2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 69

I tried to put these petty thoughts out of my mind and have a good time with the other guests. It's not like Matt did anything wrong. Why would I get worked up over this? I'm not insecure. I'm just as good as any of these women. They are not more successful than me. They are not prettier than me. They are not better.

Then I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror by the dining table. I was struck by how unfamiliar the girl gazing back looked. She wore the same ponytail as she had that night at the pub with Amy, but her face looked greasy, and her complexion was washed out. She's not a girl I would call pretty.

I turned away from the mirror, and clinked glasses with Matt's friends.

What's going to happen if I went to London and left him here with these women?

What's going to happen to us?

I resisted these thoughts. Now is not the time to be worrying about this. Now is the time to enjoy the party. More of Matt's friends arrived. It's Wendy and the gang. Her nose is glowing red in an endearing Santa-Clause fashion from the cold air outside. We've danced together at nightclubs and I've been to her house and eaten her homemade barbequed pork with buttered corn. She walks in the door wearing a furry coat and I give her a warm hug. Wendy asks in slangy English what's up. I open my mouth to answer and collapse into tears.

Poor Wendy! She asks in a halting voice what was the matter? Did something bad happen to me? I couldn't answer, but just kept on shaking my head, and repeating, "I'm ok. I'm ok. I'm ok."

I must have clinked glasses with more people and drank more vodka than I realized. Because I couldn't stop tears from pouring out of my eyes. Like liquid avalanche they are coming out. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, and carried on drinking. Then more tears came. And more tears. And more tears.

The crying went on for hours without stopping. I was so confused by my own behavior that I kept on apologizing for being such a mess with a big smile on my face. I wasn't sobbing or wailing. It was just a quiet, steady stream of pain I couldn't name or claim. Feelings that just insisted to be felt. Somewhere in my mind, a switch had been flicked, the floodgates are pushed open, and I couldn't stop the tears any more than I could stop a river from flowing. I was too drunk to feel embarrassed. I wiped my face once in a while and carried on with the party. Smiling and staying absorbed in conversation, as though it was nothing but sweat coming out of my eyes. Matt kept on asking what was wrong, and I just kept on saying I don't know. Because I didn't.

Shortly before midnight, we walked to a nearby night club for the countdown. I hung onto Matt's arm and felt refreshed by the night air. When we lined up to get into the night club, I tried my best to pull myself together. I chatted with some of Matt's other female friends, the ones I liked. After a drink at the bar, we moved towards Dolores on the dance floor. I don't understand why of all the 20-30 people we came to the club with, we were dancing with Dolores again.

We didn't seem to stay at the nightclub for long, because Matt took me home quickly. I felt terribly sorry for making him leave early and miss the countdown. That night I lay in bed with the room swaying around me. As Matt tucked me in, I clung to his neck, and murmured "I love you." Warm tears streamed down my temples.

***

The next morning, I woke up at 6am. We weren't alone even then. The house was crowded with guests who had slept there the night before. On couches. On the floor.

When everyone had woken up and gotten dressed, we headed out for dim sum. All of us were starving, and we quickly settled around a big table at the restaurant. The whole group looked somewhat stoned from too much drinking and too little sleep. Hangover dim sum is where people rehash and replay the highlights from the shenanigans of NYE, and indulge in post-party gossip. Who got pissed drunk, who hooked up with who, who did the most embarrassing things. But the table was strangely quiet. From the way everyone generally avoided me, it's quite clear they all saw what happened last night, but were trying hard to pretend otherwise. Talk about the white elephant in the room.

Then the subject of the countdown came up. I apologized to Matt for making him miss it.

"But we didn't miss it babe. You were there!"

"Really?" I said, bewildered, "I thought we came home before the countdown."

"You were really drunk, Dolores and her friends helped take care of you," Matt said.

Here we go again, Dolores.

"Matt was a really good boyfriend. He really took care of you and never left your side," Billy chimed in.

Maybe I should have felt grateful at this, but I only resented it. I smiled weakly at Matt.

"I've never been drunk to the point of blacking out before. There's an NYE I'll never forget," I joked.

Everyone laughed at this. Driven more by relief than anything else.

"You'll never forget a night you can't remember," said Matt's friend Feroze. And we both chuckled drily.

I spoke little and ate even less. We were all starving, yet when the food came, we all just picked at it. Another one of the after effects of heavy drinking I wasn't aware of.

After dim sum, I thought everyone would no doubt be leaving soon, but his friends lingered on for hours watching videos from the night before, reliving the mayhem. Matt made no effort to make them leave. I really just wanted to be alone with him, and had no desire to watch the videos. So I went into the den, closed the door, and began fixing my short story. Everyone probably thought I was mad. I wasn't though. I just wanted to be alone.

When at last Matt's friends left, after 24 hours of non-stop company, we were finally alone. We climbed into bed to take a nap. Matt asked why I was crying the night before. I said I didn't know, but he pressed.

I turned away, with my back facing him.

I think I did know. I just didn't want to admit it. Not even to myself. The truth was: I felt threatened by the women. To me, jealousy is insecurity. And I'd always prided myself on not being "the jealous type." I can count on one hand the number times I've gotten jealous in the past decade. Also, I don't drink much. So I couldn't believe it was me, myself and I, who was drowning in tears for four hours straight. At home and in the nightclub. In front of all those people. Mortified would be an understatement. But I was more confused than mortified. Because this explosion of sadness, I totally didn't see it coming. I got completely blindsided by it.

I didn't used to be like this. I thought back to the times when I felt good about myself, confident and undisturbed by random women. Those were the times when I took pride in my career, in the progress I was making in school. I could stand next to any doctor, lawyer, or pretty neighbor, and feel unwavering certainty in my self-worth. And now I'm someone who's bawling her eyes out on New Year's Eve, needing more care than an armful of infant triplets? Who is this person?

A whole year has passed, I've tried everything I could to launch my writing career in Vancouver. Still, I got nothing. No book deal. No bylines. No income. The London visa is ticking. If I don't go now I may never get another chance.

But if I went, what will become of us?

If I didn't, what will become of me?