The Girlfriend (The Boss)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Knowing what I know about you, I guess I can see why she felt threatened. I mean, she wasn’t into everything you were into. Maybe she was worried she wasn’t fulfilling all of your needs?” I shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t like the idea of you looking at past conquests, either. I would always wonder if you were sorry you weren’t still with those partners.”

  “Which is why I deleted them when Elizabeth asked.” His expression brightened. “But when I’m healthy again, perhaps we can rebuild my vast archive together.”

  “Vast?” I raised an eyebrow.

  He laughed. “I’m vain. I won’t apologize for it. I’m pretty fantastic and I look good on camera. I may have missed my true calling in life.”

  “You know...” I hesitated to even bring it up, but I couldn’t let it slip past his notice. “You just said, ‘when’ you get healthy again. Not ‘if’.”

  “I’ve been working on that with Terry.” He looked down at his hands. “I think I’m going to lose this fingernail.”

  I wanted to say, “Gross,” but I settled on “Poor baby,” and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

  “I’m trying to stay positive. I think I’m doing a decent job of it, considering I’m falling quite literally to pieces.”

  I knelt on the floor in front of the chair and leaned my head on his knees. When I got a chance to be near him lately, I took it. Some days, he was so hot or clammy or just plain uncomfortable that I couldn’t even hug him. “But you haven’t lost your hair yet, that’s a bonus, right? Dr. Grant said you’d lose it in two weeks, and you’re about to go through the third round of this junk.”

  “I’ll almost certainly loose it during the high dose for the transplant.” He reached up to touch it. “I am not going to look good bald.”

  “You always look good to me.” But I had to admit to myself that I couldn’t exactly picture it in my head. I guess I would find out when it happened. “And you can trust me, because I’m a former assistant beauty editor for Porteras.”

  And that reminded me.

  “Um... do you have a second to talk business?”

  He hesistated. “What kind of business? You know I can’t employ you at Elwood and Stern, Valerie would have me ousted.”

  Ugh. Valerie. “That isn’t what I was asking. India Vaughn has a personal beauty Tumblr. And when I left Porteras, she told me she might help me in the future, if she could. I was wondering if you’d be okay with my submitting my videos to her - not to be connected to Porteras in any way.”

  I’d expected him to answer immediately in the affirmative. To be enthusiastic about the prospect, even. But it took him a moment to consider. “I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with that. India shouldn’t be helping someone who was fired from the company for the reason you were.”

  “The upside is, at least you know I’ve burned all my bridges in the industry, so I can’t harm your company.” I was surprised and a little hurt by Neil’s distrust. I couldn’t tell if it was me or India he felt dodgy about.

  He regarded me for a long moment. “As long as it is made clear that her extracurricular blogging is not connected to or endorsed by Porteras, I don’t see what the harm could be.”

  “Thanks!” I hopped back up. “I have to finish it before I can send it to her, though.”

  “So I should get out of your chair.” He got up, yawned, and stretched. “I think I might do a little work myself today. Catch up on emails and return some calls.”

  “Just don’t wear yourself out,” I warned. “You feel good now, but you just got up.”

  “I promise I will be careful.”

  After he left, I opened up my email and tapped out a quick message to India. Then, before I could second guess myself, I clicked send.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  March came in like a lion. A sea-lion. It was wet as hell and impossibly gray outside. I did what I could to battle off the funk of low-grade seasonal depression. After India had written back that she would love to post one of my videos, I’d made more— an eye look for spring, a tutorial on bb cream, advice on shaving legs and the bikini line without razor bumps— and I was pleased to see that at least someone was watching them. Most of them had view counts in the low thousands. I owed that to her.

  Having people actually watching the videos only made me more enthusiastic about producing them. I was working on a nail design video when Holli called me.

  I was shocked and delighted; Since her return to New York, communication between the two of us had been spotty at best. The time change and her busy schedule had really messed us up, and at the worst possible time. We emailed each other regularly, but it wasn’t the same.

  The third cycle of chemotherapy was harder on Neil than before. All he seemed to do was sleep and puke, sleep and puke. It was a nightmare for him. I hated to even think to myself about how lonely I was, because it felt too much like complaining while he was the one in pain. But I was lonely, and while Emma visited when she was in town, she had her own life and friends here. She didn’t want to babysit her father’s girlfriend, and I wouldn’t ask it of her. Holli’s call was like a lifeline.

  “Hey girl, what’s up?” I practically bubbled. I was so relieved to talk to someone we didn’t employ.

  “Sophie... I have amazing news!”

  I got up and closed the door, in case my voice floated into the stairwell and into the den, where Neil had fallen asleep on the couch. I didn’t want to disturb him; even though he was bone tired all the time, he had trouble getting restful sleep. “Oh my god, tell me!”

  “Okay. Deja and I—”

  My stomach plummeted.

  “—Are moving in together!”

  “That’s...” I had to act happy. Wait, no. I should have been happy. Why wasn’t I happy? Holli was my friend. I wanted good things for her, didn’t I? “That’s fantastic!”

  “I know! I mean, you know we still have the lease until September. But I can afford to pay it until then.” Her tone changed subtly, and I realized what she was telling me.

  “Oh. Oh!” I shook my head and forced a smiley face, even though she couldn’t see me. “Right. I guess yeah, we’ll have to take care of that, won’t we?”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to do that by September? I mean, is this enough notice?”

  How could I crush her enthusiasm? But I just didn’t know what would happen between then and now. Holli and Deja had their whole lives together ahead of them— or at least a reasonable expectation of having their whole lives together. By September, Neil would either be recovering from his transplant or not. That was a pretty big “or not” to have to consider.

  “It’s plenty of notice. It’s fine. If things change on my end, I’ll just snag another roommate and replace you totally,” I answered with easy sarcasm.

  “Cool. I’ll start photoshopping my face out of all of our pictures.” She laughed a little, then said, “Are you okay, Sophie?”

  “I am,” I lied. “It’s just hard to watch Neil go through all this stuff. He’s so ill all the time, and there’s nothing I can do to make him feel better.”

  “Well, I am here for you, if you need me. I know I’ve been busy, but you can call me any time, day or night. You wouldn’t be bothering me or anything. Don’t do all of this alone.”

  I knew she meant well, but there was no other way to do this. I had to do it alone, because no one else could be Neil’s girlfriend with me. No one could share the same feelings I was going through, just like I couldn’t begin to understand what Neil was going through.

  And somehow, the offer of help made me a little resentful.

  It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

  “Just don’t let me become that asshole who gets a girlfriend and stops talking to her friends, okay?” Holli continued. “I know I can be like that.”

  “I know I can, too.” Well, I didn’t know that; I’d never had a serious boyfriend. But considering the way I’d packed up and fled across the sea, I could make
an educated guess. “But it’s good that you and Deja are where you are, Holli. You and I couldn’t go on being each other’s platonic life partners forever. We’re just changing a little bit. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “This is really weird, isn’t it?” Holli giggled. “This time last year, I felt like, ‘I’m finally a grown up. I’ve finally got things figured out.’ And then Deja comes along and it’s like... whoa. I didn’t have as much figured out as I thought I did.”

  “I think it’s going to be like that for our entire lives.” At least, it seemed like it would be. I’d thought I had my life figured out so many times, and now I was stuck in a weird place of limbo I had never expected. Would there be more times like this? Just hanging out, waiting to see what would happen?

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so... happy. I know you’re going through stuff right now,” Holli apologized.

  “Nah. It’s nice to hear about life outside of the cancer bubble. You’re one of the few people I can talk to and say what I’m really feeling about all of this stuff.”

  “What about Neil?” Holli asked carefully. “Are things with you guys not...”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” I considered before I expanded on that. “I don’t feel like anything has changed between us. I mean, I know he loves me, and I love him, but it’s like every time I want to get close to him, nope. There’s the cancer. He’s either too tired to talk or too sick to be touched, and none of that is his fault. But even when he’s having an okay day, there’s a protective bubble around him.”

  “The cancer bubble?” Holli asked, using my earlier terminology.

  “Yeah. The cancer bubble. It’s almost like he’s not here. Like he’s on pause, and my life with him is on pause, and we’re just waiting to see if somebody is going to hit play again or just stop the thing entirely.” My voice quivered, and I wiped at my eyes. “You don’t want to hear all of this.”

  “Bullshit I don’t. You’re in pain, Sophie, I can hear it in your voice.” Her tone was sympathetic and helpless. “Have you thought about going to a support group?”

  “Can you really see me in a support group?” Holli knew me better than anyone. She knew I would never open up to a stranger, let alone a group of strangers all crying into their wadded up tissues.

  “Good point.” I heard Holli’s sigh over the line. “Too bad there isn’t a handbook or something.”

  “I’ve found a lot of information online, but it’s so nonspecific. ‘The effects of chemotherapy vary from patient to patient. Your loved ones may experience yadda yadda.’” The frustration in my voice was creeping into my neck muscles. I was going to have a whopper of a headache tonight. “I just want to see the way I’m feeling written down. ‘Yes, it is totally normal for Neil Elwood to be withdrawn and weird during chemotherapy, and he still loves Sophie Scaife and wants her around.’”

  “I’m sure he does.” Holli’s tone was so earnest, it was easy to believe her. “I really hate that you’re so far away right now. After we met up in Paris, I went by that cafe every day. I was kind of hoping I would see you there, even though I knew you were in London.” Her sad laugh broke my heart. “I know what you mean about isolation, Sophie. Trust me. I feel like I’m finally achieving something great, something I maybe didn’t want to let myself hope for. And in return, I’m never home, I’m always working, Deja is getting pissed at me for never being around... It’s different from what you’re going through, obviously. But I guess what I’m saying is, don’t feel alone. In your isolation. We’re together, side by side in our glass tubes.”

  “That’s not how isolation works,” I pointed out, and then we both laughed.

  “Fuck you, bitch, I’m trying to cheer you up!” Holli shrieked in mock outrage. “Seriously, though, I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you. Do something that will make you happy.”

  When we hung up, I tried to think about what would make me happy. Neil not having cancer. That would make me happy. Neil surviving this. That would make me happy. Neither of those things were guaranteed, and every day he just got sicker and sicker.

  I went to the door of the den and peeked in. He was still asleep, his chest rising and falling, his normally soft snoring like the roaring of a freight train.

  There was a linen closet on the third floor. I went to it and grabbed a woven cotton blanket. I took it to Neil in the den and carefully tucked it over him. His eyes didn’t open, but his hand caught mine. He mumbled something I couldn’t understand and squeezed my fingers, and I leaned down to kiss his forehead.

  When I left the room, I was hit with such a wave of sadness that I doubled over. My stomach hurt with held-back sobs, and I ran upstairs to the bedroom before I could let them loose. When I did, I had to muffle them with a pillow. I was crying so hard, I was making sounds I’d never heard myself make before. And I was super embarrassed, even though there was no one around to see me.

  I was happy for Holli. My sadness had nothing to do with— and took nothing away from— her happiness or the way I felt about her great news. But isolated in my little sadness bubble, it was so hard for me to see wonderful things happening for people around me. My career had stalled, and Holli’s had blossomed. I had moved to England, and she was back in New York. I was homesick and nervous and worried about Neil’s health. I didn’t know if we even had anything to look forward to. I didn’t know if I could move my stuff out in September, or if I would need to find a new roommate and a way to pay the bills. And there was nothing I could do to attempt to make it better. I had to wait.

  All I could imagine was a future in which my best friend didn’t have time for me, as I tried to make my shitty savings last just a little longer while I worked at a sub shop, and the love of my life was fucking dead. All of my positive thinking had been used up. I didn’t believe I’d ever smile or be happy again.

  I don’t know how long I laid there and cried, but at some point, I didn’t have energy nor tears left. I dozed off, and woke to find the room dark. The light was on in the bathroom, and the shower was running. It didn’t surprise me; Neil’s occasional bouts of insomnia led to weird stuff like late night showering. I was just glad that he was up and moving around. I got up and headed in to check on him.

  The master bathroom wasn’t quite as spectacular as the one in New York. It was done-up in dove gray, with black counters and brushed steel faucets. The shower was black tile with glass doors, and the bathtub was an ultra-modern white stone basin that fit two people comfortably. It was no match for my bathtub, which I missed terribly.

  “Neil?” I asked in lieu of knocking. I checked my face in the mirror over the vanity as I passed through. My eyes were still puffy and red. I splashed myself with some cold water, put on my most fake smiley face, and said, “Baby, are you okay in there?”

  “No.”

  I pulled the foggy door open. He was sitting in the gray plastic shower chair he hated using, his head in his hands. When he pushed his fingers through the wet strands, clumps fell away.

  “Oh no.” I didn’t care if Neil lost his hair; I was kind of surprised he hadn’t during the first round of chemo. Maybe because he’d made it through the first two, he was shocked by it now.

  “I’m sorry,” he sniffled. I hated it when he cried, because I felt so helpless. Now I knew why he would often tell me not to cry. Not because he didn’t want to deal with me and my stupid emotions, but because he didn’t like being helpless to do anything about them. “It’s silly of me to be upset about this, of all things—”

  “It’s not silly at all,” I stated firmly. “All the stuff I read online said that this hits people hard.”

  “I just thought...” he shook his head, then rubbed his palm over his scalp.

  My heart ached for him. “You thought you would be different.”

  He nodded miserably.

  “Do you want my help?” I asked.

  He’d been so withdrawn and solitary lately, that I was surprised when he said, “Yes. I don’t kno
w how you can help, but I just... I need you.”

  I didn’t know how I was going to help him, either, but I had to do something. It was the first chance I’d had in a long time to do anything that felt remotely useful. I pulled my shirt over my head and shimmied out of my jeans and underwear, then stepped into the shower with him.

  I felt along his hairline gently, amazed as the strands clung to my wet fingers and came loose without any pressure at all. “It was just ready to go, I think,” I said, trying to be cheerful about the whole thing. “Here.”

  I reached for the towel hanging on the bar, away from the spray. I wetted the corner and gently rubbed it over his scalp. “Is that painful?”

  “No,” he sniffed. “My head has been itchy all day, it’s actually a bit of a relief.”

  “Well, I can tell why it’s so itchy.” The hair rubbed away from his pale scalp as easily as if I were wiping up a mess on the kitchen counter. “Do you want me to shave the whole thing, if you’ve got patches?”

  “It might be best to wait for the doctor’s approval on that. Knowing how heads are, you might nick me and I’d bleed to death in seconds.” He laughed a little, and I was so glad to hear humor there. It didn’t matter that it was buried beneath layers of self-pity. All that mattered was that it was still there. He was still the man I loved.

  “Good point,” I giggled, and I leaned down to kiss his cheek. The inevitable divide was happening between us again, but it was less painful this time. I knew what to expect, and I was finding new ways to battle against it and cope with it. “Maybe he can give you some extra iron and vitamin K, and we can pierce your ear at the same time. I’ve always had the hots for Mr. Clean.”

  Most of his hair came right off; only a few patches remained.

  “I bet Josh can take care of those,” I said, trying to remain cheerful. I got out first, quickly toweled and dressed, then helped him. When he saw himself in the mirror, he stopped as still as if his own reflection had turned him to stone.