A quick clock check—quarter to nine. Excellent.
She’d come back to the loft the night prior because today was phase one of moving day for Brooklyn, and as sad as that made her, there was no way Brooklyn was going to be capable of organizing this move on her own. Awesome as her friend was, structure was not part of her vocabulary. For the past five years, the loft had easily been divided with Samantha’s neat and orderly room to the right of the living space, and Brooklyn’s cluttered chaos to the left.
She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and flipped on the radio, spending the next few minutes quickly unloading the dishwasher as she kept time to the music. Routine was everything. She lived and died by it. As Katy Perry roared from the speakers in the corner of the room, Sam bopped along. She was still riding the high of the fantastic night prior. Proud of herself for getting out of her comfort zone, she looked forward to telling Brooklyn all about it.
Sam did a quick mental calculation. She’d have time to shower, finish unloading the dishwasher, and down a quick breakfast before Brooklyn would be back from her morning run with Mallory. They could start sorting through her things then and have decent progress by midafternoon.
“Taking calls now from our lovelorn line,” the morning show DJ announced as Sam turned the knob for the shower. “We have Tricia on the line. What’s amiss in your love life, Tricia? Doctor Loooove is in the studio waiting to make it all better.”
Samantha rolled her eyes and headed into her bedroom to select an outfit.
“Yes. Hi. I’m pretty sure I’m in love but can’t seem to tell the person.” Whoa. Sam paused, jeans draped across her arm. The voice was strikingly familiar. But there was no way. Was there?
“Do you think he feels the same way?” Doctor Love asked in a voice that was so low it was borderline ridiculous.
“It’s a she, actually. I’m in love with a girl. And yes, I tend to think she’s in love with me too.” Well, holy Rachel Maddow, she was right. It was Libby calling in to a radio station and professing love, no less! The smile arrived on her face instantly and her cheeks felt joyfully hot. She grabbed her phone and fired off a quick text to Brooklyn to tune into the show. Libby wouldn’t want them to know it was her, obviously, or she wouldn’t have used a fake name, but this was too crazy a development not to share. How often did people talk about you on the radio?
Doctor Love grabbed the reins and Sam now held on to the bathroom sink. “I’d say pick a night this week, take your sweetheart somewhere romantic, and over candlelight and rose petals, tell her how you feel.” Yes, that’d be perfect. Let’s do that. Bring on the rose petals. Doctor Love was such an intuitive guy. She caught her face in the mirror; the smile was unmistakable. It was possible she was blushing.
“But the problem is that it’s not my girlfriend I’m talking about. I’m in love with my best friend. What’s worse is that I have a very kind and thoughtful girlfriend who’s everything I should technically want.”
“But she just doesn’t do it for you the same way?”
A pause. “No.” Sam blinked and watched the smile fade in front of her. Her heart clenched. She stared down at the sink. “She’s perfect in every other way, there’s just not the same spark. I don’t want to hurt her, but my feelings for Tan—my best friend seem to be growing each day.”
“Well, that’s certainly trickier,” Doctor Love said. “I think you have to tell the dishrag girlfriend to hit the road so you can explore the tasty cake you have waiting for you behind door number two. Life is too short to waste on the generic.”
Libby sighed. “You might be right.”
“Doctor Love is always right. Our next caller is Ron…” The words faded to the background. Time felt off, as if it were slow and fast at the same time. Samantha walked to the kitchen, though she wasn’t sure why. Her legs felt shaky and the word dishrag had positioned itself in the forefront of her mind. Absently, she heard the water still running in the shower she’d yet to take. Didn’t matter. Libby didn’t love her. She kept her around because she was sweet and nice.
A dependable dishrag.
God, how had she not seen it?
Libby was supposed to be the one. She was the girl who made Samantha blush when she walked in a room. Kissing her was like floating through air, detached from everything else on the planet. She’d seen her future with Libby, two kids, and a dog. It was years down the road, but she had hopes it would happen. The shock that the happily every after was never going to play out was just a little too much to take in. She covered her mouth and a rare bout of tears hit. Slow at first before full on. They rolled down her cheeks in liquid hot waves. The loft door slid open with lightning speed and Brooklyn, clad in workout clothes, rushed to Sam wordlessly and wrapped her arms around her.
As they stood there in the kitchen, Samantha was flooded with a cold rush of emotion: anger, heartbreak, and the kingpin of them all: embarrassment. She almost had to laugh if she weren’t already crying. Of course a girl like Libby wasn’t in love with her. That didn’t happen. How had she convinced herself that it had? The homecoming queen didn’t fall in love with the mathlete.
Brooklyn released her and grabbed a napkin from the counter to dry Sam’s tears. “I ran four blocks from the gym as soon as I heard. She’s not worth it, Sam. Seriously, she’s not. Who calls into a radio station for relationship advice anyway?”
Sam didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know what to say. All of her life, she’d dreamed of being special to somebody. Falling in love like in the books. The whole package. At long last, she thought she was on her way to that.
She raised her gaze to Brooklyn. “I thought she was saying she was in love with me, Brooks. That she was just figuring out how to tell me.”
“She’s a fool. And she doesn’t deserve you.”
Sam shook her head. “They’re just three words. How do they have the power to hurt so much when they don’t belong to you?”
“I’m so sorry, Sammie.” The look on Brooklyn’s face just about did her in. Sympathy she didn’t want. It just made her feel all the more pitiful.
She gestured limply in the direction of the bathroom, the tears all but gone, replaced with a numbness she found strangely comforting, if not a little ominous. There was a tidal wave of emotion waiting to crash down on her, and she wanted to be alone when it hit. “I better jump in the shower before the hot water is gone completely.” She didn’t wait for a response.
“Hold on, Sam. Please?”
She paused at the entryway to the bathroom. “Yeah?”
“I’ll be out here when you’re done. We can talk. Eat chocolate peanut butter ice cream.”
“It’s nine a.m.”
“All the more reason to do it.”
Sam offered a halfhearted smile. It was the best she could do given the circumstances. Brooklyn was there for her and would help her work through what she now realized had to be the end of her relationship—a thought that was still too new for her mind to fully process.
As the still-hot water fell in cascades across her skin, she closed her eyes and let the tears run down her face, the emotion shaking her entire body. She stood like that until the water ran cold. The world felt different as she looked back over things with new eyes. Last night, Libby had smiled and laughed with her, but she’d also kept one eye on Tanya, wherever she was in the room. Samantha thought it was a best friend thing, but the exchanged looks, the close dancing, the quiet laughter just between the two of them…It all took on new meaning now, and she felt sick to her stomach.
She didn’t bother blow-drying her hair, as it no longer seemed to matter. After she found her threadbare comfy jeans and white T-shirt, she and Brooklyn snuggled into opposite ends of the couch and watched a little I Love Lucy. It was understood that in light of the morning’s events, phase one of packing was pushed to the back burner. They’d get to it eventually.
“I was born in the wrong decade,” Sam finally said, after episode number five. “That’s my
problem. I’m not edgy enough for this period in history.”
“Oh, please. You’re edgy. Trust me. No one picks up my quips faster than you. Plus, I think they frowned more on lesbians in the sixties. Bisexuals, too, so you’d be screwed. Better off here.”
Sam sat up. “It would mean I’d have to stick with men. Maybe that would solve my problem. Men are less complicated. There’s something to be said for that.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “Don’t let stupid Libby Weatherup of the ridiculously perfect cheekbones ruin you for lesbians everywhere. You happen to like women. A lot.”
“I hate it when you make valid points.”
“Then you must always hate me.” Brooklyn smiled at herself and Sam tossed a playful pillow her way. It was true that Sam had many positive experiences with men under her belt, and she was capable of finding them infinitely attractive under the right circumstances. But when it came to the physical alone, there was something about women she couldn’t quite turn away from.
At least not entirely.
“If we’re being honest,” Brooklyn said, hugging the pillow, “I didn’t think Libby was right for you. I never bought her wide-eyed, look-at-me-I’m-gorgeous routine because there’s not much beyond it.”
Sam’s phone buzzed from where it rested on the coffee table. She checked the screen. It was a text from Libby.
Late lunch today?
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do this. What am I supposed to say?” She showed the text to Brooklyn, who turned fully to Samantha on the couch.
“Look at me.”
“Looking.”
Brooklyn spoke in a calm, even tone. “You go meet her and tell her to hit the road.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. This is Libby.”
Brooklyn studied her as if mulling over her options. “So you’re saying you want to stay in this relationship?”
Oh no. Here came the tears again. She took a deep breath to stave them off. “No. I’m not sure I could do that either knowing how she…” The emotion overcame her and the words died in her throat. “She doesn’t want to be with me, Brooks. I’m not who she wants.”
“I think you know what you have to do here. I’ll have ice cream reinforcements waiting when you return.”
*
They’d agreed to meet at Ground Support, the little café that seemed to be their spot. At least the place had really good cheeseburgers. She tried to focus on that, the cheeseburger upside, which one should never overlook. The afternoon was full of sunshine and promise, and those conditions only seemed to mock Samantha all the more as she walked the three sun-kissed blocks to the café.
Twenty minutes later, Libby gestured in a circle with her fork. She looked fresh-faced and beautiful, just to make this suck all the more. “The Manolos were huge sellers this year, and I called that one at the first of the season. Jennifer in corporate wasn’t at all convinced, but the order we placed was bigger because of my recommendation, and now I look like the hero. It was a really good week. But enough about work. How was your morning?”
Samantha stared blandly at Libby and played the question back. Ah, yes. Her morning. Here went nothing. “Not the best, actually.”
“I’m sorry. Hangover from last night? You were adorable on the dance floor, by the way. Everyone thought so. It was so much fun to see you cut loose that way.”
“Please don’t call me adorable. I’m tired of being adorable.” She seemed to be thinking out loud now. Fabulous.
Libby paused and a look of concern crossed her face. “Of course, honey bear.”
The term of endearment that used to light Samantha up from the inside out now felt like a farce. Like the knife from that morning was now being twisted. She used the way she was feeling to force the necessary words from her mouth. It didn’t mean she liked the taste of them. “Libby, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Libby set her iced tea down slowly. And damn it, those turquoise blue eyes shone brightly in question. “You don’t? Why?”
“I heard you on the radio this morning. As Tricia.” She felt nauseous.
“On the radio?” Libby parroted back slowly. But her whole demeanor changed in the course of fifteen seconds, and that said everything.
Sam pressed on. “Yeah. So I’m not sure there’s much left to say.”
“Oh.” A long, very telling pause. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Libby said, but the sparkle was gone completely from those eyes. She took a minute before finding her words. “The feelings I have for Tanya, I wanted them to go away, Sam. I hoped they would.”
For whatever reason, maybe because her own feelings for Libby were still quite real, she felt bad for her. Didn’t mean her heart hadn’t been ripped out and stepped on. Violently. Publically. In a scenario she wished to God was not now part of her history. “I guess you can’t control who you fall in love with.”
“No. I guess not.”
Another silence.
“I think the world of you, Sam.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Libby’s face was earnest as she sat forward in her chair, trying to explain further. “No, really. I was thinking about this the other day. You’re like my favorite pair of shoes, you know that? The comfortable ones that are worn and easy on your feet after a long day of work. You know they’re going to be there for you when that day is over. The shoes you look forward to putting on after hours in killer heels. I love that about you.”
Sam took a minute with the analogy. Was Libby actually comparing her to an old, worn-out pair of shoes? As in the kind you don’t wear out around people? Had that really just happened? She shook her head in mystification. “So if we’re keeping track, first I’m a dishrag, and now I’m a worn-out pair of shoes?” The beady-eyed waiter raised his eyebrows as he refilled Sam’s water glass.
Libby’s eyes widened and she placed her hand on her heart. “No! God, that doesn’t sound how I meant it at all. You’re not a dishrag. I never used that term. And the shoe thing, that was a compliment. I love my old shoes. Truly.” Sam laughed out loud because she didn’t know what else to do and there was no way she was going to let Libby see her cry.
“I wish you well, Libby. With Tanya, or wherever it is life takes you. But if there were an award for bad breakup speeches, I think you’d have a legitimate shot.”
She watched her girlfriend’s—correction, ex-girlfriend’s—face fall further. Such a bad situation all around. “So that’s it?” Libby asked.
God, she wished it weren’t. But she couldn’t undo what she’d heard. And how would she not think about it every time she looked at Libby? “I guess it has to be.”
“Yeah.” They stared at each other for a moment and it was enough for Sam to feel her heart breaking in two.
This was supposed to have been it.
Her own happily ever after.
Right here.
Libby picked up her hair and dropped it. “We’ll still be friends, though, right?”
Friends. The word felt lethal. Samantha didn’t know if that would ever be something she could manage, but she lied all the same. Pride was suddenly all she had left, and she was clinging to it with all her might. “Sure. It’s not like we hate each other.”
Libby broke into a wide smile. A relieved smile, if Samantha had to guess, and that stung all the more. “I’m so glad.” She reached for the check. “And I’m getting this.”
Sam didn’t argue. After ruining her life, it was the least Libby could do.
Chapter Three
There were boxes strewn across every available surface in the loft. The place kind of looked like a box convention, as far as Samantha was concerned, and they seemed to be multiplying and making little box children.
It had been quite a Monday, with the Savvy team knocking off at lunch to lend a hand in the moving process. Jessica had a late-afternoon meeting at work but would join them shortly, having agreed to bring in dinner for the group. The mission du jou
r was to pack Brooklyn’s belongings and have everything ready for the movers to transport the following day.
So far so good, if she did say so herself. The workload was massive, and that was helpful in a way. It kept Sam from thinking too much about the state of her world. You know, the breakup that stripped her raw and the fact that her best friend was deserting her. Bitter, party of one?
On the flip side, Sam was grateful that Hunter and Mallory had agreed to help out, but then again, of course they would. That was what friends did for one another. Throughout the course of the afternoon, she and Mallory had traded off as project manager, as Mallory was best at wrangling the herd and Samantha was empress of organization. But the sheer volume of it all was overwhelming, as Brooklyn had a ton of stuff.
“Okay, Brooks, I think it’s time we face facts here,” Sam said, examining the contents of one of the few boxes Brooklyn had managed to pack on her own.
Brooklyn peered over Samantha’s shoulder into the box. “What are we facing, exactly?”
“You’re a bit of a hoarder. And I only threw in the words ‘a bit’ to soften the blow because there’s really no ‘a bit’ about it. You need some sort of program with steps.”
Brooklyn gasped. “I am not a hoarder.”
Mallory looked across at them from the box she was packing and raised an eyebrow at Sam. “You got this?”
“I do.”
“Excellent. I’m here if you need me.”
Sam pressed on. “You have, let’s see, seven circle brushes in this box. Two of which are missing most of their bristles. Now let’s think about this. Is it necessary that all seven circle brushes, which happen to fulfill the exact same function in your life, make this move with you to Jessica’s place?”
Brooklyn stared at the brushes resolutely. “Yes.”
Samantha took this in. “Why?’
“Because I need them all. They’re my brushes. You’re my bitches and they’re my brushes. Just how things are.”
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