Best Served Fake

seven // would you forgive me anything?

By the time I reached the car, Trisha was already there providing Mum and Cora a dramatic rendition of what she'd caught from my conversation with Tommy.

I thought I came off well in the whole thing, considering.

At least I wasn't a weeping, sobbing mess. I had almost expected it; that when I woke up this morning, reality would sweep through like a tsunami, leaving me broken and waterlogged and drowned in its wake, unable to encourage my limbs to keep moving. Soaked through to the bone with despair.

But all I felt was anger, and even that was distant. Not overpowering or all-consuming; just a righteous knowledge that I was wronged, and the two closest people to me had betrayed me through no fault of my own. It was an anger that felt almost obligatory; I had to be angry, because I should be.

"And then..." Trisha was saying, her arms moving wildly with her storytelling. "Ally girl was like, I didn't, you did. She absolutely served him. Third degree burns, I'm telling you. His face was like—" she pulled an exaggerated sob "—he looked like she'd just taken a massive shit on his entire life. It was beautiful."

While Trisha looked like she'd just witnessed the second coming of Jesus, Mum and Cora mostly looked concerned.

"It was pretty beautiful," I added.

Mum and Cora whirled around to face me, schooling their expressions into neutrality. I rolled my eyes, but decided to let them attempt to comfort me. It was easier than insisting I was fine, and trying to get them to believe it.

I grinned at them. "It was a highly enjoyable conversation. I think he might have even been a little offended."

"Understatement of the century," Trisha said, clapping her hands together. All of her movements were exaggerated like that; big, elaborate things that often threatened to knock someone's eye out. Trisha was in her mid-30s and very connected to her Italian roots, and even more connected to street gossip. I thought the world of her. "I mean, I couldn't hear everything. But when you told him to play that Taylor Swift song, I almost passed out. He probably wanted to pass out, because he looked like he would welcome a swift death. I had no idea you were so fiery, girlie."

"Neither did I," Cora muttered under her breath.

The corner of my lips quirked upward. "It was well deserved."

"No shit," Mum said. I looked over at her, surprised. She shrugged. "He's a wanker."

Kai was right; we really did need to consult a dictionary for some more colourful insults. I thought, momentarily, about the feeling of Kai's massive shirt enveloping me, and the look on Tommy's face when he'd seen me in it. It was a little bit intoxicating, the jealousy and anger that had stirred the surface of his desperation.

"Actually, being a wanker wouldn't have really been a problem," I said lightly. "If he'd just stuck to that, the situation could've been avoided."

Cora wrinkled her nose. "Ew."

Trisha nodded along to my words, like I was some kind of Messiah. The reverent expression was a little disconcerting. "Naturally, naturally. So, who did the asshole cheat with? Was it a yoga instructor? It's always a yoga instructor."

Mum cleared her throat harshly. She was looking at Cora like the pair of them were devising the best way for either the pair of them, or, ideally, Trisha, to be transported to a sub-zero continent to freeze and die. With the added bonus of avoiding this conversation. Cora looked like she was waiting for me to burst into tears.

I just gave Trisha an indulgent smile. "Not a yoga instructor, unfortunately. He actually slept with Sydney."

Mum winced. Trisha gaped. "Sydney?" she asked. "The pretty little thing who's always at your place? Oh, honey."