Katherine
“Do you want the red one or the white one?” Robin calls from the kitchen.
I squint as I rummage through the movie choices my best friend has brought with her to cheer me up. None of them will do. They are all romance films with spunky main characters and a happy ending.
A churning in my stomach has me almost run to the bathroom to throw up.
“Are there any bubbles?” I answer. I want something expensive, preferably French. Since the publication of my first book I have acquired several bottles of the expensive stuff, and the plan has been to drink them for a special occasion.
Well, this is a type of special occasion, I guess.
Tears threaten to spill yet again, and I quickly take a deep breath. Robin will kill me if she finds me a blubbering mess on the couch, again.
“I’m sure there’s some from the publisher in the door.” I call to her before she can respond. I hope my voice does not betray me.
Seconds later, Robin appears with two glasses, puts them down, and disappears again. When she reappears, she’s carrying a large tray of goodies.
My heart does a little somersault as I realize the effort my best friend has gone to. On the tray is the most amazing assortment of food. There’s an abundance of salty things, fatty foods and plenty of sugar. Did I mention there was plenty of a fatty food?
Robin picks up her glass and holds it out to me.
“What shall we toast to?”
My hand shakes just a little as I automatically recall the toast with Blake where he promised.
What a lying scumbag he turned out to be.
“Let’s toast to friendship,” I manage to whisper.
“Friendship.” Robin’s glass touches mine and I listen to the ping the crystal glasses make as they gently collide.
I close my eyes as I enjoy the cool bubbles dance across my tongue. When the champagne finally slides down my throat, I quickly take another sip.
“You need to try this.” Robin holds out a chunk of chocolate.
“Rocky road?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Better.”
I lie back into the mountain of cushions I have brought out from the bedroom onto the couch. This is the life. How long has it been since we had a girl’s night?
I steal a guilty glance in Robin’s direction. I have neglected our friendship a little since Blake had been on the scene.
“So what do you want to start with?” Robin holds up a couple of movies.
“Not sure,” I mumble. The lump in my throat grows again and those darn tears are always just below surface, ready to spill at the most insignificant of things.
“There’s Greek god, fine Englishman,” she scans the back cover. I’m not sure if she’s looking for a suitable description for the main male character, or if she cannot work out who is the actor. “Or we could go for dependable but not much to look at.”
I grimace.
Robin puts down the films, takes another sip of her drink, and then busies herself with food.
“You know,” she starts, and I hold up my right hand like a policeman directing traffic.
“Don’t.”
Robin devours what looks like one of those arancini balls and I’m reminded of the time I had Blake’s balls in my mouth. Those blasted memories stalk me day and night.
“What do you mean stop?” She has finished chewing. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Her lips are in a pretend pout.
I roll my eyes. “You were going to tell me to call Blake and talk things over with him.”
Robin smiles. “And what’s wrong with that?” Her fingers pick up different pieces of the delicacies to examine what’s on offer.
I sigh and slump into the cushions. For effect, I pull one over my face.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that idea,” I say and pull the cushion away. “It’s a stupid idea. Just like getting involved with Blake was a mistake in the first place.”
“A big fat mistake.” I shake my head. “I should have learned my lesson with Dale.”
“Men are useless and only able to think with their dick,” I continue. “I mean, I stumbled right into the next bloke who had a reputation of fucking his models and then discarding them. I knew. I knew and still I went ahead to make a fool of myself.”
I stop and look at Robin who is grinning at me.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
Robin leaves her seat and comes over to wrap her arms around me. She squeezes me and then let’s go. “You are what I’m laughing at. Listen to yourself. Are you trying to talk yourself into Blake being the bad boy you actually don’t know him to be?”
My head hurts, and I’m not sure I understood what Robin just said.
Before I can ask her to repeat it, and this time in English, a knock at the front door interrupts our peaceful evening.
With my heart beating a little faster than usual, I walk over and open up. Given my track record, I’m a little more cautious about visitors.
“Mademoiselle Katherine?”
I nod in acknowledgement.
He’s not a policeman, but the young man is wearing a uniform of sorts. He hands me a large white envelope, and is gone before I can say anything else.
Confused, I head inside and hold up the envelope for Robin to see as I sit back beside her.
“Open it, “demands Robin and watches me turn the strange stationary over.
“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” I hesitate.
This time, its Robin’s turn to roll her eyes.
Slowly, I take a silver knife from the tray and slide the envelope open. I pull out a large white invitation with purple letters on it.
Invitation for Katherine is written in the centre with a flourish. Underneath it are the words Art Show of Blake. Below that says Invitation for one.
Robin reads the words the same time I do and claps her hands.
I’m confused. An art show for one?
“He’s going ahead with the art show but only inviting you.” Robin is near delirious with joy, she’s practically bouncing on her seat.
“So?” I have mixed feelings and don’t know what to make of it.
“He’s trying to make it up to you.” Robin is talking slowly as if I’ve suffered a head injury. I hear the Duh? at the end of the sentence even if she doesn’t say it. “You are going, aren’t you?”
Up until she asked, I wasn’t sure. It’s so strange. What if I make another mistake?
I can’t help but notice the writing is in purple, though, not gold or black, the way these things are usually done. Had Blake remembered I told him my favorite color is purple?
“Katherine?” Robin prompts.
I look at her and make a decision. “I suppose I’ll go.”