Gia
Two Days Later
The couch had become my island, a refuge where I'd shipwrecked myself for the last two days since I caught Preston, pants down with another woman. I haven't gone back to work since then, I called in letting my boss know my flu had gotten worse. It's a good thing she's germaphobic and told me not to near the office except I got better. Empty ice cream and chip packs littered the coffee table.
The TV flickered, stuck on a loop of The Notebook I didn't have the energy to pause. I guess I'm a glutton for pain, because why would I choose a movie that would make me cry when I was already sad? My phone buzzed somewhere under the blanket pile, but I ignored it.
Probably another "you okay?" text from my best friend, Zara. She had been away for a work trip for the past three days and had been constantly checking up on me since I called and told her about Preston cheating.
Preston had heeded my warning and moved out his things before I got back. But even though he had moved out, his words had stayed, squatting in my brain like uninvited guests. He has been calling trying to get me to forgive him, but there was no going back from that. It's one thing to find your boyfriend in bed with another woman and then another for him to blame you for it. The bastard!
I tugged on my hoodie and adjusted my position, my thighs pressed into the cushions, I looked down at them, noticing how they seemed too soft, too big, and I wondered if he'd been right. Sighing, I pulled the blanket up to my chin and sank deeper into the couch.
The lock clicked, and the door opened. I immediately sat up expecting to see Preston and ready to through whatever was within reach at him, but it was Zara who had let herself in with the keys I had given her for emergencies, I slumped back in relief. Her keys jangled as she kicked the door shut, as she left her luggage by the door. I can tell she came straight from the airport. I didn't even realize she was supposed to be back today.
"Jesus, Gia," she said, her voice cutting through the TV's chatter. She stepped over a pizza box, by the foot of the couch. "How are you?" she asked, her voice filled with compassion.
I tugged the blanket higher, my chin disappearing into it. "I'm fine," I muttered, throat scratchy from too much silence.
She shook her head and dropped her purse onto the floor with a heavy thud. " You are anything but fine. You're one step from turning into a couch potato. Literally." She nudged my legs aside and sat on the edge of the couch. "How long's it been? Two days?"
"Yeah," I admitted, shifting to sit up a little.
"Two days of mourning that bastard that doesn't even deserve an ounce of your time." She snatched the remote from the armrest and jabbed the power button, silencing the TV mid-punchline. "Nope. You're done. Enough of this."
"I was watching that," I protested, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"You've seen that movie a million times," she said in her no-argument tone. She inhaled deeply before speaking. "I know you're heartbroken, I get it. But I think you've wallowed enough. Any more time you spend on this couch wallowing is Preston winning. How do you think he would feel seeing you like this?"
"Maybe he was right," I murmured, avoiding her eyes.
"Bullshit." She straightened, crossing her arms. "He couldn't be farther from the truth, him cheating on you had nothing to do with you. He cheated because he's irresponsible and can't keep it in his pants." She inhaled deeply like she was trying to keep her anger down. I have no doubt that if Preston were to be here right now she would punch him in the face. She never liked him, and now I know she was right about not liking him.
"Gia," she called firmly. "Have you seen yourself? You're beautiful, you have a body to die for, an hourglass shape. And those tits, I would kill for your double D cups."
I rolled my eyes. "You're only saying those because you're my friend." Zara is a plus-size girly too, but she carries herself with so much confidence and recently lost a few pounds while I was still struggling to lose any. We both worked out weekly, but it's hard to lose weight when your hormones are always all over the place. Yeah, it isn't cool having PCOS.
"I'm saying it because it's the truth and you had better start thinking the same. Preston is a liar and you should never believe a word he ever said!"
The harshness in her tone caused me to straighten.
"Look at me," she said, softer now but still firm. "I get it, okay? Preston fucked you over. Eight months with that sleaze, and he pulls that cheating crap? I'd be a mess too. But you've given him two days to live in your head, Gia. Two days too many."
My throat tightened, his words flashing again—"Maybe I'd find you desirable if…" I swallowed hard. "It's not just the cheating," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "It's what he said. About me. My… size."
Her eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. "That prick," she muttered, then leaned closer. "Listen. He's a bottom-feeder who couldn't keep a job or his dick in his pants. Do you think he gets to judge you? You're a goddamn catch, Gia, curves and all. He's the one who doesn't measure up. Girl, you're a catch."
I blinked, a flicker of warmth cutting through the haze. "I don't feel like a catch right now."
"That's because you've not showered in two days." She stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Get up."
"Why?" I eyed her.
"Because, first of all, you need to take a shower, and then get dressed in something really sexy, because we are going out."
I groaned, sinking back. "Zara, I'm not in the mood—"
"Too bad." She grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet, ignoring my yelp as the blanket slid to the floor. My sweatpants sagged, and I stumbled, catching myself on the armrest. "Shower," she ordered, pointing to the bathroom. "You've got ten minutes, or I'm dragging you in there myself."
"Fine," I grumbled, shuffling toward the hall. "But I'm not promising anything else."
"Uh-huh," she called after me, already picking up the packs littered in my living room. "Move it!"
I walked into the bathroom, and as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I winced and quickly looked away. I looked like a mess.
I stripped out of my clothes and got into the shower, and the hot water sluicing over my skin, hit me like a wake-up call. I stood there longer than ten minutes, the ache in my chest loosening just a fraction.
When I stepped out, towel-wrapped around my middle, Zara was in my bedroom, holding up a black dress like it was a holy relic. I could tell it was new from the tag sticking out of it.
"I got you this, on my trip. I think you should wear it tonight."
"No way," I said, clutching the towel tighter. "I'm not wearing that and I'm not going anywhere. I just want to sleep."
"No, you are not," she shot back, tossing it onto the bed. "We're going out."
"Why?" I stared at her, water pooling at my feet. "Where?"
"Because you need to step out there and reclaim your confidence. There's this exclusive bar downtown. I pulled strings with a client. It's not like a regular type of bar filled with sweaty people and loud music. Think opposite. It's perfect." She grinned, leaning against the dresser. "You're walking in there like a queen and reminding yourself that Preston was a greasy skid mark, not a loss. You're going to have fun and forget all about that idiot."
I shook my head, backing toward the door. "Zara, I can't—"
"Yes you can," she cut in, stepping closer. "You're doing this for yourself. Remind yourself that you're a catch despite what that lizard said."
"But—"
"No buts." She picked up the dress again, holding it out. "You are going to put on this dress, step out and have fun. Show yourself he's nothing and you're very much desirable."
I stared at the dress, its fabric shimmering faintly in the lamplight. "And if I hate it?"
"Then we leave," she said, shrugging. "But you won't. Men will swarm you like bees to honey—hot ones, too. You'll see."
I snorted, a tiny laugh slipping out. "And if I don't want them to?"
"Then you tell 'em to fuck off," she said, her grin widening. "You're in charge, Gia. Not them. Not him. You." She thrust the dress at me again. "Now put this on, or I'm dressing you myself."
I took it, fingers brushing the smooth material. "You're a dictator, you know that?"
"Damn right. And you're welcome." She walked over to my closet and picked one of my strappy heels I rarely wear because of how high and uncomfortable they are.
"We're leaving in thirty…" she paused as her phone started ringing. "I need to take this, it's my boss," she said before heading out of the bedroom, and I started getting dressed.
A moment later, Zara walked back in with a grim look. "What happened?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, I might not be able to go with you, my boss wants us to meet with a client in an hour. The client is only in town for a few hours." As an event planner for a high-profile event management company that catered to celebrities and politicians, Zara's job demanded constant travel and unpredictable meetings, even at the most inconvenient hours.
I let out a relieved sigh. "It's okay we can always go another time."
"No!" she cut in. "You're going! And there's no room for argument."