Faking It with the Frenemy

“And of course we will be, dear. But we haven’t exchanged vows yet.”

Face, meet palm. I’ve always known he’s a dick, but this sinks him to a whole new level of assholehood.

“Nobody would’ve known if it weren’t for her.” He tilts his chin in my direction.

If he thinks he can deflect the blame on to me, he has another think coming. “If you hadn’t cheated on your wedding day, there wouldn’t be anything to know,” I say coldly.

Suddenly, Geneva whirls around to face me. “It’s all your fault, you bitch! You never, ever wanted me to have anything nice! You always pretended like you were so good, but we all know you’re just a jealous cunt!”

Oh boy. I’m torn between incredulous laughter and the urge to smack her a few times. She must’ve been living in a fantasy, because I’ve never, ever been jealous of her, of all people. Unless she’s confusing contempt and distaste with jealousy.

“Shut up, Geneva,” Wyatt says.

Thanks for speaking up, but really the wrong tack to take here, I think, wondering how he could not know this. Now she’s going to think she’s being persecuted.

Geneva’s face turns bright red. “You shut up! It’s disgusting how you gang up against me! This is why I had to leave you. Because no matter what I do, you’re always defending her!”

“When did I do that?” Wyatt says, utterly confused.

He probably said something that wasn’t mean about me, and that made Geneva think he’s against her.

Geneva rushes out. Churchill rolls his eyes and follows her, doing up his pants. Wyatt and I go as well. Well, I think Wyatt is chasing her to get the answer to his question, while I’m going because I really don’t want to be stuck in a room where Churchill just had sex. The place is likely contaminated with who-knows-what and needs to be disinfected by the CDC. Twice.

Out in the field, Geneva maneuvers through the chairs. Guests who hadn’t followed her to the room start to stand and gather, apparently sensing a scene about to unfold.

I scan the area and see Vi with a group of girls on the far side. When she makes eye contact, I wave. Stay there, kiddo. Don’t come any closer.

“You asshole! I hope you fucking choke on this!” Geneva reaches for the giant ivory and pink five-tier cake.

Hopefully she isn’t going to try to throw it at Churchill. The cake’s way too big for her to pick up.

Suddenly a woman large enough to play an Amazon warrior in Wonder Woman steps between Geneva and the marvel of bakery art. “Stop!” she says. “I have to upload the pictures to Instagram.”

Geneva tries to reach around her, but the woman handles her easily. “I don’t care about Instagram!” Geneva stamps her feet.

“Hey, I’m posting the pics, no matter what. It’s in the contract. You can’t destroy the cake until after.”

Even without any contractual stipulation, Geneva shouldn’t waste the cake on Churchill, period. It’s too beautiful. Looks tasty, too.

“I hate you! You’ve ruined everything!” she screams at me and Wyatt, her face mottled even through the makeup.

I watch her unravel, unable to decide if I’m pettily pleased or sad. If she actually loved Churchill, I might feel some sympathy, despite our ugly history. But knowing what I know about him, I doubt it was his personality that won her over. And since she can’t spare a single kind word to anybody, even her own child, sympathy isn’t exactly welling up within me

“You just can’t let me be happy!” Geneva continues. “You spineless, dickless asshole! She said you gave her herpes! Don’t you have any pride?”

I… What?

Wyatt stiffens. “How the hell do you know that?”

I swivel my head toward him. What is this? And how come I didn’t know about it?

“Because I sent the fucking text!” She’s yelling so hard that she’s actually spitting. “You’re so goddamn stupid you didn’t even realize it wasn’t from her!”

My gaze jumps back and forth between the two of them. Wyatt looks like he just got sucker-punched.

“What is going on?” I demand, furious. If there’s anything I hate more than drama, it’s drama that I didn’t even know I was participating in. The sunlight hits all those raised phones, all those pairs of California sunglasses, and disgust wells up inside my chest. There’s a Facebook group for this stupid town, and everything that happens here is undoubtedly going to be on it. For all I know, it’s being broadcast live so everyone can gossip.

But you know what? I just don’t have any fucks to give. It isn’t like I did anything wrong, and my employment contract doesn’t come with a morality clause.