I refuse to let my jealousy show. I keep playing my role of Peter’s perfect girlfriend flawlessly. I keep smiling when they move off to the corner of the room. I laugh at Peter’s drunken humor, even when Oliver begins whispering in her ear. I keep laughing even when she giggles at what he has to say.

I’m still smiling when they leave before everyone else and head off to his room. After a few minutes, I go into the bathroom. I sit on the rim of the bathtub, motionless. I have no right to be angry. I have a boyfriend, and Oliver is single and free to do whatever he wants. After five minutes of trying to convince myself of this, I flush the toilet handle to make it sound as if I had any real purpose of being in the bathroom, and I go back outside to everyone else. I kiss Peter on the forehead, and tell him that I’m tired and heading back to our room.

When I get in, I throw myself on our bed, ticked off. Then, out of frustration, I begin to cry. I fall asleep before Peter comes back.