoulder as I looked down the photograph of Grayson and Melanie in their Lakers caps. The post read:
Off to the basketball #golakers
Melanie laughed at our scrunched-up faces. “My followers have certain expectations on my social life. Eating take-out and watching rom-coms in my sweats is not one of them.”
“Do you do this often?” I asked, wondering how many of her old posts were staged.
Her eyes twinkled. “All the time.”
Clearly as curious as I was, Amy moved towards Melanie and took her hand, facing it palm up. “May I?”
“Okay…” she said warily, while Amy examined the lines.
I handed back her phone with a frown. “Don’t you get tired of keeping up the façade?”
