The Play

“I’m sorry. I really don’t want my excuse to be that I was a stupid girl, but I was. I was stupid and insecure, and I hadn’t had a boyfriend in so long and suddenly this charming, gorgeous guy was paying attention to me, flirting with me, telling me all these terrible things about you.”

“And you believed him?” I’m hurt by the notion.

“No,” Corinne admits. “I wanted to believe him, because then it’d give me justification to not feel bad. But I did feel bad. I felt awful—before it happened, during, and after. And then he actually tried to see me again, in secret. I felt sick and said no way in hell. I wanted to tell you the truth, but he said he’d deny it if I did, and paint me as a slut who tried to seduce him.”

I don’t even know what to believe anymore. In his subsequent texts after our showdown at my house, Nico spammed my phone with his explanations, his excuses. And that was precisely what he told me—that Corinne came on to him, and he was too drunk to fend off her wicked advances.

“I don’t know if this helps or not, but…” Corinne takes her phone out of her bag. “These are all the text exchanges I had with him.”

She slides the phone across the table and I reluctantly pick it up. The first thing I do is click on Nico’s contact page to ensure that his name is assigned to the right number. People are liars, and technology is easily, and frequently, manipulated these days. But it’s the right number.

I don’t want to do it, but I force myself to read the text thread. And there it is, in black and white. Or rather, gray and blue. My loving boyfriend, asking my friend when they were going to have sex again. Corinne’s not lying. The entire exchange is disgusting.

NICO: Still thinking bout u. when r we gonna do it again? ;)

 

 

CORINNE: Never. I never want to do it again, Nico.

 

 

HIM: Srsly? playing hard 2 get all of a sudden?

 

 

HER: No. I feel sick to my stomach. I want to tell Demi what happened.

 

 

HIM: WTF? R u kidding me?

 

 

HER: No, I’m not. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I feel like the worst person on the planet. She’s one of my closest friends. I don’t have a lot of those. What we did was so freaking stupid and I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m throwing up every night. I have to tell her.

 

 

HIM: Not gonna happen, Corinne. She’s gonna think ur a liar

 

 

HER: No, she won’t.

 

 

HIM: Ya she will, cuz I’ll tell her ur lying.

 

 

It goes on for a while longer, and Corinne is right. She insists on coming clean, Nico warns her what he’ll do if she does.

I set the phone down. My eyes are stinging, but I refuse to cry.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispers. “And I know our friendship is irrevocably changed. All I’m asking for is forgiveness and maybe another chance. When you’re ready, of course.”

I nod slowly. “I accept your apology, and I will work on the forgiveness part, but…I can’t do it right now. I’m not there.” Her feeling genuine remorse after she slept with my boyfriend doesn’t alter the fact that she slept with my boyfriend.

“I understand.”

“But I am glad we finally talked,” I say, and I truly mean it. I’m not one of those girls who will blame the “other woman.” Yes, Corinne demonstrated poor judgment and total disregard for our friendship, but she wasn’t the one sleeping with me, the one professing love for me, the one telling me we were going to get married. Corinne was a bad friend, but Nico’s betrayal cuts so much deeper.

“Anyway, I have to go.” I scrape my chair back. “I need to pack for Thanksgiving.”

“Are you going to Boston?”

“Yes. I’m leaving tonight and coming back Sunday. Are you seeing your family in Vermont?”

“No, we’re doing a friends’ Thanksgiving in Hastings.” She hesitates. “Pippa will be there. I hope that’s okay.”

I swallow a sigh. Pippa’s been walking on eggshells lately, trying not to mention her friendship with Corinne to me. Fuck Nico for complicating everything.

Men are such garbage.

 

 

My parents are thrilled to have me home, even if it’s only for a few days. There’s already a full buffet on the table when I arrive, and it’s only the three of us tonight. Tomorrow we have a ton of family coming in from Miami. Dad’s an only child like me, but Mom’s side of the family is enormous. I expect tomorrow to be super noisy. Two of my mother’s three sisters are coming with their brood, and all my cousins are younger than me, so there’ll be a tiny mob of eight, nine and ten-year-olds running around. Mom’s only brother Luis and his wife Liana just had a baby boy, who I cannot wait to meet. I love babies.

Tonight is basically the calm before the storm.

“Oh lord!” My mouth is legit watering when I glimpse the feast Mom laid out. I’ll be leaving a trail of drool on the way to the table. “Mom, you are the greatest treasure in the whole world.”

“Thank you, mami.” She plants a kiss on my forehead and then pushes me into a chair. “Now, eat! You look so thin, Demi. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

I give a slight frown. My appetite disappeared after the break-up and it’s only now returning, but I hadn’t thought I’d lost any weight. All my clothes still fit.

Since lying to my mother is impossible, I reply with, “Let’s wait for Dad. I’ll tell you both at same time.”

“Dios mío! I knew it. Something is wrong. Tell us what!? Marcus!” she screams at the doorway, and my eardrums promptly shatter. I’m surprised the paintings don’t fall off the dining room walls.

My father takes his time coming downstairs. He’s learned to differentiate between Mom’s various screams and volume levels, and has clearly deduced this is not an emergency. When he finally strolls into the room, he greets me with a hug and kiss. “Hi, baby.”

“Hey, Daddy.” I stab a deep-fried crab cake with my fork and plop it down on my plate.

“What’s going on?” He glances at Mom as he takes his usual chair at the head of the table.

“Demi has something to tell us.”

His gaze swings back to me. “That so? What is it?”

“Can you let me finish this yummy crab cake first?” I chew extra slowly, relishing the taste, then spear some Cuban-style shrimp from one of the serving dishes. I quickly pop a shrimp in my mouth. “Mmmmm. Did you pan-fry this in pineapple? And garlic? It’s so good.”

I’m stalling and Mom knows it. “Put down the shrimp, Demi.”

Ugh. “Fine.” I lay my fork on the plate, swallow, and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Mom, maybe you should sit down too.”

They’re both alarmed. “Dios mío!” she cries again. “You’re pregnant! Marcus, she’s pregnant!”

My eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “What! No! I’m not pregnant. Jesus. Sit down already.” I hastily add, “Please.”