Clearly, we had started without her, but I stupidly look back over at my other best friend, still laughing. “Uh … no?”
Her violet blue eyes narrow more until they’re just tiny slivers. “Uh … yes! And you’ve so obviously gotten a head start on drinking since you two are drunker than a skunk. It’s a good thing I brought dinner,” she grumbles and finishes walking into my apartment, kicking the door closed with her booted foot. “I got Stanzo’s, Will. I know how much you love their eggplant parm.”
Well, isn’t that sobering.
I don’t let my inner cringing show; I give her a smile and walk over to give her a hug. “Awesome. Let me just go wash this off,” I tell her, walking to my bathroom. I’m going to need to run myself into the ground tonight to burn off Stanzo’s.
I closed and turned the lock before walking over to my vanity to stare into the mirror. With a quick twist of the tap, I continue to look into my eyes as the water warms and the mouthwatering scents of the best Italian mom and pop restaurant around fills my nose.
My breathing speeds up, and I do everything I can to mentally talk myself back up. Every Friday night, it’s the same. We have the best time during our ‘girls’ night’ fun of beautification, but it always ends with me having to talk myself into playing the part of carefree Willow. The one who hasn’t had to give up just about all the foods I used to love and replace them with salad just to shed some pounds. It’s so easy to hide this part of myself when we’re together at work, but here … it isn’t as easy to sweep things under the rug. They notice too much.
Just get in there, eat slowly, and wait for the wine to continue to flow. You can go to the gym when they leave and work it off.
I continue to repeat those words to myself as I bring a warm, wet washcloth to my face and start rubbing off the overly dry mud from my skin.
Small bites. Move the fork around, a lot. Small bites. Make sure their glasses stay full. Then move the food around some more. Gym later.
Tonight is one of the more challenging meals. Most of my favorite meal is easy to make disappear with a few calculated shifts of my fork, but because it’s basically one lump of food, it’s harder to make it look … eaten.
But if they’ve remained clueless this long, I doubt tonight will be any different.
Keep the wine flowing. Eat slowly. Small bites. Fork shifts. More wine. You’ve got this, Willow. It’s only one night a week of pretending. Tomorrow, it’s back to salad and water.
I take a few cleansing breaths, and with a small nod, I make my way out of the bathroom toward where my two best friends are laughing around the kitchen table.
God, that food smells like heaven. But I know better. Nothing good ever comes from indulging. It might smell like heaven, but it’s a package sent straight from hell. A package that has been my greatest weakness. But I’m in charge now. I’ve worked too hard to lose the weight I have to allow old habits to bring it all back.
“I grabbed you a plate, Will,” Eddie says, looking at me a little too long for my liking.
Slow bites, Willow. Just take it slow. Keep the wine flowing. You could probably last four hours at the gym and still be able to function tomorrow at work. Who needs sleep?
“Thanks, honey.” I sit in my seat and look over at Kirby, starting the first dance of my fork against the devil's temptation sitting in front of me. “How was soccer practice?” I question, picking a small sliver of my dinner and placing it between my lips. It takes everything in me not to moan at the explosion of flavors that hit my neglected taste buds.
“Good, good. Alli is a rockstar, like always.” She brags about her eight-year-old daughter.
“When’s her next game? I missed the first couple. Work’s kicking my ass,” Eddie complains.
“Yeah, Mister Hotshot Photographer. If you would stop shooting all those gorgeous men for two seconds, then maybe we would see you more often.” Kirby laughs, taking another huge bite of her food and making my mouth water a little more.
“It’s been insane, Kirb. I’m so glad we finally finished up with that campaign. I never thought I would be happy to have half-naked women back in front of my lens. Those men are the biggest divas of all.”
They continue to talk about work while I work on moving my food around and keeping their glasses filled. Of course, as I was concentrating so hard on making sure I put the minimum number of bites between my lips, I miss Eddie’s next question.
“I hear your sister is trying to get her job back. Know anything about that, Will?”
My fork drops, flinging the piece of food I had been shifting last in the air before it lands with a wet slap on the table.
“Excuse me?” I implore, ignoring the mess I just made.
“How did you not hear about this? Jesus, you sit outside your father’s office every day, Will! Have you been living under a rock?”
“Tell me?” I whisper. God, I know my father couldn’t care less about me, but I really thought we had been turning a corner when Ivy quit. Well, that’s a lie. But it felt better to be at work when I had just one person’s hate to deal with instead of two.
Eddie’s concerned gaze rolls over my face as he assesses the damage he knows this turn in the conversation is causing me.
“Just tell her, Eddie. She deserves to know so she can be prepared.”
“Right, well … it’s all rumors, of course. But I heard from Pam, who heard it from Stacy, who heard it from Janelle when she was filling in for you last week while you were on vacation, that your sister had a meeting with your dad. Apparently, when they finished, he said he would look forward to seeing her around the office next week. Which I’m assuming means tomorrow. Shit, I’m sorry, Willow. I thought for sure he would tell you.”
“Yeah? Because we have such a close relationship,” I snap, pushing my plate away. At least they won’t question my lack of appetite now.
Eddie looks at my plate before looking over at Kirby. They continue to have some silent conversation while I let my mind drift to what it would mean if Ivy were to come back to work.
We all work together at my father’s agency. He’s been a driving force in the modeling world for the last three decades. His offices, one of many, are headquartered in New York City, and he handles everything from models to photographers and everyone between.
Kirby, being one of those inbetweeners, works for my father as a well-sought-after makeup artist who he hires for various events such as on-location photo shoots, fashion shows, and here lately, television and movies. Luckily for my father, she’s happy to remain in New York and has no dreams of moving on to work on her own, like Eddie.
Eddie had been working for the Logan Agency as one of his top photographers, but because of his superior work and in-demand status, he’s recently branched out on his own. Thus, our little celebration of his ‘promotion’ and leaving the Logan Agency. I couldn’t be more thrilled for him and his new path in life. Even if I’m sad that when he leaves for some commitments he has in Europe, our girls’ nights will never be the same.
And me? I’m a glorified secretary for the owner, my father, but all that boils down to is I’m his gofer, coffee maker, and overall little bitch. Ivy had been working as his personal assistant, right hand, and general face of the Logan Agency before leaving to ‘start her life with Brad.’ Apparently, if rumors are true, her life got started and she’s ready to torment me a little more while getting all the gratification she can from being fawned over constantly at the agency.
And here I am, the stupid little girl who believed she could make her father love her during my quest for healing. If it weren't for Kirby still being there, I would have left when Eddie did last week and never looked back. But I’ve sunk the better part of my twenties into working for a man who hated me just so I could attempt to earn his love. Stupidly believing the impossible possible. And now, well … who would hire a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dusty degree in business administration and the only experience under her belt being making coffee and answering the phone?