Once Upon a Second Chance

by Marian Vere

  My first test comes just over a week after my arrival at the ranch. It is 11:32 p.m., and I decide to check my e-mail before bed. I open my inbox and there, glaring at me, is an e-mail from Bree.

  Subject: I’m in Love!

  My throat closes and my eyes burn. After a few minutes and some deep breaths, I highlight the message and hit “delete.” Then I go into the trash folder, highlight it again and select “permanent delete.” A box appears that says “Are you sure you want to permanently delete I’m in Love! from your inbox?” I quickly click “Yes.”

  There, done. I said I wasn’t going to wallow in misery, so I won’t. I’m not going to force myself to suffer through a mushy, detailed synopsis of every private moment she’s had so far with Nick. Hell, that’s exactly why I left. She’s one of my best friends, and in some hidden, deep down place I’m probably happy that things are working out for her, but for the time being, I’m not ready to deal with it.

  If anything, all this talk of love should make me feel better. No one falls in love in less than two weeks. Not real or lasting love anyway. Well…I did, but that’s hardly the point. Most people don’t, and surely Bree would fall into the most people category.

  I shut my computer and climb into bed. Somewhere on the outskirts of my mind, I know that Bree has never been the sort of person to fall in and out of love easily. As I hover on the border of sleep and awake, a part of me realizes this thing between her and Nick must be real.

  I’m more than a little depressed as I drive through upstate New York on my way back home. The two and a half weeks with Susan and her family was the best vacation I’ve had in years. Her family was warm and welcoming, and the overall atmosphere was so peaceful and relaxing, that I would have been happy to stay another month. And I’m happy to announce I stuck to my word. I enjoyed myself as much as possible and didn’t think about Nick once.

  Well, okay, once.

  Maybe twice.

  All right, I saw him every time I blinked. The point is, I didn’t wallow. I wasn’t mopey, or depressed, or broody. I may have been a bit more melancholy than you would expect a typical vacationer to be, and—after the “I’m In Love” scare—also decided to avoid my e-mail entirely, but I did my best.

  Susan also kept her word; we didn’t discuss Nick or the situation again the whole time I was there. All she said as I left was a quiet, “Keep me posted,” into my ear as she hugged me good-bye.

  Instead of renting a car, Susan’s stepfather had absolutely insisted I drive one of his eight hundred cars back down to Manhattan. He gave me the address of a parking garage where I could leave the car in a spot he owned. He had been adamant that I was actually doing him a favor, because the parking manager was threatening to rent out his space if he didn’t start using it. I knew he was full of it, but reluctantly accepted, flattered that he would make up a story just to save me money. They all really were about the nicest people you could ever meet.

  I start driving, still enjoying the relaxing bliss that seems to have come along with me in the car. However, with each mile that passes, the bliss slowly dissolves, leaving behind a strange feeling of foreboding, like there’s something waiting for me at home. Something I’ve been running from and am about to face head on. It feels that way because it’s true. I am more than aware that Manhattan holds my own personal hell, just waiting to swallow me up.

  Reality.

  I have been pushing it aside for more than two weeks, and now I have to figure out a way to deal with it. For some reason, it seems so much bigger than the reality I faced when I arrived at Susan’s. Maybe the difference was distance. Like when you see something from far away it looks really small, but as you move closer it seems to grow. You know it’s actually the same size it’s always been, it’s only your perspective that’s changed.

  Hmm. Maybe that’s my answer. I just need to change my perspective. The vastness of my forthcoming reality is almost too daunting to even consider, but who says I have to deal with everything all at once? I can break it all down into chunks, deal with the smaller things up front, and move the larger chunks to the back where they look small again. For instance, there is no reason to attack the Bree and Nick scenario all at once when I can break it down into smaller pieces. Things like watching them at the beach, and dinner, and all their other little flirty encounters can go near the front, as they aren’t so big a deal. The whole “seeing them kiss” episode would be in the back; that one would take a little more time.

  There, see? I feel better already. All I need is a system, and things don’t seem so bad.

  I spend the next few hours breaking down and prioritizing my chunks of reality until I cross over the border into the city, and there is only one chunk left without a place in the reality lineup. Bree’s e-mail. I don’t know what to do with that one. I’m really wishing I had read it, or skimmed it over at least, so I’d know what I’m dealing with.

  Oh well. I can file that one away until I actually talk to Bree on Monday. This still may blow over. Not that I’m getting my hopes up or anything. I’m definitely not going to make that mistake again, but I also don’t need to panic.

  I decide to drive straight to my building and use one of the guest parking spots in our underground parking garage. I’ll wait until I don’t have bags with me to park the car in Bree’s stepdad’s spot uptown. Finally, after parking, unloading, and dragging all my stuff to the elevator, then up the twelve stories to my apartment, I step inside and suddenly feel like I have been gone a year.

  I drop all my stuff just inside the door, and go straight into the bedroom to change. After wearing the same ten or so sets of clothing for almost a month, I’m ecstatic to once again be able to put on my threadbare pink T-shirt and ratty sweats that I didn’t deem nice enough to bring with me on the trip. I grab a can of iced tea from the kitchen, but hesitate just before collapsing on the couch.

  With a sigh, I realize it’s high time I reentered the technological universe. My phone has been on mute since I got to Susan’s ranch, and I haven’t even opened my inbox since the “I’m in Love” scare. I never go this long without at least skimming my inbox to make sure there is nothing urgent. Margaret could have sent me work that needs to be done before I go in on Monday, or one of our other clients may have written with a request or question. There are tons of reasons for me to log in, but I still hesitate. It’s as if I expect my inbox to be overflowing with countless e-mails from Bree giving me the play-by-play on her new love life, even though I can admit that’s highly unlikely. Bree has never been the sort to revel in gossip, or feel the need to brag about her personal life or romantic exploits.

  I grab my laptop before settling into a corner of the couch. It seems to take twice as long to boot up as it normally does, each second adding to the weight on my chest. Why am I getting so worked up? This is dumb. Soon as I open my e-mail, I won’t see anything from her, and I will feel totally stupid. Stupid and relieved maybe, but mostly stupid.

  Finally the Internet comes up and I sign in to my e-mail account, fighting the urge to hold my breath. Sixty-three unread messages, which actually isn’t so bad considering it’s been almost three weeks. Skimming through, I see a few things from work as well as loads of junk—coupons, one day sale notices, and so on—but then I stop short. There, three down from the top, sent only a few days ago, is one from Bree.

  Subject: Big News!

  My heart is stuck somewhere in my throat, and I can’t seem to move my eyes.

  “Big News”? What big news? Something to do with work? No, Margaret would be the one to tell me about that. It would have to be something to do with…her and Nick. Is it official? Have they told everyone they are dating? I sort of figured that’s what was in the “I’m in Love!” e-mail from a few weeks ago.

  With a shaky hand I click open the message and read.

  Jules,

  Oh my gosh, I have huge news! I know it’s crazy, and so not like me, and you probably won’t believe it, but…I’m getting mar
ried! He asked me last night and I almost died! You should see my ring! Oh my gosh, it’s huge! Everything has happened so fast it’s like a whirlwind, but I couldn’t be happier! I just wish you were here! Everyone is so excited! Margaret had to leave right after the announcement, but Nick invited everyone else to stay an extra week so we can plan. Speaking of, you will obviously be one of my bridesmaids, so keep the last weekend in October open! Fast, I know, but when you’re ready, you’re ready!

  I know it is incredibly tacky of me to tell you all this in an e-mail, but I couldn’t get a hold of you any other way. Your cell has been off for days! Plug it in, girl! :) Anyway, I just couldn’t wait to tell you!

  We’ll all be back to the city at the end of the week, but I won’t be back to work until the day after you get back from vacation. Call me if you get this before then, otherwise and we’ll talk when I get back to the office!

  Miss you,

  - Bree

  I barely finish the e-mail. By the second sentence I’m sobbing and hiccupping, unable to breathe. When I reach the end, I close the lid of my laptop, set it on the floor, and sink down into the couch. I bury my face into a throw pillow, and give in to the crushing despair of a happily ever after that will never be mine.

  Several hours later, I lie on the couch in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. My nose is clogged, my eyes are swollen, and the hair behind my temples is matted with dried tears. I reach up behind me and grab the phone from the end table, dial and wait. I get the machine.

  “Hey, Lisa, it’s me. Do me a favor when you get this…and send me Zach’s e-mail address.”

  12

  I’M AT THE BAR IN MARINO’S, staring down into my wine glass. Zach should be here any minute, and I’m currently trying to shake the urge to run out the door. Everything will be fine; I just need to relax. He’s going to walk in any second now, and I can’t look like I’m about to have a panic attack.

  This is it. My first step into my new life. The night before last had been the worst ever, bar none. Never had I actually had to face the fact that it was really and truly never going to happen between Nick and me. Of course, part of me knew that since I dumped him, but I’ve always had a flicker of hope. Not conscious hope, but just a dim little light in the back of my mind that glimmered ever so slightly on everything in my life—like the hope you have when you buy a one dollar scratch card lottery ticket, or drop your token in a raffle bucket. You don’t really think anything will come of it, but there is still that little glimmer of what if.

  That was the hope I still had for Nick and me. Now that hope is gone. The little light went out at 7:24 p.m. on Friday night when I opened Bree’s e-mail. I had never been lower. It wasn’t the same low I’d felt after we broke up, because at that point I was still in denial. I continued to tell myself that it was all for the best and other stupid mantras like that, which made my fall into depression much slower and more gradual. Not like Friday. Friday had been a wrecking ball. Specifically, a wrecking ball made up of all the little chunks of reality I had spent most of that day organizing.

  But somewhere in between the bouts of hysterical sobbing, I’d come to a decision based primarily on what Susan had said earlier that day. My life wasn’t going to get better unless I made it better. This fairy godmother was getting back on the horse, and in a big way. Anything between Nick and me is over now. Really over. And while I know in my heart of hearts that I’ll always be in love with him, I can’t spend the rest of my life living in the land of what might have been. I’m going to change and take back the life I gave up eight years ago, even if it makes me miserable because, right now, miserable would be an improvement.

  I know it’s not going to be easy and I’ll have to force a lot of it. For instance, tonight I’m out on a date with Zach. Or at least I will be once he gets here. Of the many things in my life that need to be changed, my self-imposed ban of all things male is definitely the biggest. I need to try a relationship, and Zach seems more than willing. Now, I’m not using him or anything. I’m genuinely going to try to make this work, even force it if I have to. Zach is a great guy who has his feet on the ground and, as Lisa is fond of saying, is crazy about me. If I can’t at least give it my best effort with a guy like Zach, then there really is no hope for me at all.

  “Julia?” I turn to see Zach, looking quite dashing in a navy blue suit, and wearing a big smile. “I’m sorry, have I kept you waiting?”

  “No, no. I live right around the corner from here. I was early.” Well, he’s here. At the very least he didn’t stand me up. Though that was a minor worry; I’d e-mailed him yesterday morning, asking him if he wanted to go out sometime to give me a call, and then gave him my number. The phone rang not ten minutes later. Overeager as it was, it’s nice to feel wanted.

  We walk up to the hostess stand and are seated immediately at a quiet booth near the wall of wine bottles.

  “So,” Zach says after we have ordered our drinks, “Lisa tells me you have been in Maine?”

  “I was, but only for one week. The past three I’ve been upstate, staying with a friend.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “It really was.”

  “What were you doing in Maine?”

  “My team had a showing.” If only that were all.

  “A showing?”

  I proceed to tell him what that means, what it is I do, why I like it, why I hate it, and all the rest of the typical first date Q&A. It was nice in a “don’t let us run out of conversation or this could get really awkward” kind of way. Like I said, typical first date stuff. Or at least I think it is, as I don’t have much to go on. He seems to be having a nice time though, so it must be going all right. By the time our meals arrive we have covered just about everything on my side of things, so I figure I should start asking some questions of my own.

  “What about you?” I ask, sprinkling parmesan on my gnocchi. “I mean, I know what you do, but—”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I might be changing professions soon.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been thinking it might be time to move on to something I’m a little more passionate about. Not that being a copywriter isn’t fascinating and all…” He leaves his sentence open with a chuckle.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure yet, but I would like to get into management. Something with a little more power…and a little more money,” he adds with a grin.

  I find myself wondering what he makes, but even I know that salary is not a part of the typical first date Q&A. Though, he must do all right; his suit looks designer, and I’m pretty sure that’s a real Rolex he’s wearing. Then again, I have no idea what a typical salary is for a senior copywriter.

  “I’ve been working on my resume,” he continues, “but I haven’t found anything I really want to go for.”

  “Yeah, it’s still slim pickin’s out there.”

  The night rolls on, and even though it’s not always the most interesting conversation, thankfully we don’t run out of things to talk about. When we finish dinner, Zach suggests walking down to Andy’s for gelato instead of ordering dessert at the restaurant. It’s a little chilly out but I agree, not wanting to spoil the evening by being picky. We walk to Andy’s in silence, the traffic making conversation too hard to attempt, and share a large Peaches & Cream. Afterward, he walks me to my building; we exchange the expected pleasantries, and make plans to meet for lunch on Tuesday. I’m relieved that he doesn’t attempt to kiss me, and we say goodnight.

  I go up to my apartment, close the door behind me, and lean against it as I kick off my heels. There, it’s over. I did it. I officially completed my first step toward happiness, come hell or high water. I shuffle over to the couch and start to flip through television stations without actually seeing any of the programs. After two circuits through the lineup, I give up and lie back against the armrest.

  Why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t it be the way I remember?
I’ll tell you why: I’m spoiled. It should never have been as easy as it was with Nick. Normal relationships don’t happen that way; you have to work at it. It doesn’t just happen like magic. Now that I have to be normal, I don’t want to. I want it all to just fall into my lap.

  See? Spoiled.

  But still, there is something that seems a little off…

  Tonight had gone well and all, but I can’t shake the feeling that there is something up with Zach. There go my damn instincts again, but I can’t help it. Almost as if he’s too nice. Like when we—

  Wait, what did I just say?

  Too nice?

  Too nice!

  Seriously?

  That does it—I have to be certifiable. Am I really criticizing a man for being too nice? Is this what I have sunk to? I mean, finding minute flaws in men, and using those flaws to justify ending a relationship with them was bad enough—and God knows I’ve done tons of that—but to actually resort to criticizing good qualities? That’s over the line.

  No, I won’t do this, not anymore! I’ve made a decision and I’m sticking to it. Zach is as good a guy as any, and I’m going to have to get used to the idea of dating men who aren’t perfect. No one is perfect, not even Nick, though I’ve made him out to be in my mind. If I spend my life looking for perfect, I will die alone. And not only will I stop searching for perfect, but I will stop using the search for perfect itself as an excuse to not look at all. I am giving up all that nonsense. I am going to have the life I should.

  Come hell or high water.

  I lean back in my desk chair, sipping my peppermint hot chocolate, and look around at the otherwise empty office. I know Bree won’t be in today, but Margaret hasn’t been in yet either and I start to get my hopes up. Maybe they will both be out, and I can put off talking about the wedding for one more day. If there is any way at all to prolong the inevitable, damn it, I’ll find it.