Picture Perfect
Photograph by Yoojin Shin
By Kseniya Shrimpton
I was running late. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I could already visualize the speech bubbles filling my screen with half-joking, half-passive-aggressive messages.
[Late for our first gathering in six months?]
[Nothing ever changes with you, Lisa.]
[Old friends no longer good enough for u, eh?]
I refrained from unlocking my phone and leaving them on seen, which would only add fuel to the fire. The café was just around the corner, it was our regular spot and I knew the route well—a blessing, as navigating Google Maps with my terrible coordination would only slow me down. The Blue Patisserie was almost within reach. A change of traffic lights and a hurried shuffle past a noisy flock of teens later, and I was pushing the cerulean door of the café, welcomed by the enveloping smell of roasted coffee and the (surprise!) smiling faces of my friends.
I waved sheepishly and mouthed a “sorry” as I approached. They hadn’t changed much since I last saw them—which wouldn’t be long if you included my frequent stalking of their Instagram pages. Joanna and Ruby talked over each other in high-spirited voices as we exchanged greetings, though they did not rise from their plush blue chairs.
“Sorry guys, the Central line was a nightmare this morning,” I lied. The Central line had actually been pleasantly empty by Central line standards. In truth, I’d spent too long picking out a fitting outfit for the reunion, one which didn’t scream “I still shop in the sale section!” Honestly, I couldn’t wait for climate change vigilantes to proclaim fast fashion a sin and declare staying “on trend” a capital offense.
There was no obvious spot for me to sit, so after dropping off my bag, I dragged the designated third-wheel chair over from a couple at a nearby table.
“You look great, Lisa,” said Joanna, smiling with those all-too-perfect pearly whites, which were a new addition to her impeccable appearance.
Ruby quickly picked up the sentiment, “Yeah, I love your top.” It was a frilly black thing from H&M but could have easily passed for Zara.
“Thanks, you guys look great too! Wouldn’t expect anything less from my two favorite fashionistas.”
The girls laughed at the understated compliment since they knew they looked amazing. Truly, Joanna looked chiseled in her black suit and vivid red blouse—she was always business-class ready these days. Ruby, on the other hand, had as much style as my Year 9 Geography teacher but she slapped a designer brand on everything she wore so her followers loved it, all three hundred of them. She always insisted that because she only followed ten people, the ratio was very impressive.
The smiling waiter came over and we ordered tea, vanilla sponge, and macarons to share. They asked about my job, and I had to pretend that I loved waking up at 6:30 a.m. every morning and getting by on 20-grand a year before tax. Yes, the Junior Content Creator at a magazine-you’ve-never-heard-of life was great!
“You’re so brave for following your passion,” Joanna said with a sigh. “Working in banking is all I ever saw myself doing but the late nights are a nightmare, and sometimes it’s awfully dull.”
“I hardly see you now,” Ruby exclaimed, dropping that awkward hint that they had reunions without me. “Honestly, you’re wasting your life away, even if I am jealous of your jet-setting Insta-stories.”
“That reminds me,” I said, turning to Ruby with a suggestive look. “Didn’t you go on holiday with some guy recently?” I dug around in my bag for my phone to show her the picture I was referring to. A beach-front sunset scene. Ruby’s blonde hair fluttering in the wind, and a guy cast in shadow holding her hand. “Who is that?”
The picture may have been mysterious, but Ruby wasn’t that much of a prude that she wouldn’t tag him in the photo. He had “model/broker” in his bio and about five different flags, and his feed certainly reflected his wanderlust. I had spent much too long stalking his profile and by the end of it was mad at the injustice of the world. My best recent catch was a strong six out of ten barman from Tinder, and even he had broken it off before Valentine’s Day could force him into any kind of commitment.
Ruby grinned but Joanna instantly shook her head in disappointment.
“Oh, that’s just Zac,” Ruby said simply, though the longing look in her eyes made it clear that he was anything but just Zac.
“Zac the cheater,” Joanna said.
Ruby recoiled, throwing her friend a warning glare. “I told you, it’s not confirmed. You’re just spreading rumors around.”
Joanna shook her head and looked at me instead. “He’s definitely a cheater but this love-struck idiot won’t accept the truth.”
Ruby didn’t press her denials further, so Joanna was probably right, as she often was about these things.
“I admire you for being single, Lisa,” Joanna said. “I tell all my friends at work that you’re one of the loveliest girls I know but you’re concentrating on your career, and that’s amazing.”
Ah yes, that was the reason I gave them when they asked me why I was the only one without a date at Tom’s wedding.
The waiter brought our tea and cakes, but then Joanna got an urgent call she couldn’t miss, and Ruby took this opportunity to reply to her cheating boyfriend’s (or just Zac’s?) snapchats. From the corner of my eye I saw that he called her fat for having cake, though his next message was “lol” so it was hard to tell whether he really was a piece of garbage.
Instead of reaching for my phone and checking my Facebook notification for the hundredth time, something made me hesitate. I paused and looked up at my friends and found myself watching the two girls from afar.
I’d always compared myself to them—the more successful, the richer, the more popular versions of what I was. But wasn’t it all a little… artificial? The corporate suit a mask for boredom. The fancy boyfriend a show-and-tell piece.
Even me—didn’t I only reveal to them the best of myself? No—didn’t I invent myself for them? The realization wasn’t sudden; we’d been playing this game for a long, long time, and we were not the only ones.
“Hey Ruby,” I said.
She made a sound but didn’t stop typing, immersed in her digital flirting.
“Actually, I really hate my job.”
“Oh really,” she muttered, glued to her screen. Then her fingers paused, and she glanced up, her blue eyes truly focused on me, perhaps for the first time since I came into the café.
“What did you say?”
“My job...” I paused, suddenly unsure where to go from here.
Could I bring myself to shatter that persona which I had so scrupulously crafted with little white lies and many-a-staged Instagram photos? And for what—Ruby’s pity? A forced promise of better things to come? The inevitable report to Joanna, and then the other, more distant “friends,” about poor old Lisa and what a loser she’s become?
The urge to lay down my naked self before my friend vanished as abruptly as it had come. But I couldn’t take back those words which had dashed from my mouth in that moment of honesty. I had exposed myself.
Ruby stared at me, a frown deepening on her forehead. “Your job? What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, it’s just the commute,” I said dismissively. “It’s too long. But they really love me there, so I couldn’t bear to leave.”
Ruby’s face relaxed, relieved, no doubt, that she wouldn’t have to endure a scene of self-loathing. Ruby had always been bad with empathy. She smiled. “Yeah, we all need to sacrifice something.”
Joanna strutted back to the table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh. “Sorry about that. What’d I miss?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much. What’s new with you?”
Kseniya Shrimpton is an avid reader and writer of all genres, though she often favours the former with her time. Oops—she is British, so she may slip an extra “u” into her words now and again. She holds an MSc from the London School of Economics.
