The phone rings and I don’t answer it. The caller ID alerts me to the 570 area code which makes me not want to answer it even more. I see they leave a message. I listen. It’s Shelley.

Last time I talked to her Chris and I were happily together. She was supposed to be coming for a visit. She made plans. She told me to be ready. She never came.

I mentally prepared myself for two hours before calling her back. Dealing with her has never been easy for me. I’ve known her since I’m 5 years old. I know everything about her. I know that she only calls for a reason. There is a long history and diving back into it takes a little mental prep on my part.

I phoned. There was a baby crying in the background. A man answers. She comes on with a baby crying closer to the phone. First thing she says is “Good news. We’re getting married. The wedding is June 21st and I want you to come.” She sounds like she always did. Her Hazleton accent seems thicker to me now than it did before. I fake happiness. She states the obvious of having a baby. More fake happiness. I avoid the question of “what have you been up to?” because the true answer is just pathetic.  She says she’ll call me back in just a little bit because the baby is fussing. I hang up and breathe.

Her timing is simply amazing. I’m keeping myself together in an okay way but am aware that anything can upset my progress. For instance, I happened across a photo of Chris on Flickr and rage filled every bit of me. Then Shelley calls, my core competition in life, to go on and on about how amazing life is for her. My life doesn’t blow, but to her I would be a failure. I’m not beautiful. I’m not with anyone. I don’t work long hard hours. I dislike children. And I have to remind myself that this is the same girl who loved her heroine and aborting babies and only called when she needed money.

I reminded myself of this until she called back. When she called we talked about the wedding, the baby, her older son who shares a birthday with my kid. I cringed every time she started to sound like her mother who was an uptight prude. Shelley has learned how to put on the plastic coating just like her mother did. Everything is wonderful. Life is pretty. Look at my picket fence. But I know better.

I’m dreading this wedding more than I can explain. Old friends will be there since Shelley and I shared a lot of humans. Most of them I won’t know or remember who they are since I blocked most memories of being in high school. She will still be beautiful and I’ll still just be Christine. I’ve toyed with the idea of putting on the ring Chris gave me to wear to this wedding, to put on a plastic mask myself, but that would just be dangerous for my own mental health.

I do not want to go but I feel obligated. It’s Shelley and everyone will expect me to be there with her. We were a duo, only I didn’t do drugs or abort babies. Just… kill me now so I don’t have to go.