When Girlfriends Let Go

by Savannah Page

  “This is just so pathetic,” I seethe. I take a quick puff of my cigarette, then the bleating sound of the car’s horn from behind startles me. “Damn.” I throw my car into gear and accelerate forward. “This is just not going as planned, Lara.”

  She snickers. “It’s been one week. You can’t expect to earn enough to pay all your bills just like that.”

  “My lifestyle demands thousands a week, Lara.” I flick more ashes out the window’s crack. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to adjust.” I take a long, jagged drag.

  “Your lifestyle’s got to change then, babe. In fact, it already has. You’re living at Emily’s, you’re working…”

  “And you’re depressing me further.”

  “Look.” She sounds slightly nettled. “You off work now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am, too. Swing on by, I’ll give you some extra emergency cash, and then you can come meet Claire and me for drinks.”

  “Uh!” I turn down the blasting air conditioning and turn up the speakerphone volume. “You girls were planning on having drinks without me? So not cool!”

  “Jackie. I do do things with the other girls, too, you know?”

  “Yeah, well. Guess it’s not like I could afford the drinks anyway. Damn.” I place the cigarette in between my lips and check behind my left shoulder before I make my lane change.

  “I’ll be over in a flash. Give me a few. I can’t exactly gun it everywhere on fumes.” I exhale some smoke quickly and barely make the light. “I’d probably be better off on horseback.”

  “House 206,” Lara says. “See you soon.”

  ***

  “It’s the taxes,” Claire says succinctly, looking at my pathetic excuse of a paycheck. She wrinkles her nose and hands it back. Leaning further into the bar, she lifts her chocolatini to her mouth. “The upside is that since you make so little you’ll get tons of it back in your refund.” She takes a small pull of the chocolate drink, then smacks her lips. “When you do your taxes next year, that is.”

  “Me? Taxes?” I laugh loudly. “Do you hear yourself, Claire?”

  She shrugs. “Well everyone has to do their taxes.”

  “Andrew has a tax guy who manages that for us.”

  “When money’s tight, times are tough,” Claire says in a way that’s a cross between helpful and self-pitying.

  “Conner still dry on the job search?” I ask.

  Lara says, “How’s the search in Tacoma going?”

  “Tacoma?” I gasp. “So you guys are serious about looking elsewhere?”

  “Yes,” Claire says in an obvious tone. “It sucks, but we don’t exactly have a choice. There’s been a rumor floating around that Conner’s position is going to ‘expire,’” she makes air quotes, then lazily pulls on her cocktail, “and if the firm does that—totally gets rid of his title and position—then he can’t take legal action or contest or anything. It’s like…absolved or something like that. I don’t know all the correct legal jargon, but basically he’s screwed.”

  “If the rumors are true,” Lara says.

  “Shit.” I wag my head in disbelief. “So Tacoma, hah?”

  “Yeah.” Claire’s eyes are transfixed on her half-drunk cocktail. “Spokane, Portland, and LA, too.”

  “You’re going to go that far?” I start to feel a twinge beleaguered.

  Claire isn’t exactly my bosom buddy, but I still can’t picture her leaving Seattle and our group of girlfriends.

  Suddenly, a churning starts in the pit of my stomach. So much change, so much adjustment. I rub at the aching area, then take a long slog of my dry martini.

  “We’re doing what we have to,” Claire says. “For now I’m just trying to hold my head up high, work a ton of heinous hours, and deal. I mean,” she simpers, “what more can a girl do, right? You’ve got to play the hand you’re dealt.”

  “Psh,” I say into my nearly drained drink. “I say just leave the card table, or play a whole new hand.” I can see Lara make a disagreeing face. “Some people cheat, too,” I throw in for levity. “Cheat the cards you’re dealt.” I think about Nikki. Her stupid whore-red hair, that plastered smile, the likely fact that she’s screwing my husband, no matter what Worth says.

  “Please stop with this, Jack,” Lara says. “There’s no evidence, so stop.”

  “You’ve outright asked Andrew, haven’t you?” Claire says. “Asked him if he’s having an affair?”

  I tell her yes, and she says, wearing a flabbergasted look, “Then you’re in the clear! You think he’d lie to you about that?”

  Lara laughs oddly, like a devilish antagonist in a Hitchcock film right before he sends the final blow with the gun, the knife, the surprise attack. “All men are born liars,” she says sulkily. “I figure a third of those continue to be liars throughout their life, the other third actually learn how to tell the truth and become decent enough human beings, and the final third become even better liars.” She throws back a drink of her wine spritzer. “But that’s just the cynical view of a thirty-one-year-old woman who’s found anything but true love. Burned too many times.”

  “But Worth?” Claire says peppily, encouragingly. “Worth is one of the good one-thirds, right?” She pauses, then adds, “Not that I really agree with the whole math you’re doing. Women can be just as bad, just as deceitful as men.”

  Lara makes a ho-hum motion with her head. “True. I know I sound like a depressed and bitter woman.”

  “Just a tad,” I kid.

  “But I’m not. And I don’t have a reason to be one right now, really. Things with Worth are good.” She looks to each of us. “Really great, in fact.”

  “Buuut?” I pry.

  “But I’m just worried it won’t last.” She brings her glass to her lips and before taking a sip hesitates for a second. “Eventually what is ‘really great,’ like with Nathan, will turn into, well…” She holds out a flat, upright palm. “Not the greatest track record, you know?” She takes a big gulp.

  “You’ve got to push past that cynicism, girl,” Claire says. She crosses her dark-blue-jean-clad legs and turns on her barstool towards us. “If you’re in that state of mind that your relationship will fail, it might. All the magazines say that self-fulfilled prophecy plays a big role in early relationships.”

  “That’s true,” I say in a wise tone. “If you give off the bad relaysh vibes—the cynicism—then maybe you’ll get it back.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Lara says. “I don’t want to lose this good thing I’ve got going with Worth. I really like him, and I’m just—just—scared, that’s all.”

  Both Claire and I instantly bring a comforting hand to Lara’s back. “I’m sure it’ll work out,” Claire says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And if not, there will be someone else just as great, even better!”

  Lara smiles, a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. “You girls are sweet. I just really hope this one’s the real deal. I’m fighting my feelings that I really want it to work out, because it’s just amazing! Because…if it ends up failing it’ll be that much harder to get over, you know?”

  “You don’t have to tell me about it,” I say in a mock-jovial tone, returning to my martini. “I know all about trying to get over a love that you don’t really want to get over.”

  “Has Andrew…” Claire says cautiously, slowly. “Has he brought…” She pauses for a second. “Has he sent divorce papers?”

  It’s the question that’s often asked, the question I’m always dwelling on.

  I’m surprised myself that Andrew hasn’t served me the papers yet. I’ve seen all those chick flicks where the women are thrown off balance with an unexpected packet of divorce documents shoved in their hands, or where they’re thinking their on-the-rocks marriage is starting to look up, then Wham! They get that dreaded call from the law offices of Hedid, Cheatonyou, and Nowhewantsout.

  “Maybe he does want to give your marriage a chance,” Lara says.

  “Or he’s
just too busy having fun with Nikki.” I roll my eyes and wait for the girls to commiserate with me, but they don’t. I shrug and take a sip.

  “If we want to talk cynicism, Jack,” Lara says. “Let’s not talk me and Worth. Let’s talk you and Andrew with the Nikki thing. I told you I don’t think anything’s going on; Worth said nothing’s going on. And, in fact, there’s nothing you should be worrying about now anyway!” She makes a surprised face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Worth said Andrew just left for the Cayman Islands yesterday.”

  “Whoopitee doo-dah for him. Sun, sand, and surf. Don’t rub it in.”

  “He’s out of town on business, far away from Nikki.”

  “Not far enough.”

  “And!” Lara looks pleased with herself. “Nikki’s out of town, too.”

  “She isn’t!” The possibility is too much to bear. “Please don’t say—”

  “Calm down,” Lara soothes, abating the blindsiding tension that’s caused both mine and Claire’s faces to look completely gobsmacked and overcome with fear. “Nikki’s out of town on vacation.”

  “So she’s on vacation?” I say. “He’s out of town on business? That hardly proves anything.”

  “On the contrary! Don’t you think if they were having an affair Andrew would take this opportunity of a resort getaway to take his floozy with him?”

  Lara has a point. A really good point, in fact.

  “I…guess…” I say slowly.

  “Exactly.” Lara waves the bartender down and asks for a refill for all of us, on her. “Oh!” She digs through her handbag and hands me an envelope. “Before I forget. And please buy some groceries this time.”

  I stick the envelope of cash in my handbag and thank her.

  “Anyway, I don’t know of a better opportunity for a cheating husband to make a major move on his mistress,” Lara says. “I think Andrew’s being honest in telling you he’s not having an affair with her.”

  “Well…” I zip my handbag closed.

  “Oh, and here’s an even bigger sign for you.” Lara casually rests some well-manicured fingers on the top of her nearly empty glass. “Andrew’s in the Caymans, and Nikki’s on vaca in Hawaii. Hawaii of all places! Two über romantic places, and neither one of them are together, I me—”

  “Hawaii?” I say in a daze. My eyes are fixed dead ahead at nothing in particular—I can’t really see anything clearly.

  “Yeah,” Lara says cheerily.

  “Jeez, Hawaii would be so nice right now,” Claire says in a dreamy way. “Some day Conner and I are going to get our finances in order—he’ll get a job, and we can take a nice va—”

  I feel for my handbag, mouth agape and eyes still staring straight ahead. “I gotta go,” I stutter.

  The bartender appears with refilled drinks as I stand.

  “What? Now?” Claire asks in suspense. “But I never have free time to go out. And our drinks just arrived!”

  “Jackie, what’s wrong?” Lara tries to meet my gaze.

  “Andrew’s not being so honest after all,” I manage to get out.

  “What?” Lara furrows her brow.

  “He may or may not be honest with me about having an affair.” I blink a few times, snapping myself somewhat to, and look from Claire to Lara. “But he’s definitely not being honest about where he is.”

  “He’s not in the Caymans?” Claire looks befuddled.

  “You think Nikki’s in the Caymans?” Lara shakes her head in disbelief. “No way. Worth said Hawaii—”

  “No.” I pull my handbag closer to my body and take one step away from the bar. “I think Nikki’s in Hawaii. And I think Andrew’s there, too.”

  “Jackie, wait!” Lara calls out after me as I make a hurried flight for the exit. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home!” I say loudly. “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff.”

  “Jackie,” Claire whines, leaping from her barstool. Her arms are akimbo, her head cocked to one side. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m taking what’s rightfully mine, girls!” I fling the door open. “Besides, Andrew’s going to need the closet space so Bitch Nikki can move on in when they get back from their romantic getaway!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Wholly and implicitly beside myself, I withdraw the ring of keys from my handbag and bring a shaking hand to the front doorknob of what I used to call home. I can’t believe him! I can’t believe he’d actually do this!

  The instant Lara had said Hawaii the image of Andrew’s laptop that one night around Valentine’s came into view. His search for flights to Hawaii…

  Oh the nerve! How could he do this to me? To us?

  Sure, the possibility of him shacking up with Nikki has been ever-present in my mind. Sure, I’ve been obsessing about it, and unnaturally so, as Dr. Pierce is quick to remind. But when I’m faced with the actual proof—the evidence that he and Nikki have something going on!

  “Damn him,” I curse under my breath as my nervous fingers press the key to the lock.

  What the—

  I press the key harder against the lock, but only a fraction of it goes in.

  “What the hell?” I check to see if I have the right key. I do. I try again, but no further progress.

  “The asshole!” I look up at the door and take a step back. “He fucking changed the locks!”

  Just then a fury, an overwhelming rage I can’t contain, races through my body, burns my blood, and I lunge for the door. I slam my body against it as hard as I can, feeling myself bruise on impact. “You bastard!” I scream as I pound my fist against the thick door.

  In the midst of my screaming and pounding I feel the vibration of my cell phone in my handbag. My rage is interrupted by an incoming call from Lara.

  I pull out the phone, its ringer accidentally turned off yet again. “What?” I curtly answer. “Now is not a good time!”

  “Where are you and what is going on?” Lara demands. “You’re not that buzzed from one drink, are you? And you’re driving and—”

  “Not now, Lara.” I throw my handbag to the floor and give the door a good kick. “I’m at home.”

  “Already?”

  “Not Em’s home. My home. Well…Andrew’s home, more like it. The bastard!”

  “Calm down,” she soothes. “What are you doing there?”

  “I told you! I came to get my stuff and…” I begin to explain the whole mess.

  After a few more kicks to the door just for the hell of it and one more pound of my fist (which I’m now regretting as the tender flesh is turning a soft shade of plum), I wind up slinking down onto the floor, head resting against the wall.

  I tell Lara all about the Hawaii coincidence and how it just had to be the case: Andrew bought tickets to Hawaii—tickets for himself and Nikki. There was no Cayman Islands trip. And as for Worth detecting Andrew not being himself—it isn’t because of me. That’s a bunch of bullshit. Andrew and Nikki are having an affair, period. No ifs, ands, or buts.

  “Well,” Lara finally says after I’ve divulged everything, tears staining my cheeks, “if that’s the case, then maybe you should serve him the divorce papers.”

  “Yeah!” I scoff. “And where am I going to get the money for that, Lara? Huh?”

  “I could help.”

  “No.” I state adamantly. “Not at all.” The idea of my best friend footing the bill so I could get a divorce… It’s preposterous. It’s depressing. Besides, I honestly can’t even consider divorcing Andrew right now. It’s all too much to swallow. I may have toyed around with the idea of divorcing Andrew when I was lonely and miserable, but toying is a whole lot different than actually serving papers. There’s looking into something, then there’s the action, the investment.

  “I’m not ready,” I say in a low voice. “I’m not ready to talk about divorce, Lara.”

  “Not that I want to push for it or condone it,” Lara says. “I don’t
want that for you, hon. Divorce is a bitch.”

  “Tell me about it!” I hear Claire pipe in in the background.

  Claire’s been through the ringer with the big ‘D’ with her parents, and I sure as hell don’t need a reminder how damaging it can be.

  “But you don’t have children to consider,” Lara says, ever the pragmatist. “If you’re going to get divorced, doing it before you have children is better.”

  “Please, Lara,” I sigh, rubbing at my eyelids, which by now are runny with mascara. “Children will never be in the picture. Andrew doesn’t want them, I don’t want them. That’s besides the point.”

  “Look, I think any big decision made right now is a rash idea.”

  “Definitely,” I hear Claire say.

  “Claire and I are coming over to make sure you take care of yourself, okay?”

  “No,” I whine. I rub at my eyes some more, then at my cheeks, trying to clean off the mess of makeup. “I’m fine. I think I want to be alone right now.” I gather my stuff and stand. “Thanks, though.”

  “Jackie, I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” Lara sounds leery.

  “I’m fine! Really, I just want to be by myself.”

  “Jackie? Wanting to be alone?” Lara sighs. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Things change, Lara.” I chuckle emptily. “Please. Just let me figure this out for myself right now.”

  Reluctant, she eventually gives in and tells me to call her if I need anything at all, whether a shoulder to cry on or the number and deposit for a good attorney.

  “And if I don’t hear from you by noon tomorrow,” Lara says before we close, “then I’m sending someone over there to check on you.”

  “You too busy?” I begin the walk down the long, quiet twelfth-floor hallway. “Office work on a Saturday?”

  “Worth,” she says, and I swear I can sense her blushing. “If you want me over, though, then—”

  “No,” I say quickly, “you have your date.” I press the down arrow, calling up the elevator. “Something special planned?”

  “We’re actually going to the lake.” Her voice sounds modest, hesitant, even.