by Lacy Camey
“Gosh, he’s such a disgusting pig! I just want this over. This is the worst thing ever. Why can’t he just leave my life? Even if I try to choose to forget him, there’s the internet. His Facebook, his Twitter, he’s in the papers, on ESPN. This isn’t like the typical breakup scenario for most girls. How do I… what am I supposed to do?” I cried.
I knew I lived in this century for a reason. I was a firm believer in everything happening for a reason and things being set into motion as they should be by God. But one thing I hated about living in this generation was the fact that there were so many ways to remember someone you were trying to forget due to modern technology. The whole internet thing.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry. But one thing for sure, is you’re strong, brave, and such a beautiful woman who’s going to change the world with your designs and charisma. He wasn’t for you. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. He wasn’t for you. Had he been, he would have never let you go in the first place. You have to hold on to that, Nor. Seriously. Keep your mind and your resolve strong.”
I nodded thoughtfully. My friend spoke like a true poet.
“It’s just so lame, though,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken, but I heard every word. “Why do I feel so connected still after all these months? Why do I feel like, he was my soul mate.”
She stared at me with a firm expression. “He’s not your soul mate. Had he been, would he have done what he did to you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I love you. With your southern twang, that so sounds like a country song line Carrie Underwood would sing.”
She joined me in my laughter. “That’s the good thing about you, Nor. You always have such a great sense of humor.”
The pain I felt in my chest was so intense, so heavy, and so real, I wondered if I might be having the early signs of a heart attack. But I knew better than that. They were chest pains from stress.
Her cell phone rang back in the kitchen. She left to go get it. I watched her leave as I sank back into my chair, let out a giant sigh, and let my head drop back to rest. Coco jumped onto my lap, and I gave her some love. “I would never let a horrible boy-pup treat you like crap. No, no, no, I wouldn’t.” She looked up at me with trusting eyes.
Chloe came back with a heavy expression. “Nor, I need to go take this call in private. It’s my dad. Promise we’ll finish this conversation.” She smiled. “I’ll find you when I’m off.”
The increasing thunder coincided perfectly with the increasing anger rising in my chest.
I just want him out of my life! I screamed inside.
I stared at the journal sitting on the table.
“What are you looking at?” I asked it.
The lame journal Dr. Hood made me keep. The pain was unbearable looking at what I’d written. Why should I keep such a painful memory? Why? I didn’t want to relive it. I didn’t want to read it again. What was the purpose?
Ugh.
Angrily, I leaned forward and opened the journal. Coco jumped off my lap. The lightning flashed.
I wrote:
With all resolve within me, I choose to forget you. I have hope of a life without you. I’m letting you go and never want to hear from you, talk to you, or see you ever. My one-day kids I’ll have, I’ll look at their sweet faces, and their beautiful non-cheating character, their talent, their personality, and it won’t be any part of you. It will be a part of a good man, a man who would never cheat on me. A man who would never let me go. A man who complements me in every way you couldn’t. I end this journal with the resolve to hope.
I closed the journal. I did feel a sense of hope. But with the shut of the journal, I knew I had to release the burning sensation in my chest. I knew where it came from. I had hate in my heart.
I had been a church-going girl my whole life. I had the whole new Easter outfit down to a T. I even wore a hat once. My uncle was a pastor, and we all attended his church growing up. I knew it was wrong to hate. But I hated Truett. I had to let it go. I knew deep down inside that the anger and hatred would corrode my creativity.
So I opened the door and walked out, off the wooden deck, down the steps covered in layers of sand, and marched to the edge of the waves. No one was on the shore as far as I could see. Tiny sprinkles began to fall as the wind blew harder.
With all the anger in me, I yelled, “I hate you! I want you out of my life!” And then I crumbled on the sand, getting all wet and sandy.
Yes, I realized I probably looked incredibly dramatic and ridiculous, like one of those girls on My Super Sweet 16 on MTV who, instead of getting a Lexus at her birthday party, got a Mercedes. But this clearly was not the same. I was dealing with real pain, not the pain of a trivial matter.
I didn’t care how I looked. I didn’t care if I woke up Maycee. I didn’t care if Chloe could see me from the kitchen.
I was at my breaking point. I sobbed for a good while. As if the Universe was on cue with my dramatic meltdown, the once tiny sprinkles turned into a heavy downpour. Then, I took my journal and threw it as far as I could. But its edge only made it three feet, barely hitting the water. So what? I had never been an athlete. The wind had really picked up, but the wind wasn’t persuasive enough to take the journal out into the deep water.
I didn’t care. The wind would eventually pick up, reach for it again, and take it on its journey out to sea where it would slowly sink, hit a few fish, maybe even get swallowed by a whale. The point was, it would soon enough be far, far away. Symbolically, I hoped the same would happen with my hurt.
I had to choose, with every fiber within me, to be logical. To have a sound mind. To forget him. To let go. To practice self-control and never look for him on ESPN again. To swear off baseball games. To swear off Facebook and MySpace and Twitter and to move forward and pour my heart and soul into my designs, my work. My life.
My life that no longer included Truett. No matter what would happen with him. No matter how many times he could apologize. It was too late. I could forget him. I would choose to forget him. I’d bury him in the sea.
Chapter Six
A few hours later, after my temper-tantrum, Mom, Chloe, and I were off on a much-needed trip-a fashion show in the city and an overnight stay at a chic boutique hotel. Maycee had declined our invitation because she said she needed to obey her muse, submit to her muse’s inspiration, and write… whatever that meant.
After a fantastic show, we ate at an Italian restaurant and Mom got hit on. “I’m so telling Dad,” I teased her. After dinner, we ordered a chick flick as I sketched, almost unable to keep up with the strokes thanks to the inspiration from the fashion show, which had served its purpose for my coming. Just get a basketball player who wants to be in the NBA, or who thinks he can be in the NBA, to watch any playoff game and, afterward, he’ll be in the gym perfecting his free throws.
But the next morning, as we made our way home early, I saw the strangest thing. No one else noticed because Mom and Chloe were both preoccupied, tied to intense phone conversations that I wasn’t paying attention to because my favorite talk radio show was on Sirius. The much older version of Taylor Lautner, hot mystery man, who we had seen out running the other day, was being pushed very quickly outside of our house to the stone-covered side by Maycee. He was then seemingly hiding outside our home with a towel wrapped around his waist as my innocent sister ran back into the house. She had clearly just pushed him out.
Jeesh. You would have thought she would have been smarter about whatever it was she was trying to hide and lowered the shades, at least.
An all-glass house came in handy when spying. Maycee ran back in the kitchen, sat down, and opened the paper. Ever heard the saying, “We live in a glass house?” Well, we really did, except at the push of a button, electronic privacy shades could be lowered.
We all got out of my Range Rover. Again, Mom and Chloe were completely oblivious, on their so very important phone calls. But I walked into the house ready to let my sister have it. Cheaters would not
be tolerated in my life. Since I’d been cheated on, I had become hypersensitive to it. And from the look of things, it looked like some serious cheating business was going on.
“Well, look, you’re here!” Maycee said quickly.
Before I could even speak, she made her way past us and yelled, “Off to the market down the street to get coffee! Out of beans. And I know you need it for creating after seeing such a fabulous show. Be right back!” Then she was gone. And still! Neither Mom nor Chloe even noticed anything strange. I just wanted to know what they each were discussing on the phone, like stopping a nuclear bomb or something? One would have thought so.
As soon as Maycee came back from dropping the hot mystery guy off, she had an earful awaiting her from me. Meanwhile, I tried to rant to Mom, but she stayed glued to the phone, talking very quickly and running just as fast to Maycee’s room, shutting the door behind her.
“Mom!” I banged on the door. “What are you doing? Why is the door locked?”
I heard her say, “Oh, Josh, that’s fantastic! Oh, how lovely.”
“Mom!” I continued to bang.
Chloe came my way. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, finally. You’re off the phone.”
Then my phone rang. It was Chris, my financial backer for my line. Great. I had to answer it to update him on my line’s progress.
“Hello?” I answered as confidently as possible. Mom opened the door and mouthed that she had to go, then grabbed her keys and left.
“But-” I mouthed back.
But it was too late. She didn’t even see my attempt at keeping her for interrogation.
“My friend, Tim Manchion, is in town. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Anyway, I’ve been raving about you, and he wants to see what you’ve been producing. Maybe even feature you in his lifestyle magazine if he likes what he sees. Have you anything to show?” Chris asked.
I was seriously feeling the pressure. My temples instantly began to pound. I paced as quickly as I could down the hallway, past the kitchen, back to my creating room, hoping, praying, that something would automatically magically appear, created and ready to show. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, then reopened them. No. Still the same creating room—dog bed, dog clothes, one fabulous dress, and fabric everywhere. No pieces. Nine freakin’ pieces left!
“You know, I—” I searched for words, “work very spontaneously, I—”
What was I supposed to tell him? Look, I’ve been in therapy? My whole world came crashing down because of some lame guy who couldn’t keep his pants zipped? No, a business-savvy man like him wouldn’t understand and, judging by the custom suits and designer shoes he wore, he was probably just as much of a pig. The moment that last thought crept into my mind, I regretted it, even though he couldn’t hear me. Since when did powerful men with money equate to cheaters? My dad was a powerful, influential man, and he had been faithful to my mom. I sighed. I hated to assume the worst in people. I wasn’t cynical or negative, I was just…
“Norah? You there?”
I shook my head, trying to come back to reality.
The front door opened, and Maycee walked in, loudly speaking about what a beautiful day it was.
“Shhh!” I mouthed to her.
Chloe stood looking helpless, then shrugged and sat down on the couch. Coco jumped into her lap and started licking her face. She was sporting the red plaid outfit I had created for her yesterday, when I should have been creating that other dress, when I thought I had all the time in the world.
My left hand went to my forehead, and I leaned over the granite counter in the kitchen.
“Yeah, sorry. I have really bad reception here. Anyway, yes, Chris. When would you like to see a few pieces?” I regretted it the moment the words escaped my mouth. I couldn’t believe I had just completely outed myself. I’m doomed!
“Saturday at seven? Is this Saturday good?” Four days away. “If he likes what he sees, he’ll do a spread in his magazine, photo shoot and all. It will be good for both of us. Nothing like a quick profit earner!”
I immediately opened the cupboard above the coffee maker to make sure there was enough coffee. There was. I looked with accusing eyes at Maycee, who quickly averted her attention elsewhere.
“Yes, Saturday sounds great. Okay. Bye.”
What the heck had I just agreed to? I had to show him as many pieces as possible in four days.
“What the heck am I going to do? Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh!” I began to freak out.
“Calm down! What’s wrong?” Chloe asked.
“Nor, you’re going to be okay,” Maycee said.
“Maycee! Ugh, seriously, where’re the coffee beans you were bringing me? Huh? I don’t even know what to say, or even where to start with you and the hottie boy. I just don’t have the time to think-“
She stared at me, clearly confused. “Wow, Sorry. Maybe you should lay off that caffeine.”
I sat down and put my head in my hands. “What am I going to do? I don’t have anything to show.”
Maycee’s phone rang. “Josh, baby!” I heard her say, as she walked down the hallway.
“Thursday night? Yes, of course. Okay. Sounds great. Love you, too.” She turned around and screamed in delight, “Girls! I think Thursday is the night. I think he’s proposing.” Maycee jumped up and down as she spun in circles.
“What?” I accidentally said, and rolled my eyes. Can you say mental block times ten? I didn’t want my sister to marry that man. I didn’t want-
I need to get out of here, I thought to myself. Immediately, I stood and walked outside to sit on the sand and calm myself.
Chloe followed me, as well as Maycee.
For once, I wanted peace and quiet, and I couldn’t get it.
“You could actually be happy for me, Norah!” my sister yelled.
“Maycee, I am happy for you,” I finally said. “It’s just, some pieces of my line are due Friday, and I have nothing to show except one dress and, besides that, what were you doing with that guy this morning? And now you’re talking about getting married to the guy you have been mad at for two days? And mystery man looked like he stayed over.” I had taken it all in, the plates with pancake remains left in the sink.
“It’s not what you think! Dad was here, and it’s—” Her cell phone rang again. It was Mom. “Oh, I gotta take this. I’ll be right back! We’re planning a spa date!” She grinned. Nothing could rain on her parade. She sprinted back into the house.
Is this really happening?
“Okay, look.” Chloe said. “What time are you supposed to meet again?”
“Seven. Saturday evening.”
She looked at her watch. “Okay, it’s nine thirty Monday morning. You have over a hundred hours to work with here. Pretend you’re on a reality show, and this is how you make the cut.”
“I went through this in Milan.”
“Well, fight for it, Norah. I’ll help you. I’ll assist you. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do. But sitting here,” she said as she pulled me off the sand, “will get you nowhere.” I stood and brushed the sand off my behind. “Let’s get going and let’s get the coffee brewing!”
“Yeah, the coffee that Maycee didn’t pick up.” I rolled my eyes.
She put her hands behind my shoulders as if she were wind behind my back. And boy, did I need the wind behind my back. “Oh, and you’re still going to the concert tonight, the one I told you about last night at dinner.”
“What? No, that’s impossible. I—”
“No buts, Norah. It’s not healthy for you to be locked up working all week. Trust me, you need inspiration. And the boys in the band are cute!”
Before I could respond, she continued, “And you’re going horseback riding with me Thursday morning.”
“Horseback riding? What?” I asked incredulously. “Are you even serious?” I turned around and faced her.
“Yes. I already paid. No buts. I was trying to help you try new things. I don’t think you’ve
ever been horseback riding.” Her nose scrunched as she thought about it.
I stood, feeling overwhelmed. “I just want this week to be over,” I groaned.
“I understand that you have work to do, but you have to take breaks. You’ll thank me later. Trust me.” She winked and walked with me back to the house, where we started the coffeemaker and, as promised, she was my right-hand lady. Instead of a sous chef in the kitchen, she was my sous cutter. But she remained my sous cutter for, um, one minute. I nearly had a breakdown when she almost cut the most important detailing of an overlay. After that, she graduated to inspirational life coach and comic relief.
“I can cut! I went to kindergarten you know,” she said.
“Yes, well, clearly you never made it past kindergarten cutting. Now practice the social skills you learned and keep me entertained. Sorry, I just have to micromanage this.”
“Okay, well, I’m micromanaging you tonight,” she informed me.
Every time I was tempted to freak out and say, “I can’t,” she would instantaneously yell something I had never heard before, like a loud, obnoxious, “Nank!”
It sounded like a goose. Something all right.
“Nank?” I teased. “What is nank?”
“My attempt to keep you on a positive track whenever you get off track.” So, nank it was for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Seven
A few hours later, as promised, Chloe and I were at a concert in a warehouse filled with a few hundred other fans. She was right. The boys in the band were cute. There was one in particular, though, the lead singer, that kept eyeing Chloe.
“These guys are awesome!” I yelled over the loud music. “They’re like One Republic, but with that Muse flair.”
“Yeah!” She smiled, looked back at the band, and then back at me. She shrugged and yelled back over the music, “Whatever that means!”
I nodded to the dramatic bridge, watching everyone’s response to the emotional, yet strong melody, and I couldn’t help but see Chloe’s eyes go love struck.
