I started up my car engine, crumpled up my empty paper lunch sack, and turned up the car radio. Some NPR repartee sounded. “Please call me back,” I whispered to myself. “Please let me put this behind me and move on.” I sent Sophie a text message letting her know I was still not any further in our grand plan to drop the bomb on Brandon. Her fast response made me smile, and kept me smiling the whole drive back to the office: Fuck him. Oh, wait…bad advice. ;) Gotta keep our sense of humor, right? XOXO
One week after my initial call to Brandon, I hadn’t heard back from him, and the day after I gave him a second voicemail, I still hadn’t heard back. I didn’t know Brandon that well, but I knew him well enough to know that he was practically married to his career as an IT consultant with some big firm in Downtown. He always had his cell phone on him and was ready to take any incoming call, work-related or otherwise. He had gotten each and every one of my calls and voicemails. He was choosing to ignore me.
After a repeat performance during lunch break just twenty-four hours later—same park, same sack lunch, same voicemail that would never be answered—I thought back to how I had landed myself in this whole mess. How foolish I was, on so many levels and for so many reasons. Why, oh why, can a girl so easily make stupid-ass mistakes in life?
It was a spring evening in March, the night of one of my colleague’s parties—some random celebration he’d hosted after landing a big account or something. It didn’t matter. I was there with my girls, and Sophie had brought along Brandon. It was a huge party with all the usual party trimmings: alcohol, music, and either dull conversation about work, or a small dance “contest” going on in the living room. As the party became too slow-moving, and the liquor was being consumed at much too fast a pace, Sophie and the girls headed out to continue the party at a bar or club, while I stayed behind. I vaguely remember, under the hazy stupor of five-too-many cocktails, that I felt I should stay behind to show party support for my colleague. Apparently, Brandon felt I needed a chaperone.
Before I knew it, Brandon and I were sharing a cab home. I remember droning on about how I was no longer with Joseph, my previous boyfriend with whom I had the longest running relationship of my life—fourteen months I think it was. Ta-frickin’-da. Brandon started to talk about problems at home with Sophie and how he wasn’t feeling the connection anymore or something like that. It was all very hazy, but before I knew it the cab had stopped at Brandon’s place, and only at Brandon’s place.
I’d like to say we sat around in his living room for a while, talking about failed and failing relationships before we jumped into bed (not that that makes the situation any better). However, I think we started kissing in the cab and took it right into his bedroom from there. His bedroom. The bedroom he shared with my best friend, Sophie.
A few hours later I came to, and in a hell of a hung-over state I realized the grand calamity I had created.
Breaking my trek down memory lane, I rested my hands on my stomach and smiled. At least there were still some good things that could come from such a mess. I did have Sophie back. And all of my good friends were back on speaking terms. (God knows the kind of rift I created was unpleasant for everyone involved.) And, I had my baby. My little baby who I was going to see for the first time in only a couple of days.
As I’d done the day before after I called Brandon during my lunch break, I sent Sophie a brief text message, telling her that I’d taken another stab at contacting Brandon and was crossing my fingers. If he didn’t reach me during any point before the end of the day, I’d be calling him back. Again. And again. And again.
Come half past seven that evening, as I expected, Brandon still hadn’t returned my calls. No text message. Nothing. I’d already completed my Godfather-inspired sketch, and had started on a new one of a misguided seagull flying over vast expanses of a Grand Canyon-like landscape. My creative muse seemed to have returned, and I was already thinking of some watercolor ideas that I planned on testing out later that week. But I couldn’t shirk the frustrating fact that Brandon was ignoring my calls.
I picked up my cell phone and speed-dialed Lara.
“Hey, Robin,” she answered.
“Can I come over?” I asked bluntly. “Brandon’s not calling me back. I’m feeling a little lonely. And I don’t know… Can I come over?”
“Like a sleepover?”
“Yeah, like a sleepover,” I said energetically. “And let’s go all out, sleepover-style. What do you say to some TV, maybe some pedicures, some girl time?”
“I say we’re long past due for one-on-one girl time together. Definitely! Pack your stuff up for the night and come on over. I’ll make sure your bed’s ready.” Lara’s second bedroom was convenient for a sleepover—a great solution to those long and lonely sleepless nights.
As fast as a flash I packed up my overnight bag and headed to the adjacent neighborhood of Wallingford, to Lara’s quaint two-bed and two-bath apartment she’d rented since she graduated grad school three years ago. As I made my way up her small brick walkway, I noticed the smell of the freshly cut grass, and how it tickled my nose and made me feel warm and happy. Summer was around the corner, and with it always came picnics in the park, pool parties at someone’s apartment pool, and, of course, weekend getaways to one of the nearby island towns for some sun, sand, and surf. Being pregnant might change all of that, though.
“We seriously should have done this a lot sooner,” Lara said, shaking a bottle of Paint the Town Red nail polish. “Especially now that you’ve got the baby on the way. You need supervision.”
I laughed, painting my toes a light shade called Tickle Me Pink. “I don’t need supervision. I’m just lonely.”
“Well, whatever you want to call it, you shouldn’t be alone so much. Look, whenever you feel you need some girl time or some socializing, or don’t want to be home alone, then give me a ring. You know you always can.”
I usually did take Lara up on her open-door offers, but since the craziness of the past couple of weeks began, I’d tried to become more resourceful and independent—tried to keep from unloading my problems on everyone else’s doorstep. God knows I had a lot of them, and the offer to unload was tempting; and I felt I’d already done plenty of that when I had confided in Lara initially about my betraying Sophie. Lara’s doors and arms were a twenty-four-hour convenience store during that period. Poor thing.
“You’re always welcome here,” Lara continued. “I was there for you before, and I’m here now. Don’t forget about me. Little old date-less, man-less me.”
“Hey, you’re not alone. We can be date-less and man-less together,” I said. I took a sip of the warm tea with honey that Lara prepared. “Any news on that front, speaking of which?”
“What, me? Dating?” Lara laughed. “Nothing serious.”
“Oh, so there is someone then? Looks like we aren’t date-less together, eh?”
“No, we’re definitely date-less together.” She took a sip of her tea before continuing with what I was sure would be some juicy gossip. “But there is this guy.”
“Oh-oh-oh. ‘This guy.’”
“It’s not like that.”
“From work?” I pried.
She nodded and blew at a loose strand of her short, dark hair, which was slowly falling out of its ponytail.
“And?”
“And…it’s only harmless flirting right now—I think.” She looked confused, but continued. “Anyway, it’s just some guy at work who is unusually nice to me now…and he’s attractive and…well, I’ve been doing a little flirting with him. Shameless stuff, you know? But I’m not sure if he’s really flirting with me or if that’s just how he is. Although, he’s never been that way before…” She looked at me, as if for answers.
“I think I know what you mean,” I said. “There’s a guy at my office, too.”
She pointed her finger at me and bellowed. “Who’s calling the kettle black now?”
“I’m not saying that there is flirting going on,” I
said, trying to correct her. “But I think I know what you mean by him treating you especially nice all of a sudden…or something. Right?”
“Exactly. Like, we’ve been civil with each other in the past. Nothing unusual. But lately he seems to be upping the charm. And I’m doing the same, too.” She finished painting her last toe. “I don’t know. We talk almost every day in the break room. He even asked me to join him for lunch one day—with him only—but I turned him down because I had a report I had to finish.” Lara could read my doubting face. “And that was the truth, Robin.”
“Had you not had the report, would you have gone to lunch with him?”
She thought for a brief moment before answering with, “Probably.”
“So there’s attraction on your end?”
“Hell yes!” Her response was quicker than anticipated.
“Whoa,” I said. “So you’ve got it bad for this guy. What’s his name?”
“Paul.” Lara’s blue eyes, no joke, started to look a little dreamy.
“Do you think you and this Paul will go out soon?”
“Go out?” she asked, surprised. “Oh, heavens no! Oh no. No!”
I asked her why the proposition seemed so appalling, and all she could say was that she was sure he didn’t feel anything like that about her, even if there may or may not have been some flirting going on. She said she needed to be sensible and come to terms with the fact that she was destined to be, like me, unlucky in love. I found the whole thing rather confusing.
“You know me, Robin. Always Mr. Wrong, never Mr. Right. That’s the story of my life.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, taking the lead to share my own office romance, or crush, or whatever was going on (if anything at all). “This guy at my office, Bobby, I think I’m making myself crush on him just because he’s offering me coffee and making sure he says ‘hi’ to me every morning. As always, I’m blowing it out of proportion I’m sure. Thinking he’s actually interested in me…” I chuckled. “Oh well. He’s got a girlfriend anyway. And it seems pretty serious.”
Lara shook her head, then changed the subject. “What do you say to some 90210? Think that’s coming on soon. Or would you rather I pop in an old Sex and the City episode? Or we could watch Pretty Woman. Oldie but goodie.” She pulled her hair back into a neat and small ponytail.
“We need the inspiration; unlucky in love over here. Put in Pretty Woman.”
There we sat that night, cuddled together under a big blanket on the sofa, watching Julia Roberts work the screen. Our nails freshly painted, the Brandon dilemma left for another day, and my ultrasound appointment on the horizon. Lara and I may have been unlucky in love—on the constant, unsuccessful hunt for Mr. Right—but we were unlucky in love together. We were both concocting imaginative love affairs with our office boys, and we were all right with that, I suppose. At least we had each other…and Julia to give us some encouragement. Love can be found in the strangest of places, so perhaps there was hope for us after all.
Chapter Five
“Comfortable bed?” Lara asked the next morning, while she poured some milk into her dry cereal topped with freshly cut peaches.
“Heavenly,” I said, taking one last look at myself in the hallway mirror before I headed out for work. “Thank you so much.”
“Any time, girl.”
I started towards the front door and Lara called out, “Aren’t you going to eat some breakfast? You’ve got to make sure you’re eating right. You’re eating for—”
“I know. I’m eating for two now.” I gave her a smile and headed out the door. “I’m going to grab a muffin at a café. I’ll call you later. And thank you again, Lara. I really enjoyed last night.”
She waved goodbye, her cereal spoon in hand. “Later, girl!” she mumbled through a mouthful of cereal.
Before I pulled out of the apartment parking lot I stole a glance at my cell phone, hoping that Brandon had called or texted. Nothing.
That’s it. Enough is enough.
Before I drove off, I rushed out a text to Brandon and typed, Robin here. PLEASE call me!!! Maybe that would get his butt into gear. And if it didn’t, I’d call again. Today during lunch. Same story, hopefully a different outcome.
The drive from Lara’s apartment to my office was a breeze. Most certainly an improvement in time efficiency and mileage compared to when I drove my usual route from my apartment in the U District. The girls had been pestering me for years to move closer to them and out of the U District where we’d all gone to college. Since graduation they’d all moved into various areas of Seattle—Fremont, Queen Anne, Madison Park, and even wealthy men’s upper class penthouses in Downtown and Waterfront, but that was usually Jackie’s terrain as she was often on the move depending on Cupid’s arrow. I, however, chose to stay in the familiar apartment at Pacific Green Hills near campus. It was still relatively close to work, but seeing how brisk a dash I’d made from Lara’s apartment I started to second-guess my living arrangements.
Once the baby came I’d have to seriously consider a new living arrangement anyhow. A small one-bedroom and one-bathroom apartment in a rather loud part of town, college students all over the place, probably wasn’t the ideal setup for a woman with a baby. I decided against even thinking about a move; the overwhelming stress of it was more than I needed on my plate at the moment.
“In early today,” a colleague said to me as I walked through the office’s front doors a good hour earlier than my usual time.
“Lots of work to do,” I said cheerfully, charging off to my office. My creative muse was back and doing well, I had a great night’s sleep under my belt, and I’d figured out last night while shaving my legs what special touch the mystery novel cover needed.
I was cruising like a rock star at work, getting many small to-dos off my list, returning a few phone calls, even sending off my first draft of the mystery novel cover to the editor. The title’s font needed to be changed from burgundy to eggplant, and some added depth and shadows across the moon in the background needed to be created, and shifted slightly more behind the novel’s bold and enticing title. The changes got my approval. Now it was up to the editor. I was hopeful that the adjustments (if there were to be any) would be minor and easy to fix.
“Want to join us for lunch?” Bobby asked, peering his head around the corner and through my office door as he’d been doing quite often lately.
“No,” came Janet’s curt response.
Bobby made a contorted face at me, then grinned. “How about you, Robin?” He clearly had not invited Janet, but he was too much of a gentleman to bring attention to the fact.
Unlucky in love. Mr. Wrong. Mr. Right.
My mind went back to the conversation Lara and I had the night before. Was Bobby, like Lara’s co-worker Paul, actually flirting with me? Or was he only bringing our acquaintanceship into a new realm—a very friends-only-ish realm? Or was it all my imagination? Or was I secretly pining away for Bobby? The entire scenario was so convoluted.
“I’m heading out to grab some Chinese with some of the gang from editing and reception. Want to come?”
Hmph. Not convoluted. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t and I’m misreading everything. Bobby’s just a nice co-worker.
I quickly thought about my lunch plans. I wanted to give Brandon another call, so I politely declined the invitation, but said, “Maybe next time.”
“What is that all about?” Janet asked once Bobby left.
“What’s what about?” Couldn’t she mind her own business?
“You and Bobby seem to be awful closey-close lately.”
I made an incredulous expression. “I don’t know what you’re ta—”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Robin.” She rolled her eyes. “‘Can I get you some coffee?’ ‘Here’s your print out.’ ‘Want to grab lunch?’”
“So what?”
“You don’t think it’s peculiar that he’s being ridiculously nice to you all of a sudden?”
; “I don’t follow.” Honestly, what was she getting at?
“Don’t be so blue-eyed. He’s only being saccharine-sweet to you so you’ll choose him to be a part of your team if you get the PM position next spring.”
What was she talking about? Why would Bobby feel the need to butter me up if I got the PM position? And why wouldn’t he try for the position himself?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Janet, but I think you’ve got your information twisted.”
She walked up to my desk. “Don’t play coy. You know very well he’s not trying for the position. He wouldn’t want to be the lead for some stupid, half-wit chick lit author’s cover anyway. He’d rather play up to you now, sit right under you, Miss Big PM, then snag up all the credit he could on the job. Use that to take the next best thing.” She paused. “That is if you get the position. And there’s no guarantee of that.”
How dare she! What nerve…
“Why wouldn’t he be ‘saccharine-sweet’ with you, too, then?” I countered. “If his plan is to cozy up to the potential PM, why wouldn’t he do the same to you? You’re obviously pursuing it.”
“He knows he can’t get away with simple-minded shit like that with me. I’m the real deal here, honey.”
I wanted to stand up and shout out, “Bitch!” But that’s not me. That’s what I dream of doing to pushy brats like Janet. I would never actually gather the nerve to stand up to her. I could lose my job if I did that. Well, maybe not lose my job, but you never know. I could probably kiss the PM position away, at least. And the raise. No, I’d let Janet think she was all that and then some and carry on my way.
Don’t let her get to you. Don’t let her get under your skin.
“Whatever, Janet. I’ve got work to do.” I turned my attention back to my computer screen, momentarily pretending to be busy with my emails, scrolling through my inbox.
When Girlfriends Step Up Page 6
