ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

Chapter 2

Skylar's POV

I threw my phone on the bed.

My pulse quickened and tears prickled the corners of my eyes. I pressed my fingers against my mouth to keep the sound in. 

Was that why he barely stayed at home? All this while, I had been making excuses for him, telling myself he was stressed, that work was difficult, that I needed to be more patient only to find out he was having an affair with his secretary.

I picked up my phone again. I couldn't identify the sender, and it hurt so much to look at the image that I had to put it face down on the mattress. I lay back and buried my face in my pillow until my breathing slowed.

The next morning, he still wasn't picking up my calls. Anytime I tried reaching him, it rang and rang until I gave up and set the phone aside. I stared at the ceiling for a long time after that.

If only I could call someone and vent.

I remembered an alumni group chat I had belonged to some time ago. I hadn't had enough time to be active, given all the responsibilities piling up at home. I found it at the bottom of my chat list and clicked on it.

I started typing about what I had just discovered about my husband. How hot and anxious I felt, how my hands wouldn't stop shaking, how I didn't know what to do. My fingers moved fast. I was about to hit send when a message popped up from one of the group members.

Has anyone heard anything about Skylar?

No, how about you?

I wouldn't want to have any business with an overweight woman. How did she even get that fat?

I heard she got married.

I pity the husband.

My chest caved. I read each message twice, slowly, as if I needed to be sure. So they were talking about me too. In the same group I had been about to pour my heart into.

I deleted what I had typed and immediately left the group.

I lay down for a brief moment, but the ceiling felt like it was pressing closer. My head started pounding so badly that I decided it was best to get out of the house. The air felt suffocating, thick with everything I couldn't say out loud, and I knew I would pass out if I spent another second inside.

The living room was empty when I peeked out. That was a relief. I stepped back in, threw on a jacket, grabbed my purse, and walked outside.

The cold hit me the moment I stepped through the door. I breathed it in slowly, and it did something to ease the tension coiled in my chest. It loosened it, just slightly. I flagged down a taxi.

"Which side are you headed, ma'am?" the driver said, flashing a wide smile.

It suddenly hit me that I had not figured out where I wanted to go. I just knew I couldn't stay in that house.

"The nearest restaurant from here."

"You sure?"

I nodded.

We stopped in front of a place called Hot Dishes. I paid him and stepped out, standing on the pavement for a moment before I pushed the door open.

I picked a seat near the window. The light bulbs gave a soft glow, and the tables were covered in silk green linens. The smell of warm food reached me before I'd even settled into my chair. People moved about in large numbers. Mostly couples and families smiling, chatting, leaning into each other like the world outside didn't exist.

I noticed a man reach over and pick something out of his wife's hair. A small thing. She didn't even look up from her menu, just smiled, used to it. Used to being taken care of.

And I remembered the early days with Jason.

We were both employees at a design company back then. He used to notice me without me realizing it. He even laugh that came too easily when I said something only half-funny. He got me coffee in the mornings and left chocolate on my desk without a note, until he finally confessed his feelings and started bringing me flowers. Tulips, mostly. He said roses were predictable.

I had been happy then. I remembered what that felt like. Certain, like standing in a room where all the windows were open.

Sitting here now, watching other people hold onto each other, knowing my husband had been holding someone else for God knows how long. Something settled over me like a cold weight pressing down on my shoulders.

It was my fault.

It was always my fault.

I had let myself go. I could see it when I looked around the room . Every woman being shown affection was put together, slim and polished. I was none of those things anymore. That was why my mother-in-law had told me once, without any particular emotion on her face, that her son was doing me a favor by staying in the marriage.

I had nodded and said nothing. I always said nothing.

I should just go back home.

I sniffed and stood up, not paying attention to the waitress stepping toward me to take my order. The woman paused mid-step, her pen hovering. I waved a hand and muttered an apology, not quite meeting her eyes. She probably thought I was losing my mind. 

She wasn't wrong. I wasn't in my right frame of mind, and I hadn't come here because I wanted to eat. Even if I ordered something, I'd be too aware of every glance that drifted my way. The quick look-away of people wondering why an already fat woman would dare put food in her mouth in public.

I sniffed again and turned toward the exit, weaving between the tables with my head down.

Then I walked straight into someone.

The impact jolted me backward. Something hit the floor.

"I'm so sorry…"

I looked up. The woman I had bumped into was tall, composed, the kind of person who didn't look rattled even when rattled. She had long black hair and bold makeup, sophisticated clothes and jewelry .Her designer bag had fallen, its contents scattered across the floor between us.

I dropped to my knees without thinking and started gathering them . A compact, a card holder, lipstick, a small perfume bottle.

"I'm really sorry. I wasn't looking," I said, keeping my eyes down, fighting the tears that were threatening to embarrass me all over again.

"It's okay." Her voice was calm. "Are you alright?"

She had noticed I was crying.

I rose and handed her bag back, using my other hand to wipe beneath my eyes. "I'm fine."

I looked at her more closely. Something about the way she tilted her head was familiar in a way I couldn't immediately place.

Then it clicked.

I saw the same recognition flash across her face.

She was my old school friend, Mara.