Chapter Thirty-Four
This Meltdown Lasts A While
We leave immediately after Laura drives me back to the hotel, and let me tell you she’s a champ, but she totally can’t drive a stick shift. The car ride is quiet with the exception of her jerking the fuck out of my brain. Eventually, I tell her to pull over and I drive. We pack our shit and leave within the hour. Laura knows me well enough to know to let me be quiet—to let me stew in my decisions. She’s currently reading and on her phone while I’m driving and listening to sad country songs. I sort of want to see if anyone is sending her cock pictures…
We finally get to the hotel in Albuquerque. I can’t tell you anything about it because it’s all a blur of me trying not to cry. It was the longest ride of all of our trips so far. Laura goes to her room. I take a sleeping pill.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It’s Impossible to Pout
While Shooping
I’m looking at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. I look old. I feel old. I know, I’m only twenty-eight, but sometimes I remember what I looked like just two years ago and I feel ancient. Don’t you remember twenty-eight? You aren’t really that young anymore and you’re trying to decide what you want to be and do as an adult, but you don’t really feel like an adult.
I wear clothes from stores that college kids shop in, but I also have suits. I drink coffee in the morning, but I’ve also had a couple of all nighters in the last year. I have ambition, but I’m also seeing the writing on the wall when it comes to real life. Most of the partners at my former firm are men. Women dwindle out after thirty because they have families and decide that’s more important or they have babies and don’t have the inclination to make their billable hours. Now, this isn’t every woman lawyer, it’s just what I’ve seen. There are women partners. Hell, the male partners are usually two-three wives in when they make partner.
I actually don’t remember why I’m thinking about all this when I hear a knock on my door. Padding over I look down at the same clothes I had on yesterday, I mean we’re just getting back in the car. When I open the door Laura is standing there with coffee.
“It’s your favorite.” She looks me up and down. “Oh Lord,” she mutters.
“What? Caffeine?” I ask as I step backwards, letting her into the room.
She nods. “You ready?” She clearly is asking me if I actually plan on wearing the same clothes I did yesterday.
“Yep,” I confirm as I grab my small bag. I don’t have makeup on, but I did shower. I feel like shit. I don’t know if it’s the two months of traveling with no home or the lack of my heart beating.
“Well, let’s get on the road. I have scheduled massages tonight and a full day of all sorts of wraps and facials tomorrow.”
I follow her out to the car, precariously holding my coffee, bags, and trying to get my keys from my purse. I pop the trunk and we throw our bags in. Laura produces a brown paper bag with grease stains. I cock my head in question.
She simply walks to the passenger side and gets in.
I fall into my seat and crank the car. Laura plugs in her phone and the playlist starts up. I immediately smile. The beats flow through the speaker and I begin singing, losing myself in a happier place. “I can stand the rain,” I croon.
Laura then pulls out a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant and hands it to me. I’m still trying to sing while I eat the cheesy, salty goodness. Good music, bad for you food—this is all part of a sure cure for whatever ails you.
The next song comes on and my hips move on their own accord. “Salt-N-Pepa? You’ve pulled out the big guns.”
“You are incapable of pouting while you’re shooping.” She takes a bite of her own breakfast sandwich.
“That’s an accurate statement, maybe we should just listen to Shoop on repeat until we get to Phoenix.”
“I have more tricks up my sleeve.”
The next hour is full of 90’s hip hop awesomeness. I mean everything from Warren G to Tupac. I know every single word. I sing every single word. Well, maybe yell would be more accurate. I yell every single word.
Then there is a more delicate melody coming from the speakers. I look at Laura suspiciously.
“Miley Cyrus?” I pout. “You were doing so good.”
“Just wait for it,” she says, grinning.
“I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL!” We both yell at the same time. It feels good.
“I hate this song,” I say in between the chorus.
Then…“I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL.”
This continues for the entire song. I yell about being broken by someone I loved.
Now, if you look at the lyrics of this song it has nothing to do with me or Peter, but when you’re in the throes of mourning the end of a relationship every love song that ends in heartbreak applies to your situation. Turn on a country music station, and you will sing your heart out and cry.
My throat hurts from yelling, but I feel lighter. This is how you know this is your person. The friend who will always know what to do to help you, whatever funk you may be in...your person. People that are in this category are hard to come by.
“Feel better?” Laura changes the playlist to more current singer songwriter music that she loves.
“I do. How did you know that’d work?”
“You don’t remember the 90’s hip hop dance parties we had in my house several times a day after Peter left?”
I shake my head. “I think I blocked out those three months.”
“Well, I know that was the only time you smiled when you lived with me.”
“Do you know what I told him?”
“What?”
“That he ruined my entire career. I would never have left New York if he hadn’t left.”
Silence.
“I didn’t even know I blamed him for that Lo.”
“Well, it makes sense, you know.”
“No, I made my own decisions. I didn’t have to leave.”
“But, I guess somewhere down deep you feel like he forced you to change everything so you could get over him.”
“Well, that didn’t really work, did it?” I ask rhetorically.
“Now what?”
“Now we spa, then party. Once we get to California we’ll try to figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“You know I’ll help, but that one’s on you. I need to get my own shit together. It’s been fun, but pretty soon I’ll have to get back to the real world.”
“The real world sucks donkey balls.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pampered Drunk
I’m currently lying on my back, naked and in utter bliss. Okay, I’m actually covered by a sheet and the esthetician is rubbing a mask on my tired face. I haven’t felt so serene in...maybe ever. There’s something so therapeutic about not being able to do anything because you are paying to be pampered. My mind relaxes and goes absolutely blank.
Rub.
Rub.
Bliss.
Sleep.
“Ms. Walker? I’m finished,” I hear whispered in my ear over the quiet spa music.
“Oh, I fell asleep,” I apologize.
“That’s how I know I’ve done a good job. You were that relaxed.”
She helps me sit up, pulling the sheet up with me to cover my body, and then shows me my freshly waxed eyebrows and lip. Shut up, I don’t have a mustache or maybe I do...whatever. My face is glowing. I smile at her. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. I see that you’re going for a massage with Trina. I’ll get you some water while you put your robe on, and I’ll take you for your next service.”
I nod. This is what I should’ve done the first time Peter and I ended. Maybe things would be so different. I guess it really doesn’t matter now.
There’s a knock and the door opens. A huge man who is entirely too attractive to be a masseuse sticks his head in. Instead of a glass of water he gives me a flute of champagne. Well, I could get used to this.r />
“Hi, Greta got pulled away. I’ll show you to your next treatment.”
I just nod and follow him. He’s wearing what looks like black scrubs. I bet he gets tons of ass. There is something so sensual about a massage. I know I’m always ready to go after getting rubbed for an hour. He stops at a door and motions me into the room.
“I’m assuming you know the drill. Take your robe off, and Trina will be in for your massage. I know you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, okay, thanks.”
I down my champagne, it’s dry, which I like. Then I disrobe and get under the sheet, ready for my next hour of indulgence.
I may hire a masseuse to be on my full-time payroll now that I won the lottery. I mean I could have a massage every day of my life. I’m pretty sure I’d be a happier person. Maybe I’ll hire that guy who just dropped me off. I wonder if he’ll move to California? I’m sort of hungry. Today is awesome.
I feel supple and glowy as I walk down to the restaurant where I’m meeting Laura for dinner. She already has a whiskey and ginger ale ready for me when I get there.
“How was your day?” I ask as I sit down. I sip the cool drink. I don’t even taste the whiskey if that helps you know how much I’ve had to drink today.
“It was great. Every single spot on my body has been properly rubbed.”
I chuckle even though my heart’s not in it. “My services were great. I’m tired.” I am tired. I’m tired of hotels, driving and being emotional. I’m typically not emotional, I don’t allow myself to be. I’m reminded why now, it’s fucking exhausting.
“Well, that’s the plan for the next few days, to rest up for Vegas.”
My phone jumps on the table and it’s Peter again. “I don’t know why he keeps calling me.”
“Because he loves you,” Laura says softly then takes a sip of her drink.
“First of all, I think we’ve said everything to each other we need to say. I mean it hurts my heart just to see it’s him calling.”
“I’m not sure he knows he hurt you that much.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re always so hard Megan.”
I stare at her.
“He’s never seen you cry. He doesn’t know he hurt you.”
“Of course he does,” I rebut. “I told him he was the reason I left New York.”
“Two days ago? I don’t think it’s really sunk in.” She shakes her head and examines her drink, like she can’t look me in the eyes. “I know. I saw it, but he never did. You never let him. He thinks you moved on fine. You let him leave without a fight. You hid in my apartment and refused his calls. He just thought you were pissed.”
“I was pissed.”
“But you were also sad. You were so sad for months. And then you fell into that douche bag’s bed, who in turn moved in with you, and it’s like I didn’t even know you anymore.”
I blink.
“You should’ve seen your eyes when you saw him. They lit up for a second like a kid at Christmas, and then your eyes broke all over again. Denver was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I feel like it’s my fault for planning to go there. I knew that’s where Peter lived.”
“Um, Denver is a very big place Lo. There was no reason for you to think we’d run into him.”
“Still.”
“It’s not your fault I feel like I’m losing him again. I’m right back there, when he came in and told me he took the job in Denver without even speaking to me about it. Back to when everything changed. It was like everything I thought was true about love and relationships was false. Like I’d made it all up. Like I was living in a fairytale and it was all in my mind.” I take a drink. “I don’t know what he wants from me.”
“I think he just wants you.”
“We can’t go back. It won’t be the same.”
“Maybe you don’t go back, you go somewhere else, but it’s just as good. Maybe even better.”
“He broke my fucking heart,” my voice breaks with emotion and I’m pissed. “I did cry. A lot. I cried in the shower every day for six months, even when I was with Chad.”
Her eyes widen.
“You know I don’t do public emotion.”
She nods.
“I cry.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
Here’s the thing. She’s right. Sometimes people need to know you’re hurting. If you act like nothing bothers you people are going to believe you. I’m drunk. So I let go of what I’ve been carrying, and I let tears roll down my super glowy face.
After dinner I go to my room, sink into the bed and close my eyes, but sleep escapes me. All I keep seeing are his eyes and hearing him tell me he loves me. Isn’t that what we really want? Someone who loves us and treats us the way we should be treated? The hard thing about that is when you have that, you go all in and it’s the wrong person. The person you’ve counted on more than anyone in your life bails on you, and you’re left feeling empty and depleted.
There’s no moving past that. There’s no forgetting that. It changes how you deal with all relationships. You look at people on paper (Chad) and settle into being satisfied with certain things you feel like are necessary—regular sex and companionship. There is no great love there, only low expectations because you know you won’t feel that way about anyone again, so why even try.
My phone buzzes on the bed next to me. I smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey, so I love your bathroom, but I’m gonna need to get another showerhead.”
“Okay.”
“Also, I threw away all the boy shit in the office.”
“Okay.”
“You left some Coach shoes I threw out too.”
“Okay.” I sigh.
“Bitch, what’s wrong with you?”
“I got my heart stomped on.”
“You have a heart?” Justin’s laugh explodes through the phone, and I chuckle as well.
“Not one shred left now.”
“Well I didn’t realize you had a heart at all. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to take some of your gazillion dollars and buy a new fucking attitude.”
“Can you buy those?” My grin is threatening to crack my face in two.
“Oh honey, you know I could buy you three for the amount of money you’re paying me.”
“True story.”
“Baby girl, who are you upset about? Where were you...Denver...oh...Peter?”
“We ran into him at lunch. Can you believe that shit?”
Silence.
“Oh, and when I thought I was over him, I wasn’t.”
“You are so over him.”
“What do you mean? You weren’t there. I fell right into him again.”
“Baby girl, if you weren’t over him you’d still be there and you’re not, are you?”
“No.”
“You know that’s not what you need right now. You know that was years ago. Megan, it’s hard not to idealize the one that got away. I know. I had Bennett, but I know I’ll never have him again because we’re too different now. He made me not trust anyone. I wouldn’t be able to trust him again, and you can’t have a relationship like that.”
I sigh. It’s hard to hear the truth, like once it’s put out there it’s more true than if it’s just in your head.
“Megan. Focus on you. You can do anything, be anything you want. You certainly don’t want someone who didn’t value you in his life. You hear me.”
“I hear you.”
“Love you asshole.”
“Love you more, asshole.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leggings aren’t Pants
The rest of the six days at the spa go about as you’d expect. There’s drinking, pampering, and sunning. It’s hotter than a mother fucker here, so I spent most of the time in the pool or putting sunscreen on.
I’m currently waiting for Laura in the lobby. The valet is pulling my car around, and I’v
e already checked us out. She saunters in the lobby in patterned leggings and a short tank top with a huge heart on the front, a big shit-eating grin on her face.
“What up?”
“Um…” I take in her outfit again. It’s complete with black flip flops. “You know leggings aren’t pants, right? Again, I’ve told you this is my position.”
“Yes they are pants, and they are the perfect thing to wear on a long road trip.”
“No, they aren’t. Turn around.”
“No,” she rebuts.
“Turn around,” I demand and spin her by her shoulder. I hit her bag off her shoulder and it falls to the floor.
“Whore,” she mutters and bends down to pick it up.
“See, there.” I point at her ass with my phone and take a picture.
“What?” Her voice is filled with annoyance at my antics as she stands back up.
“Your really cute leggings that should be worn under a tunic or long shirt are completely see through when you bend over.” I show her the screen of my phone.
She gasps. “They are not.” Her hand goes to her ass, like she can cover it.
“All I saw was ass crack, see,” I confirm again and shove my phone in her face. “What are you going to do, hold your hand over your crack when you bend over?”
“You did not.” She’s refusing to look at my phone.
“I did. You’re wearing your black thong that was clearly seen through your cute pattern.”
She’s silently stewing because she knows I’m right. The photographic evidence doesn’t lie.
“I know you’re a size negative whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can wear thin fabric over your ass. Don’t get me started on the potential camel toe.”
“I don’t have a camel toe,” she spits through clenched teeth.
“Not right now, but I bet after sitting in a car for five hours with that fabric settling into your...” I motion toward her crotch “…crevices if you will.”
“These are cute and leggings are fine. Fuck you very much.”
“Yeah, sure. They’re fine if you want everyone to see your ass crack when you bend over. I guess these will work just fine in Vegas.”
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