Kat Fight

by Dina Silver

  “What a pleasant surprise,” I squeal and round the corner.

  Both their heads spin to face me. “Well, hello, Kat, how nice to see you,” Judy says. “Do you live nearby here?”

  “No, actually my friend is in the car and I just ran in to get some…uh…paper towels…and cheese,” I say with determination.

  “I see. Well, we’re just grabbing a thank you card and heading over to some friends for dinner,” she says and then gasps. “Oh no! Harvey, we forgot the bottle of wine. It’s on the table in the front hall.”

  “How about I stick a check for eight dollars in the card then?” Harvey jokes.

  “Well wouldn’t you know it,” Judy shakes her head, ignoring him.

  “There’s a liquor store two doors down,” I advise.

  “Yes, yes, but I hate to buy another one. Oh, well, it’s no big thing.” She shrugs. “What is my son up to tonight?” she poses the question of the hour.

  I don’t want to let on that I have no idea what her son is doing, so I stall by dropping my empty basket. “Whoops! Sorry about that.” I go to retrieve it from the floor. “Ryan is packing I think, for Vegas.”

  “Ah, yes.” She smiles proudly. “I’m sure he told you that I bullied him into coming to Palm Desert afterwards?”

  Whenever you’ve just broken up with someone, the last thing you want to hear are sentences that begin with ‘I’m sure he told you.’ I do my best to wipe the dumbstruck look from my face and recover nicely from this new information.

  “Palm Desert? Oh, yeah, he did say something about that. For some reason I thought that was next month?”

  “No, no, he’s meeting us there after his work in Vegas, for Harvey’s cousin’s birthday. I wish you could join us,” Judy offers up.

  She wishes I could join them? Was I invited? Had Ryan declined for me, or was she simply tossing out a conversational gesture. More concerning is that Ryan is now going to California after Las Vegas. My skin is getting warm and Harvey is getting impatient.

  “Well, have a great time on your trip,” I say to both of them. “How long will you all be out there?” I inquire, hoping to get a few more details before Harvey pulls the plug on our conversation.

  “We’ll be there for two weeks, Ryan can only stay for one, as you know.”

  I nod with great certainty. “Well, it’s wonderful to see you both. Hopefully we can run into each other when you get back.”

  “You too, darling,” Judy says and follows Harvey toward the front of the store.

  I can only imagine that the horn I’m hearing outside is Adam. I drop my basket again and head to the exit, making sure Ryan’s parents are nowhere in sight. Adam is just about to honk again as he sees me spinning through the revolving doors.

  “Didn’t you get my texts?” he questions me.

  “I left my phone in my purse…in the car with you, moron,” I say as I get in and slam the door.

  “Dammit, I wanted a Vitamin Water,” he says. “So what happened?”

  “Ryan’s not coming home on Sunday. He’s meeting his parents in California after his Vegas trip,” I say and toss my head back.

  “He is?”

  “Yes, his mom just told me. She actually assumed I knew, which was highly embarrassing, but then she told me that he’s spending a week there with them.”

  “So big deal, he’s coming back eventually and he’ll have his phone tomorrow,” Adam says.

  “It is a big deal! I can’t get a hold of him, he won’t contact me on his own, and he’s planned a vacation and didn’t even bother to let me know. He’s so over it,” I moan.

  “He’s not over it Kat, and you will talk to him tomorrow night.”

  I drop my head back again as Adam maneuvers the car off the curb. “I hate talking over the phone about things like this and I really hate hoping that he’ll answer my calls even more,” I say. “I can see it now, a simple text from him saying, let’s talk when I get back, two weeks from now!”

  “You’re over-reacting and you need nourishment. Let’s just pick up the food and head back to my place. You can start your pity party as soon as we get home. I’ll even break out the streamers.”

  “Oh please, my party has been in full swing since I hit the buzzer.”

  “Let’s never mention the buzzer,” he says.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:

  Raw Fish and Fresh Meat

  Adam and I hit his favorite sushi spot in Old Town called Kamehachi. It’s a family business that’s been around for years, and the woman who owns it, Julia, is an old friend of Dave’s. He and I particularly love the bagel roll. Adam makes me come inside with him to pick up the food because he doesn’t trust leaving me alone.

  We walk up to the hostess and Adam asks for his order. I take a seat on one of the padded vinyl benches near the entrance as Adam waves down Julia from the back of the restaurant. She immediately runs over to greet him while we wait for our food. As I sit, perched near the front door, I’m constantly distracted by an annoying sleigh bell that’s attached to the door handle, and jingles every time someone enters or leaves the place. I begin devising a plan to unhinge it while Julia is detained.

  In a very Pavlovian way I can’t stop from looking up each time I hear the bell, and it’s starting to anger me. I hear it again and again, and do everything in my power not to look at the door each time. I will not be defeated by two doors in one hour. The eighth time it rings, I triumph over the bells and keep my eyes focused on the floor in front of me. This time, however, a pair of shoes stops awkwardly close to me. I raise my head slowly and see Marc standing in them when I look up.

  “Hey, Kat.”

  And there he is again. Dressed, pressed, and obsessed with catching me off guard at my weakest moments. I look into his eyes like a puppy that has lost her bone, begging for comfort and compassion from anyone who can help.

  I jump to my feet and Adam rushes to my side before I can speak.

  “Marky Marc,” Adam exclaims. “Of all the gin joints!” he says and pats Marc on the shoulder.

  “What’s up, Adam?” Marc greets him.

  “Nada mucho. Kat and I are having a little slumber party at my house. Care to join?” he asks.

  Marc smiles and politely declines with a shake of his head.

  “Suit yourself,” Adam says. “And who do we have here?”

  Until Adam posed the question, I hadn’t even noticed the girl standing next to Marc. Upon further study, she’s very blond, very attractive, and very tall. She smiles at Adam and me, and exposes teeth white enough for Adam to envy. I quickly envision her, ten years from now, with a wide headband in her hair and a North Face fleece pullover on her way to play paddle tennis. Also in my vision are two little blond girls trailing after her with colossal grosgrain bows in their hair. Either that, or she for sure has some sort of pageant title in her future.

  “Uh, this is…” Marc begins to say.

  “Awkward?” Adam blurts out with a small laugh and I give him the death grip with my eyes.

  “Kiki, actually,” Marc finishes his sentence and turns toward her.

  How the name didn’t come to me with the pageantry vision I will never know.

  “Well, hello, Kiki! I’m Adam, and this little chatter box is, Kat.”

  She extends her hand as I wave, leaving her hand dangling alone. Then I go to shake her hand as she retracts it, and all the while Adam’s head is going back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match.

  Adam claps his palms together. “Well this has been fun, seeing you two, together like this. But we really need to be going. Biggest Loser isn’t going to record itself now, is it?” he questions Kiki.

  She shakes her head.

  “And Marc, you’re looking dapper as always. Might I propose you try the Dragon roll? It’s a Kamehachi classic,” Adam whispers to him.

  I shrug my shoulders, mortified, left with absolutely nothing of any possible merit to say, and then follow Adam out the door.

  But befo
re I can berate him and get in the car, someone grabs my arm from behind - and this time I’m pretty freakin’ sure I know who it is.

  “Kat,” Marc says as I turn around.

  “I’ll be in the car,” Adam informs us and then taps his wrist impatiently where a watch would be if he owned one.

  “Hey, Marc, sorry about that,” I say and point to Adam.

  “Some guys never change.”

  “Or gays,” I smile.

  “Kiki, is a client,” he says and gestures awkwardly toward the restaurant. “It’s a work thing.”

  I nod and decline from commenting on how lovely his client is. Either way, he owes me no explanation, and did not need to follow me outside to clarify anything. It’s then that I look up at him and wish that things had been different. Not that Marc and I were still together, but that I had been honest with both he and Ryan from the very beginning. Had that been the case and I’d looked Marc in the eyes and told him about my feelings for Ryan early on - when I was sure of them myself - it would have set him free months ago. He would never have had to muster up the courage it took to ambush me all those times and try to get back together. A moment of clarity is shining as bright as the full moon poised over Marc’s head. Suddenly I see what it is that Ryan must be thinking, because he’s right on the money. He knows that Marc would’ve never proposed to me out of the clear blue sky with absolutely no encouragement from me. Guys just don’t do that! And while he was at his apartment - prior to me coming over all weepy eyed and sorry-assed - he must have been thinking to himself that I’d been lying to two people. And if I was lying enough to make one poor bastard ask for my hand in marriage, then I clearly have issues to work out!

  I shake my head vigorously and then gaze into Marc’s eyes. “Marc, I owe you an apology. If I had not been so cowardly, selfish, and insecure, none of this would’ve happened. I wasn’t honest with you and I wasn’t honest with Ryan. And quite frankly, the fact that you’re even still talking to me proves you’re a much bigger person than I am.” I pause for a second. “You deserved to know the whole story a long time ago, and I am so, so sorry I didn’t give it to you.”

  Marc manages a smile. “I do wish we were able to work things out, but most of the blame falls on me, and I realize that,” he says. “Whether I was incapable of showing you or not, I truly do want what’s best for you.”

  “Thanks, Marc.”

  “I’ll see you around,” he says then leans around me and shouts to Adam, “Always a pleasure!”

  Adam blows him a kiss.

  I jump in the car with a sense of peace and understanding, because I get it now. Ryan was able to determine precisely what had been going on behind his back by witnessing Marc down on one knee. He could see my betrayal, my deceit, and worst of all - my indifference to it. When he said he’d ‘been there before,’ I’d assumed he meant that some girl he’d dated dumped him for her ex-boyfriend. But now I think - no, I know - that where Ryan has been before is in Marc’s position. I want to scream out the window at the clarity this has given me, but instead I bang out a drum roll on the dashboard.

  Adam gives me a curious look. “You’re just lucky sushi doesn’t get cold,” he says. “How many ruffies did he just slip you?”

  “Get a move on it,” I roar. “You better get a good night’s sleep because you’re driving me to the airport first thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:

  Check Your Baggage

  Adam spent a large part of last night trying to convince me to think rationally and not humiliate myself. He told me to wait until I had a more civilized opportunity to confront Ryan. He reminded me of Ryan’s laid-back demeanor and suggested that a surprise attack at the airport might be a little too much for him, especially considering the theatrics he’d witnessed between Marc and me. However, I have no intention of listening to Adam.

  He may be right about his character assessment of Ryan, but there is nothing that’s going to convince me to sit around and hope that Ryan will answer my texts at some point over the course of the week. My eyes will bleed from furiously checking my phone. I’m done letting everyone else take control. It’s my turn to take a stand for what I want. No matter how many times Adam tells me otherwise. My whole life people have made decisions with no regard for how they will affect me. Did my parents ask me whether I wanted them to get divorced? No. Did my father ask me if it was okay for him to cancel plans with me at the last minute? No. Did anyone ever ask me if I was comfortable being left alone in the house at eight-years-old so my mom could get her hair done? No. I’ve been programmed to accept what’s handed to me. To be weak. To feel sorry for myself. But I’m a big girl now, and I have no one to blame but myself anymore.

  So instead of waltzing in to work with our bellies descended from all the white rice we consumed last night, Adam and I are racing to O’Hare in the middle of rush hour traffic.

  “I can’t believe you’ve turned me into a bit player from a bad Jennifer Aniston movie,” he says, and then curses at the car in front of us.

  “I know you think I’m being absolutely ridiculous, and I don’t disagree. But I just have to try,” I say.

  Why had I waited so long? Why had I thought I was above common decency? If I had only been straight with Ryan and Marc from the beginning, I wouldn’t be in this embarrassing situation. Instead, I’d be sitting at my desk with a cinnamon scone and a post-it note that read: To my little showgirl, see you when I get back from Vegas.

  So, with no way of reaching Ryan, it’s now imperative that I get to the airport before he boards his plane. And since he moronically left his phone in Dave’s car, he is going to have to endure a face-to-face confrontation at the airport, assuming Adam and I can make it there in time. We park the car in hourly parking and sprint towards the terminals.

  “I really wish you’d given me a little heads-up on the flight time,” Adam yells breathlessly as we’re running.

  “All I can say is how much I love you for doing this. Mostly because I don’t have the lung capacity to say anything else,” I gasp, and lead the way.

  We stall at the bank of elevators until Adam spots a nearby escalator and yanks my arm like the starter cord on a lawnmower. Once we reach the next level he and I two-step it up to Departures where we find the nearest American Airlines check-in desk. Adam stops me abruptly before I approach the counter and places his hands on my shoulders.

  “Lucky for you, I have Dave’s Amex card,” he tells me with a wink. “However, as much of a romantic as he is, I’m not sure I can get away with charging two tickets.”

  I pause to catch my breath before responding. “I completely understand, and I will of course pay Dave back,” I assure him.

  As I’m saying this I imagine myself running towards Ryan’s gate by myself. Then I imagine myself standing there as his flight inevitably pulls away from the gate before I can reach him, leaving me standing there alone. I nod, indicating to Adam that I understand and I would never ask him to buy a second useless ticket simply to get us both past security - but the tears begin to well up at the thought of missing my opportunity. Adam sighs then turns to the woman behind the counter and purchases two tickets on the next flight to Las Vegas.

  “Thank you,” I mouth.

  He rolls his eyes.

  Not that airport security is brief and painless at any airport, but when you’re dealing with the country’s busiest airport, you’d better not be in a hurry. Our pace has been brought to a screeching halt as we’re forced to wait in line amongst the masses: business travelers, young couples, and moms with multiple children trying to brave the trip with strollers, car seats, sippy cups and lots of whining, all gathered with the common goal of getting to their destination safely and on time. And then there’s me, simply desperate to reach the gate. No more, no less. No fancy umbrella drinks waiting for me on the other side. No germ-infested hotel pillow on which to rest my weary head. I simply need to get to the gate. My heart is pumping so fast that I can hardly
believe my feet are at a standstill.

  Adam looks at me. “It’s okay, you need to calm down, you’re going to pass out if you don’t get it together,” he whispers in my ear. “Worst case scenario is that he gets on the plane and you talk to him when he gets his phone back, in less than four hours.”

  “Yes, it is the worst case scenario,” I remind him. “Because if he gets on the plane, it’s over. I have made my bed - my stupid lonely, eighth grade, Laura Ashley sheeted, piece of shit twin bed that I will have to lie in alone!”

  He smiles at the two people in front of us who overheard my rant and are now staring at me.

  “Okay, doll,” he responds and crosses his arms.

  “I really cannot even talk right now. I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can say one more word until I see him.”

  Adam kisses my forehead, puts his arm around my shoulders, and I’m eternally grateful to have him here with me.

  We march painfully slow through the security line, weaving in and out of the mind-numbing maze like cattle, until we finally make our way to the other side with our shiny new boarding passes. We glance up at the flight monitors, shove our feet back into our shoes and confirm the gate number, B22. Then, like we’re being chased by schoolyard bullies, we run for it!

  Our frantic sprint down the long spacious halls of O’Hare Airport doesn’t draw too much attention because people do run to catch planes, after all. On our way we pass two McDonalds, three Starbucks, one Dunkin’ Donuts and four newsstands before we reach gates B19-B22, and the end of our marathon. We stop at a circular cul-de-sac of gates with nowhere else to go. I begin nervously searching for both Ryan and B22, jerking my head back and forth as the whole terminal spins around me. I feel Adam’s hand come up abruptly under my armpit as I start to lose my balance. And then I see him.