Hope, Heartbreak & High Heels (HHH)

by Sheryl

  HOPE,

  HEARTBREAK

  &

  HIGH HEELS

  Written by Sheryl

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  © 2012 Sheryl Shah

  Cover Graphic by Divya Venkatesh

  Acknowledgements

  Obviously I have a huge list of people I would like to give a shout out to…

  My parents – thank you for teaching me how to dream and making me the person I am today (the good, the better and the best).

  My in-laws – thank you for supporting my every endeavour and allowing me to chase my dreams.

  Nishita for being my sounding board and toughest critic – without you my story wouldn’t have been tried and tested so many times.

  Shenil and Nishil who have grown up to be absolutely perfect and are a constant reminder that good guys still exist.

  RB for being the realist in the family and always play devil’s advocate and AB for being the ever enthusiastic cheerleader.

  Riya thanks for being my literary-soulmate-editor and sharing my passion for all things romantic.

  Ahana, Manali, Rushita, Sajni, Cheryl & Rati - my own Eva’s, Latisha’s, Aimee’s and Anya’s – you have been there for me over the years through the thick and the thin.

  Yoav who has taught me that it is never too late to become the person you always wanted to be.

  Shradha who reminded me to do what I love so that it may never cease to inspire me.

  And last but definitely not the least – my wonderful husband – who gave me the opportunity to write and without whom none of this would have been possible.

  This book is dedicated to all the girls out there who have had their heart broken but are still hopeful in their search for love…

  1 – EVA

  As we walked in through the door, the scene unravelling before our eyes hit us like a déjà vu. Too familiar, too painful, too often.

  Anya sat there cross-legged on our beige overstuffed couch in her purple “breakup” nightgown; puffy-eyed and red-nosed, with a tumble of blonde curls surrounding her like a halo and a mountain of used snotty Kleenex on the rug below her feet. In stark contrast, Aimee sat beside her; hugging her close and whispering comforting words, over-or rather under-dressed in her short sequined dress and signature silver studded heels. Her perfectly styled hair and party make-up suggested a last minute cancelled date because of this Anyamergency.

  Latisha quickly glanced in my direction, her hazel eyes widened in a ‘not again’ manner. Oy vey. I sighed mentally and put on my game face, knowing this was going to be a long night. Aimee had texted me a little while ago saying there was an ‘Anyamergency’ and we were needed back at the loft. But Latisha had been out with Vivek and I was in a bar so hadn’t seen the message till about twenty minutes ago when Latisha had called asking about Anya.

  I have known Anya Carmichael since our first day together at Fordham Law School. Her parents own a farm in a small town in Alabama. Anya had gone to her small town high school and subsequently attended her local college after which she had decided to break out and attend law school in the “big, bad city”. It hadn’t been an easy decision but Anya had stayed strong and managed to convince her parents that this was the best option for her.

  Pretty and petite, she had bumped into me while looking for her criminal law class. Her sweet nature and polite demeanour had me doubt her ability to last a single day as a law student. But she quickly proved herself; showing a tenacious and unrelenting passion for advocacy and human rights. However, after graduating she had opted out of a career in law, something I never fully understood considering all the effort she had put in.

  Now, Anya worked as a children’s counsellor. In addition, she helped with Domestic Violence cases for Family Court, acting as their expert and meeting with victims to help them through the legal ordeal. She was applying for her Ph.D. in the field.

  With my being a criminal defence attorney, we often argued about work. But our contrasting natures made us close friends. My fiery temper and practicality complemented Anya’s loving heart and soft manners. It was only natural that we continued living together upon graduation, as our personalities meshed well. Nonetheless, as composed and reliable as she was at work, her common sense and sharp wits seemed to abandon her when it came to matters of the heart.

  Anya was the picture perfect Southern belle – blonde hair, light grey eyes and petite features. And very often the damsel in distress. She would let any schmoozing slimeball weasel their way into her life and into her heart, loot and plunder, and leave her crushed and depressed. Anya was looking for ‘true love’ and believed that any guy could be the one. I told her all the time it was weird to see her counsel others and give out practical advice at work, but let her emotions cloud her judgment when it came to her own life. But as her name suggested, she was inexhaustible in her quest. She was allergic to being single, which made her jump from one relationship to another without much of a break to breathe or think. Honestly, I don’t think she ever really loved any of the smucks she dated; I think she was more in love with the idea of being with them. But we were always been there to help her up when she fell, wrapped in her soft purple fleece gown.

  “He said he outgrew meee, that the spark dieeddd”, she managed to wail in between sniffles. “Liam just woke up this morning and poof, it was all over. How can that be? We had so much fun on our camping trip last weekend. Everything was hunkey dorey. How can things die out so quickly in just one week?”

  Anya and Liam had met at a café where they both bought their coffee every afternoon. Anya had just gotten out of a relationship with a struggling actor then. He had managed to woo her over macchiato and muffins in a matter of weeks.

  “Men don’t have reasons for why they do what they do”, I reminded her.

  “Three months... Three whole months! And he broke up with me via email. EMAIL!” she added in a higher pitch.

  The three of us glanced at each other. Anya was well mannered and the crudeness of urban dating rituals often shocked her polite sensitivities. She always put in so much effort into her relationships but men just seemed to enjoy the attention and then leave without any notice. With Liam we had seen her juggle work schedules, shlep across town to meet him and literally become his personal assistant.

  “But I miss him! Oh God, I always knew I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I screwed up. I was too much of a prude. Maybe I should have tried harder,” a fresh lot of tears streamed down Anya’s pretty, heart-shaped face.

  Along with unrealistic expectations about fairytale romances, Anya also had a strict no-sex policy, which she stuck to. She was ‘saving herself’ for ‘the one’. Even though I found a lot of her notions naïve, the fact that she considered breaking her own rules to keep a guy was just wrong. The anger and bitterness rose within me like foul bile.

  “Don’t be stupid, it’s his loss. I knew this would happen. This is why relationships never work out. Despite everything you put in, you’re the one that feels like crap” I spat out angrily. I wanted to hurt that jerk Liam who’d manage
d to crush Anya during their short breeze of a relationship.

  “You have got to stop beating yourself up over this Anya. Maybe Liam just wasn’t the right type of guy. It was a whirlwind romance and maybe you need something more stable,” Aimee tried to help as she handed Anya another tissue.

  As Anya continued crying and showed no signs of stopping, Latisha decided to step in and quickly shifted into her only too natural, maternal role.

  “Aww you poor baby. Don’t you worry; you know someday you’ll find the right guy who’ll treat you just right. There’s one true love out there for you and you can’t give up on it”.

  I rolled my eyes upon hearing the over-heard words of advice. Trust Tish to reel off typical consolation lines written and designed for losers. I swear she could write a “How to Accept Loss” self-help book someday. But that’s if she ever found some time between working at the hospital and seeing Vivek.

  I softened up a little. “Anya, you know he wasn’t worth it. No guy is worth you becoming a blubbering mess over. You’re too pretty and you know it”.

  Anya stopped snivelling for a second and looked up at me appreciatively through her long lashes. Her light grey eyes seemed to stop the waterworks and she almost smiled a little.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying!” Aimee squealed. “What you need is a good night out to forget all about him. I still think we should go – the night’s still young!”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re perfectly dressed and don’t want to waste the three hours you put into it,” grumbled Anya.

  I snickered. This was a good sign. At least she had moved on to teasing Aimee and stopped whining about whats-his-face.

  “Hey! I’m always perfectly dressed! I’m just saying it’s too good a Friday night and too good an outfit for no one to see me in!” Aimee retorted with a mock look of indignation on her face. “Besides, aren’t you dying to take your new slingbacks out for a night on the town?” she added with a wink.

  That seemed to do it. The water faucets turned off and Anya looked up, “I still can’t believe I haven’t worn them yet!” She jumped off the couch and almost sprinted towards the Closet. She returned with a weak grin on her face and large wrapped shoebox in her hands. They contained her multicoloured bejewelled slingbacks.

  Footwear was the shared religion that bound the four of us together in our loft. Coming from various backgrounds, working in diverse professional fields and having distinct personalities – we were like a social science project living together. But what kept us together was our friendship and identical shoe size that allowed us to compile our collection of shoes and take advantage of the situation. Collectively we had two hundred and sixty five pairs of shoes in the apartment, out of which almost a third were high heels. And the Closet was a shrine in our living room that held each designer masterpieces.

  As Anya repositioned herself on the couch and gingerly opened the box, I took the chance to subtly claim the open pint of Chocolate Chip Cookiedough and get comfortable. Despite Aimee’s pleas, I knew the only direction the night was headed in was shoe-worshipping, some good old-fashioned boy bashing, a classic chick flick and a few pints of Ben & Jerrys – the only other two males in our lives that helped me believe that the entire species wasn’t cursed.

  2 – LATISHA

  As the final credits to Legally Blonde rolled off, I looked at the mess around me. Empty bowls of popcorn with traces of butter, licked-clean pints of B&Js, four wineglasses and three polished off bottles of wine lay discarded in a mess.

  Oh well, that’s what weekends are for.

  I switched off the TV and rose off the couch slowly. I was still dressed in my work clothes and nude patent leather pumps; the only indication that I’d been on a date after and not come back straight from the hospital. I slipped off my heels and tiptoed over to the Closet. As I opened it, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight before me.

  The Closet had been Aimee’s idea when we moved in last summer after graduation. Sixty eight pairs of high heels in four styles - as distinct as their four owners - had been hand picked and amassed over our stay together. Tough Aimee had her set of studded and leather pumps and flats. Fiery Eva was partial to bright colours. Sweet Anya preferred to splurge on sparkly pieces. Meanwhile, I stayed loyal to the classics; nudes, blacks, whites and creams. However this didn’t mean that we didn’t swap and share given the right occasions – we were constantly borrowing each other’s clothes and shoes when needed.

  My train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Eva rising behind me.

  “What time is it?” she yawned.

  “It’s 2 a.m.” I replied glancing at my gold wristwatch. Every time I glanced at its pearl face I was filled with warmth for the man that gave it to me; the man that was soon to be my husband.

  Eva stretched her long limbs. “Should we wake them?”

  “Let’s not,” I hesitated. “Anya looks so peaceful. Let her get a good nights rest”.

  Eva and I quietly crossed the hall to our shared bedroom. By the time I completed my nightly cleansing ritual, she was already tucked into bed. I braided my thick waist length mane of hair, said a quick silent prayer and climbed in under the soft duvet. Although every bone in my body begged me to shut down and go to sleep, my brain insisted on doing some overtime.

  “Eva?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m worried about Anya”

  A soft sigh. No reply.

  I continued. “I wish she’d just find someone who would treat her right. Someone to settle down with. How long will she continue like this?”

  “It’s not that easy for everyone you know…”

  Her reply made me pause. It was late and definitely not the time to discuss the pros and cons of dating.

  “I know. But she deserves to be happy. She’s a good person.”

  “Everyone doesn’t always get the happy ending they want. Besides, its better she find out the truth now then put out and have her heart trampled on in a year.”

  I knew the conversation was over and not worth pursuing. Eva wasn’t talking about Anya. She was talking about herself.

  Eva Goldstein and I had grown up next to each other in an affluent neighbourhood outside New York City. Our parents were professors in their respective fields; my father in astrophysics, mother in biotechnology and both her parents in medicine. They were close friends due to their shared passion for academics and conservative backgrounds.

  While my family had emigrated from India about thirty years ago, Eva’s family had lived in the U.S. since before the fifties. Her family was Jewish while mine was Jain, a small sect of Hinduism. After lecturing at a number of schools around the country, both families had settled down here.

  Eva and I had gone to different schools, had different friends, different traditions and even different ways of dressing but we had always been close. Growing up, we understood one another’s adherence to religious beliefs and traditions. We weren’t shocked by each other’s dietary restrictions, modesty in dressing or aversion to the opposite gender. We didn’t question the others’ weekend prayers or large families. And together, slowly, we outgrew the brainwashed fear of the Western World and forced cultural regulations imposed upon us, and started appreciating what the American culture had to offer. By the time we were both in college, we had mastered the art of duplicitous living, which involved impeccable lies and perfected alibis.

  After finishing pre-med at Cornell University, I had convinced my parents to let me study medicine at Tufts University’s medical school. Meanwhile Eva had only been allowed to venture out so far as NYU and Fordham Law. The winter holidays before graduations, about a year and a half ago, we had crossed paths at our local grocery store and discovered that we were both bound for New York City the coming fall – she was going to start working for a prestigious multi practice law firm as a criminal defence lawyer while I was about to start my surgical residency at a specialised hospital.

  After that i
t wasn’t very difficult to convince our parents to let us get an apartment together. As Indians, my parents were comfortable with the idea given Eva’s conservative upbringing and clean record. Unlike me, they hadn’t known about the curly haired boy that had stolen Eva’s heart, broken her illusion concerning religion and transformed her into the sharp, cynical criminal defence lawyer she was today.

  In the most poetic way, Chaim had been the ‘life’ to Eva’s ‘living’. They had met at a religious event their senior year of high school. Coming from a background where purposeless dating wasn’t encouraged, Chaim had promised Eva a picturesque future complete with suburban paradise and five little curly haired toddlers. Eva had fallen, heart first, deeply in love with Chaim and all that he promised her. Their relationship had been intense, well at least as intense as it could have been given their stringent backgrounds.

  But graduation had snapped them out of their dreamy reveries. Chaim was Philly-bound, while Eva was confined to the tiny island of Manhattan. Although only two hours away, the distance might as well have been one of universes. The dreamy phase of the relationship was over and both felt suffocated by the restrictions given the distance. Yet, first semester Eva decided to go visit Chaim and spend a weekend in Philly.

  However, this was the final nail in the coffin holding her relationship with Chaim. Scared and full of self-doubting, Eva had gotten off the bus and walked into Chaim’s dorm room. They spent the entire weekend together in bed, breaking every bit of restraint that had controlled them back at home. And right before she left, he broke up with her.

  He had told her that things had changed and that he no longer wanted to be in a relationship. He wanted to enjoy all that college had to offer and Eva was the ball and chain dragging him down. He didn’t want a religious girlfriend and just wanted his freedom.