by C. J. Wells
“Wow,” Emily gushes. “That would be the woman to befriend.”
I turn to look at her, taking in her bitten lip. Really?
“Aby, she is the lady with connections to the hottest men in London, remember, the perks of her job here. All those models and celebrities,” she swoons, staring at Helena through the glass wall of Thomas’s office, suddenly turning back to me. “Oh yeah, right, you have yourself one of those hot celebrities...” she stops suddenly, her face twisting in regret. “Sorry. It’s not like you’re actually broken up,” she shrugs with an awkward grimace.
“It’s okay,” I shake it off with a forced smile. I just died a little.
“So you can’t just hang me out to dry. You’re the reason she is so friendly, she certainly never gave me the time of day before you came along. We’re having lunch with her, right?” It’s more an order than a question.
“Ummm…sure. I mean, we’ll see,” I attempt a smile, nipping the corner of my mouth. Her expression is killing me, and I quickly turn away, sorting through my files.
In my peripheral vision, I see Emily roll her eyes before looking back to her computer. Then I roll my own. God, could I get through a lunch with that woman? I mean, how exactly would that play out? In my mind, I imagine something like: Would you mind passing me the cream, Abigail? Oh, that reminds me, isn’t Alex the best creamer?
Gross and completely messed up, right? But it’s my prerogative to dislike someone who’s probably creamed my boyfriend more times than the cow’s been milked. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Guilt be damned.
“Goddammit!” I toss the files on my desk, quickly stuffing my finger in my mouth to still the bleeding and quell the instant pain.
“Paper cuts are a bitch,” Emily notes quietly.
More like karma, I grimace, swiveling my chair to face her, my digit still stuffed in my mouth.
“That’s what happens when you’re preoccupied,” she pulls out her sympathy card for another stamp.
I ignore it, and my guilty conscience for the Helena-karma. I’m a pathetic mess. Maybe coming into the office wasn’t the best idea. I hear wine calling. Wine and pajamas. Wine, pajamas, and a chick flick. I’ll need tissues.
“Speaking of seeming preoccupied, have you noticed anything weird with Thomas lately?” she continues, jarring me from my momentary loss of focus.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I struggle to keep up, still lost in thought.
“Thomas. Have you noticed he’s been acting weird? He seems off.”
Thankful for the change in topic, and somewhat intrigued by her question, my gaze instantly darts to his office. “Hmmm, I hadn’t noticed.” How could I notice? I’m selfishly absorbed in my own battered and broken heart, shattered dreams, and losing the man that I love more than life itself. Shit, I hope it has nothing to do with Stacey. “I haven’t spoken to him much,” I try to waylay my guilt for possibly being a super shitty friend. Double shit.
“Well, he’s definitely been acting prickly. Yesterday he was just staring through that glass wall for, like, twenty minutes straight. Arms crossed, expressionless, just staring at nothing. I get staring off into space now and again, but for twenty minutes? And, at least sit down to do it, if you’re so inclined to daydream. Standing up just seems silly. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately, as well. Even at the board meeting this week, he barely said a word. No playful banter. No jokes. Nothing. Something is definitely amiss.”
Humph. I’ll have to feel him out when he’s done with Handy-Helena.
Watching them through the glass wall, her hand brushing his arm as she leans over him at his desk, I can’t help but want to slap her touchy tentacles away. On second thought, maybe I’ll touch base with Stacey and feel her out first.
Grabbing my cell phone, I type a quick message.
Subject: Can’t wait to see you!
Everything on schedule for your visit? I came into the office today. Thomas seems a little stressed. Is everything…
What a joke, I delete the last two lines. Passive-aggressive won’t work with Stacey. If I’m concerned, I have to outright ask.
Subject: Can’t wait to see you!
Everything on schedule for your visit? I came into the office today. Thomas is acting more than a little ‘off’ – please tell me I haven’t been a shit friend, and that everything is okay with you two.
Aby xo
Hitting send, I turn back to my work, instantly relieved to get her quick reply.
Subject: Not as excited as I am!
Thomas and I are great! But he is a little stressed with work. He’s all mine tonight, baby! I’ll suck all his troubles away as soon as I land :) Gotta run, my flight is boarding.
Stace xo
Shaking my head on a smile, I attempt to blow off the visual I did not need, and toss my phone in my bag. They’re great. Good. I’ll have to remember to drink to that, right after I drink to my own broken heart. Yup, wine is calling.
POUR. IT’S MY word of the day - word of the week, actually. Pour myself into my work. Pour myself another glass of wine. Pour myself into the pursuit of distraction, while I watch the rain continue to pour down outside. What the hell else can I do? I need the diversion. I need to hide from the absolute pain that’s been permanently imprinted on my heart.
It’s been four days since I’ve seen, or even heard from…Alex - just the thought of his name triggers a sharp pang in my chest. Four days, six hours and thirty-two seconds since I last heard his voice…saw his face…felt his arms around me. I feel sick. I haven’t eaten. I’m barely sleeping. I haven’t even read. God knows I’ve tried. Food turns my stomach. Sleep brings a combination of beautiful dreams mixed with nightmares. And my beloved romance novels break my heart at the mere mention of any form of passion, love - each conjuring heart-wrenching thoughts of Alex and what I’ve lost. I miss him so much it physically hurts. The painfully excruciating days spent contemplating all the many scenarios of what he’s doing, who’s he’s with, are haunting me.
No calls. No texts. Nothing. Our ‘break’ seems more like a break-up. I’ve come to realize that. And I’m dying as a result. It’s been a hard pill to swallow to accept that it could be over. The salt in the wound being whom I may have lost him to - Julia.
I want to hate her. I want to despise everything she is and everything she’s taken from me, but I can’t. I never thought I’d say this, but I understand. It’s been a shocking revelation in recent days - the bittersweet taste of rationality amongst my irrational heartbreak.
I truly can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to be forced to give him up, to sit idly by while he dated others, knowing her love for him probably never waned. Sure, she chose to give him up; a conscious decision that she’ll have to live with for the rest of her life. But, understandably, that doesn’t lessen the hurt she’s likely felt all these years - the absolute torture of watching the man you love move on with his life, secretly hating you for betraying him. Oh, I understand exactly how Julia must have felt. The thing that scares me the most, though, is the part I can’t fathom an understanding of…What is Alex feeling?
The thought elicits another surge of bile, and I slide my hand to my throat, squeezing gently in hopes of pushing the vile sensation away. Abandoning the marketing campaign on my laptop, I push up from the kitchen island in desperate search of a much-needed alcohol refill.
“Aby? Are you here?”
“Yeah, I’m upstairs, Stace,” I call out, immediately opening the fridge to grab the makings of a salad - I don’t need another lecture from her about how I’m wasting away to nothing while I waft through my days like a zombie.
Discarding the lettuce, green peppers and tomatoes down on the island, I refill my wine, smiling slightly at Stacey’s exuberant run up the stairs - my smile effectively kicking my buzz back into gear with the pending distraction of my best friend’s quirkiness. God, I’ve missed her.
I chuckle as she rounds the stair rail with qu
ick works, slightly out of breath. She never runs, so this should be interesting. “Is this a wine run, or are you being chased by someone?” I ask, alluding to her out of character display of energy, as I start chopping the lettuce. “Hungry? I’m about to make a salad.”
“A salad? Ugh. In my state, that’s about as inviting as going to a whore for a hug. Unless that’s chocolate covered lettuce, I’ll pass.”
“Oh. Okay,” I reply, purposely attending to the cutting.
“Dammit, Abs! Don’t play coy with me. Clearly I’m distraught! And all you’re offering is rabbit food?”
Laughing, I lay my knife down and give her my full attention. This must be quite the pickle she’s dealing with given she hasn’t commented on the fact that I’m actually preparing a meal. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you distraught?” I ask with teasing sarcasm, though I’m completely intrigued as to what’s got her in such a huff.
Sighing, she flops herself dramatically on a stool at the island. “Thomas,” she says his name as though it will explain everything.
Clearly she wants me to pull the information from her. “Oookaay, what about Thomas? Is he still stressed?”
“No, he’s fine. The fucker is more than fine.”
Of course he is, Stacey sucked all his troubles away. And, now I’m stuck with that visual again. Great. “So, what’s wrong then?”
“Well, he’s gone and ruined everything, that’s what!” she pushes up from the island, pacing the kitchen and hallway. I watch, eyes wide, as she marches back towards me, only to turn for a repeat trudge around the tiny space. “Everything was perfect and he had to go and fuck it up!” she finally continues, flailing her arms. “Why he felt the need to change the rules of the game are beyond me!”
Her little tirade is clearly not detrimental - in a worrisome kind of way - so it’s kinda fun to watch, though I have absolutely no clue what she’s talking about. Obviously Thomas has pissed her off, but that’s nothing new. They have this cat and mouse romance that typically results in ridiculous and petty arguments. I actually think it’s adorable just how much he gets to her. No one ‘gets’ to Stacey. The fact that they’ve maintained a relationship this long - a long distance one at that - is shocking in and of itself. However, considering the off mood he’s been in, according to Emily, it’s not surprising that he’s twisted Stacey’s knickers into a knot.
“Stacey, calm down,” I grab her arm, steering her to sit back down. “I’ll pour you a glass of your favorite wine and you can tell me all about.” Turning back to the fridge, I note the sudden silence. Of course, the mention of wine was exactly what she needed, I giggle to myself.
“Thomas proposed.”
Her utterance is like a stun gun to the throat, and I knock the bottle of wine off another jar, the clinking glass reverberating in the silence.
“See, even you’re shocked.”
Shocked…Stunned…So many exasperated words come to mind. And I can feel the sting of all of them directly in my heart as my abandoned thoughts of Alex shoot right back to the forefront. How selfish is that? How selfish am I?
Well, if anything, this certainly explains Thomas’s strange behavior. And now I have to quickly adjust my own. “Wow,” I pull myself together, turning to face her with the mask of my inner actress. “That’s incredible, Stace! What did you say?”
“After I fell on the floor and shit my pants? Well, I eventually said yes. Can you believe that? I said yes! I’m getting married! I mean this is crazy shit…” she trails off, finally catching my expression - which, from the way she’s suddenly looking at me, suggests its recent contortion to her news. “Oh, God. Shit, Aby, I’m sorry.”
“What?” I pull my inner actress up off the floor, along with my bottom lip. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for? This is wonderful news!”
“Are you sure, Abs? Are you okay with this? I wasn’t going to say anything at all given what’s going on with you and Alex, but…well, I couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t be silly, Stace. I’m fine. Truly. I have to move on. The world doesn’t stop revolving just because…”
“Yours has?” she questions, interrupting me with an understanding grin.
Yes! - my inner dreamer screams, the anguish burning my wounds. My world does feel as though it came to complete stop the moment Alex walked out the door. But this is not the time to give in to self-pity. This is Stacey’s moment. And though the distraction is a double-edged sword, I have to stand up and fight the cutting reality. “Come here,” I put my arms out for a hug, pasting on a big smile. “I’m so excited for you!”
“Don’t be an unselfish whore,” she whispers, squeezing me before pulling back to look into my eyes. “I would so slap you into next week if you pulled this shit on me,” she winks with a laugh. “I love you, Abs, and you don’t deserve to have to deal with my crisis right now.”
“Stace, you are not in crisis. You’re getting married!” I smile sincerely, finally feeling the excitement I should for my best friend.
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No!” I laugh, giving her another hug. “We get to do wedding stuff! Go wedding dress shopping!” I add, selfishly looking forward to the distraction.
“Do you think I can pull off white?” she winks.
“Ummm, cream is nice,” I shrug playfully, pursing my lips.
“You’re a bitch,” she laughs, shoving me. “Good thing I love you. Besides, what whore can get married without her special bitch for the day? Will you be my Maid of Honor, Abs?” Stacey chokes out the latter, tears welling in her eyes.
“Oh, Stace,” I grab her again. “No one deserves a special day more than you. I wouldn’t be any other place than by your side.” I pull away to look into her eyes, “I love you.”
“I love you too, pickle. Now enough of the mushy shit.”
“Okaaay,” I laugh. “But, when’s the big day? We have lots of fun planning to do.”
“Ummm, well…Thomas is adamant that we have a quick wedding. I think he’s afraid I’ll change my mind,” she chuckles, seemingly trying to camouflage her reply.
“I can’t say I blame him, but how quick exactly?” I ask cautiously.
“Less than two weeks,” she flashes a cheesy nervous grin. “Well. More like ten days,” she cringes.
“What?” my high-pitched squeal sends her grimacing playfully, and I have to roll my eyes. Leave it to Stacey to add dramatic madness to an already enormous life event. “Okay, then. Well…I guess we have a lot to do in a little amount of time. Totally doable,” I smile, finally turning to pour her glass of wine and handing it to her. “Spicy Stacey has been tamed and has fallen in love. Cheers to that,” I hold up my glass, saluting the next ten days of bittersweet distraction.
“Cheers to the fucker that made me fall in love with him,” she adds as we take a drink.
“I always knew this would happen, you know. I could tell right from the start that Thomas was ‘the one’.”
“Was Alex the one?”
Stacey’s continued stare and knowing gaze has me summoning every ounce of confidence I can muster, my strong shield avidly in place. “Ah, hello…this is still your time. Now sit your butt down, I want to hear every detail about the proposal.
“OH MY GOD, Stacey! It’s perfect. You’re perfect! You look so beautiful,” I beam through a well of tears.
“I feel beautiful!” she gushes, spinning around to take in her reflection. “Is it too much, though? I mean I get that Thomas wanted a traditional dress, I really do. But,” she turns her head to look back at me conspiratorially, “…the sexy short one you and I chose will be making an appearance at the reception,” she winks, looking back to the mirror. “I admit, I do love that he picked this out.”
“He has amazing taste, and he certainly knows what suits your figure.”
“Oh, he knows my body very well,” she giggles. “And these puppies,” she cups her voluptuous breasts, “…are framed perfectly for their daddy.”
> “I hate you and your big boobs,” I tease with a laugh, stepping behind her to place the sparkling choker around her neck. “You know I’m going to be a bumbling fool at the wedding, right? I’ll bawl through the entire thing.”
“You and me both, sister. I’m just not sure it will be because I’m completely, utterly in love with Thomas - which I am, of course - or because his dick will be the last I’ll ever suck,” she mutters dramatically on a laugh. “Oh, and don’t hate on the Humpty Dumplings - my boobs are my thing. Everybody has one. Or, in your case two, bitch - that hair of yours, for one. And don’t get me started on your ass, which looks amazing in your dress. Alex won’t know what hit…” she gasps, clasping her mouth, her eyes frozen on mine in our reflection. “Shit, Aby,” she turns to face me. “Damn it,” she unclasps the choker around her neck. “All this mushy shit, my brain is completely warped into lovey-dovey mode, and it just came out. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Stace,” I take the necklace from her, moving to return it to its casing, grateful for the hidden breath of composure I sneak. “I’m doing fine.”
“Fine?” she slurs the word to remind me that, to women, ‘fine’ means anything but.
“Really,” I roll my eyes, “I’m doing great.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now stop. This is supposed to be about you, remember?”
“Honey, it’s always about me,” she winks. “Besides, I think we can make your ‘great’ into greater…Let’s get out of here and hit that salon down the street for a mani/pedi. I heard they even serve cocktails.”
“Sounds great. Wait…how do you drink them while you’re getting your nails done?”
“Humph. Good question. You can ask for a straw, my little sugarplum, I’ll order a tall dark and handsome drink holder.”
