I smile, happy for my friend. Keats notices me and mouths, “This is all your fault,” at me with an accusatory finger. But the wistful expression he gets whenever his mother smiles tells me he appreciates the positive changes in her.
By 5 p.m., the table for eight on the back veranda is close to overflowing with food, and despite my initial reluctance, I was involved in cooking all of the dishes that will be served today. And proud of it. The only downside is, I didn’t realise how hot it would be in the kitchen—I usually just cook one dish at a time with Heather or Keats. I’m sweaty and gross, and in need of a change of clothes.
“Shall we start?” Byron asks when all seven of us are seated around the table.
Heather is at the head, Mr Barker to her left, Blake next to him, then Isabella and Byron at the other end next to each other. Keats is sitting to his mother’s right, like a chaperone with one eye constantly watching the older couple’s interaction. Between Keats and me is a spare chair because I sat in front of Isabella before Keats chose his spot for the meal. I was hoping he’d sit next to me but it seems making sure his mother is watched like a hawk is his priority.
“We’ve got one more coming,” Keats says, surprising me.
“New girlfriend?” Byron asks his brother.
Keats shakes his head. “Just a friend,” he replies, but he looks uncomfortable with the dimples on both sides of his mouth on show.
“Bullshit,” Blake says. “Must be pretty special if you’ve invited her to HTC dinner.”
“Why are you all assuming my friend’s a ‘she’?” Keats says, shifting in his seat.
“You trying to tell us something?” Byron jokes.
Keats’ mobile phone suddenly rings. He pulls it out of his jeans pocket and excuses himself from the table. He is smiling big when he answers. The six of us at the table gawk at him, intrigued.
“Yeah, it’s the second house down from the corner with the black tin roof. Just come on in and head to the backyard to the back veranda.”
As soon as Keats presses the hang up button, Byron and Blake laugh at him.
“Shut up, you bastards. You better not embarrass me when Sofie gets here either.”
“Sofie?” Isabella beams. “As in my friend, Sofie Oliveira?”
“Hey? Did I hear my name?” comes a voice from the bottom of the stairs followed by the click of heels ascending the back steps.
My stomach drops as Sofie in all her gorgeousness reaches the top. Today, she’s in a floral, light yellow maxi dress with thin straps and a low neckline that displays her perfect, perky cleavage. Her luscious, long, chocolate brown hair is down over her shoulders, framing her chest while dangly chandelier earrings elongate her already long neck.
“Jesus,” Mr Barker says under his breath. Then to Keats, “Well done, mate.”
“Isabella, querida!” Sofie goes to Isabella first, arms already up and ready to hug. She kisses Byron on the cheek before turning around to the rest of us. “Hello, everyone. Keats tells me I should probably greet you, Feliz Natal—Merry Christmas…in October. Sorry, I’m late. It’s not a day off in China. Hi, Blake, Jess, Keats.” She leans in and kisses Keats on the cheek, putting a goofy smile on his face even though the gesture seems platonic.
Keats introduces Sofie to his mother, then continues with, “Sofie, my mother, Heather. And that’s her…friend, Pete Barker—Blake’s dad.”
“Hello, nice to meet you.” Sofie shakes both their hands, and I feel socially inept at how comfortable and confident she is at meeting new people. “Thank you for having me. It would have been another Sunday alone in my apartment if Keats hadn’t invited me. Here, please.” She hands Heather an expensive bottle of wine.
“Thank you. And you’re more than welcome,” Heather says, eyes fixated on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in person. I could almost see Heather imagining how gorgeous her grandchildren would be. “It looks like you already know most of us here, and we have plenty of food.”
“Oh, my God, look at that!” Sofie’s dark brown eyes sweep the feast on the table. “Perfect, I’m starving!”
“Well, there’s a spare seat right there next to Jess,” Heather tells her, beaming.
I quickly paste on a smile. Just what I need—easier comparison for Keats. Gorgeous, successful, polite and gregarious goddess. Or me. It’s not like she’s inhumanly sexy but stupid. Or smart but evil. At least I don’t think so. She looks like the kind of person who’d stop to check if an animal on the side of the road is still alive and needs to be taken to a vet. Even the McAllisters’ dog, Terry, has gone straight to Sofie to sniff and lick her ankles, inciting a laugh that sounds like tinkling crystal chandeliers.
I hate her.
“All right, let’s get started,” Keats says, standing up. He grabs a knife and a giant two-pronged fork. “Who wants ham?”
***
Compared to Sofie, I’m like a teenager. She’s so well-rounded and grown up like Legal Eagle Barbie. I also somehow managed to be the odd one out in an even group of eight—the pathetic singleton who got the pity invite from the guy friend who is not interested in being more. Blake’s fiancée called him up just as we were clearing the table of dinner plates, so for twenty minutes I was literally the seventh wheel at the table. All of a sudden I’m not so happy that Heather has a man in her life when I don’t.
I’m a crappy friend.
“It must be presents time,” Heather announces as we sip our tea and coffee and wait for dinner to dissolve before we chase it with dessert.
“Oh, I didn’t bring one. Keats, you told me not to bring anything!” Sofie slaps him on the arm, the sound telling me it would’ve stung.
But Keats just chuckles. “You didn’t have to. Your name wasn’t in
