“Felicity,” said Will. “I always cared about Felicity. You know how we were together. That sort of banter thing we did. Almost flirting. It was never serious. But then, after she lost the weight, I started to sense this . . . vibe from her. And I guess I was flattered, and it didn’t seem to count, because it was Felicity, not some random woman. It was safe. It didn’t feel like I was betraying you. It felt almost like she was you. But then, somehow, it got out of hand and I found myself . . .” He stopped himself.
“Falling in love with her,” said Tess.
“No, not really. I don’t think it was really love. It was nothing. As soon as you and Liam walked out the door, I knew it was nothing. It was just a stupid crush, a—”
“Stop.” Tess held up her palm as if to put it across his mouth. She didn’t want lies, even if they were white lies, or even if he didn’t know they were lies, and she also felt a peculiar sense of loyalty toward Felicity. How could he say it was nothing when Felicity’s feelings had been so real and powerful? Will was right. She wasn’t just some random girl. She was Felicity.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about the flat feeling?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Will. “Because it was idiotic. Feeling depressed about my bald spot. Jesus.” He shrugged. She wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting, but his color seemed high. “Because I didn’t want to lose your respect.”
Tess laid her hands down on the table and looked at them.
She thought about how one of the jobs of advertising was to give the consumer rational reasons for their irrational purchases. Had Will looked back on his “thing” with Felicity and thought, Why did I do that? And then he created this story for himself, which was loosely based on the truth? In the same way that she was still trying to rationalize exactly why she’d risked everything by sleeping with Connor?
“Well, anyway, I have social anxiety,” she said chattily.
“Pardon?” Will frowned, as if he’d just been presented with a tricky riddle.
“I get very anxious, over-the-top anxious, about certain social activities. Not everything. Just some things. It’s not a big deal. But sometimes it is.”
Will pressed his fingertips to his forehead. He seemed puzzled and almost fearful. “I mean, I know you don’t like parties much, but I’m not that keen on standing around making small talk myself.”
“I have heart palpitations about the school trivia night,” said Tess. She looked him squarely in the eye. She felt naked. More naked than she’d ever been in front of him.
“But we don’t go to the school trivia night.”
“I know. That’s why we don’t go.”
Will lifted his palms. “We don’t have to go! I don’t care if we don’t go.”
Tess smiled. “But I sort of care. Who knows? It might be fun. It might be boring. I’d like to start being a little more . . . open to my life.”
Will said, “I don’t get it. You’re not an extrovert, but you go out and get new business for us! I’d find that hard!”
“It frightens me half to death,” said Tess. “I hate it, and I also love it. I just wish I didn’t waste so much time feeling sick.”
“But—”
“I read this article recently. There are thousands of us walking around with this neurotic little secret. People you wouldn’t expect: CEOs who can do big presentations to shareholders, but can’t handle small talk at the Christmas party; actors with crippling shyness; doctors who are terrified of making eye contact. I felt like I had to hide it from everyone, and the more I hid it, the bigger it seemed. I told Felicity today, and she just dismissed it. She said, ‘Get over it.’ It was strangely liberating, actually, hearing her say that. It was like I finally took this big hairy spider out of a box and someone looked at it and said, ‘That’s not a spider.’”