One Last Glass to Myself

1: 1

The day tickets went on sale for the concert of the idol we'd loved for ten years, neither my husband nor I managed to snag a pair.

The next day, my mother-in-law showed up at our door with groceries. "Oh, well," she said, "if you couldn't get tickets, just skip it."

"Celeste Swanson is three months pregnant. She should be resting. Once the baby's off to college, there'll be plenty of chances to go out and have fun."

I said nothing.

But the concert crept closer, one day at a time,

and in the end I couldn't help it. I quietly bought a scalped ticket and went.

At the gate, though, the first thing I saw was my husband, smiling as he sat with my best friend while she got her hair and makeup done.

She was playing coy. "Percy, if Celeste found out you came with me, wouldn't she be upset?"

My husband pinched her cheek. "Silly. She won't find out."

"It's a rare thing, a concert like this. I just want to sit next to the person I actually like."

"Celeste's morning sickness has been terrible lately, playing the delicate little wife every single day. Funny how she suddenly had the energy the second a concert came up. I'm not about to indulge that nasty little habit of hers."

I gripped the glow stick in my hand.

I'm so sorry my morning sickness has been so bad.

It won't happen again.

...

The lights dimmed, until nothing was left but a single spotlight on the idol in the center of the stage.

I'd already decided this concert would be my last farewell to my girlhood.

The opening song began.

I sat in a corner of the stands, holding the cheap glow stick the scalper had shoved into my hand at the entrance.

The venue was so big that even in the same room,

I still felt so far away from him.

The blaring sound and the stale, airless space only made me feel worse.

I fought down the urge to throw up and dragged myself in a fog through two hours of it.

Then came the song-dedication segment,

and the camera on the big screen started roaming at random across the crowd.

"Stop!" the idol called out.

The picture froze.

On the big screen were the faces of my best friend, Lottie Barnes, and my husband, Percival Floyd.

Her headband was sparkling, her makeup pretty and sweet, her expression all delighted surprise.

Percival had an arm around her shoulders and waved at the camera.

The idol laughed. "Handsome guy, you brought your girlfriend to the concert? What do you want to hear?"

Percival took the mic. He didn't correct anything, didn't say Lottie wasn't his girlfriend.

His voice went soft.

"I'd like to dedicate a song to the girl I love most. 'Favoritism.'"

"She's been through so many hard days with me. Today I want her to be the happiest person in this whole place."

It was my favorite song.

Back in college, every time we went to karaoke, Percival would sing it.

Lottie and I would sit beside him and listen.

Not once, back then, had it crossed my mind that the song might not have been for me at all.

And now here I was, tucked in a corner, watching the two of them lean into each other on the big screen.

My stomach turned over again, worse than before.

I stood up and all but fled the venue.

When I got home, there was a takeout bag sitting outside the door.

Percival had messaged me. *Babe, I'm still away on my business trip. Ordered you some bird's nest soup, don't forget to eat it.*

He'd sent a photo too, of a little hotel dining table.

On it were spicy Buffalo wings, a plate of hot chili chicken, and a basket of Cajun crawfish.

He'd been careful. Every dish was arranged close to him, and there was only one set of silverware.

Creating the illusion that he was eating alone.

But he'd forgotten I know he doesn't eat spicy food.

All of that was Lottie's taste.

I opened the takeout bag he'd ordered for me.

The plastic bag had *Wellness Superfood Porridge* printed on it in cheap red letters, and the receipt showed he'd paid three dollars and twenty cents.

The so-called superfood porridge was nothing but a bowl of plain oatmeal with sugar stirred in.

It must have cost him some effort, digging up a place in a major city that would deliver for three dollars and twenty cents.

I set the takeout down and opened my chat app, tapping into Percival's profile.

His page was a single flat line.

I tapped Lottie's. The same flat line.

They'd both blocked me at the same time.

I closed the chat app and opened my social feed.

The very first video was one Lottie had posted.

It was that exact moment from the concert, the shot that had played on the big screen.

The caption read: *Getting favored by the person I love most. So happy~*

The location tag was a five-star hotel next to the venue.

The comments were full of her friends.

*Oh my god, Lottie, that's so romantic!*

*Percy's so good to you.*

*That washed-up hag Celeste actually thinks she deserves a concert? No matter how hard she copies, she's still trash.*

I rushed into the bathroom and hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving.

I lifted my head and looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was carelessly tied back, a few loose strands stuck to my forehead.

My lips were cracked and peeling.

Under my eyes, a gray-blue shadow.

I was wearing a loose, shapeless dress.

To protect the pregnancy, I'd stopped using every bit of skincare and makeup.

Every day I endured the endless nausea and vomiting.

Whenever my mother-in-law came by, it was always the same few lines. "Every woman's like this when she's pregnant. Just grit your teeth and it'll pass."

But Percival would push back at her, saying being pregnant wasn't easy for me.

I never could have imagined he'd treat me this way behind my back.

I took a deep breath and booked the abortion at the hospital.