When Girlfriends Let Go

by Savannah Page

  “Good for you,” I force myself to say, but I can’t help but feel the tiniest bit envious. I’m happy for Lara, really I am. It’s good she finally has some action going on in the bedroom, but what about me? I’m married, for god’s sake! I can’t even get into my bedroom!

  The elevator pings loudly, the doors roll open, and I step inside, glum.

  “May make an overnight trip out of it,” Lara adds. I know she says it to be honest, to share her exciting news, to divulge fun tidbits of info that all girlfriends relish, but I can’t help but take it as an extra sting to the wound.

  “Well I’m going to go, Lara,” I say as the elevator doors close behind me. “I’ve got some thinking to do…an apartment to clean before the rats move in. Fun stuff like that. I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know I haven’t killed myself.”

  “Jackie.” Lara’s tone is thick with severity. “Claire and I can turn around right now and meet you.”

  “I’m fine,” I emphasize. “I’m just in my own sour mood. Being locked out and getting confirmation that your husband’s a cheating asshole all in one evening is a bit of a load to swallow.”

  “Understood.”

  I step out of the elevator and click across the marble-floor foyer on the lone pair of black high heels I still have—a new pair of Louboutins I got with Sophie in Paris. “Love-ya-mean-it,” I say lazily. “I’ve gotta run.”

  Then Lara and I hang up, and as I approach the swinging entrance doors of the luxurious townhouse complex—the place I used to call home and may never see again—the deskman waves and calls out with a grin, “Have a nice evening, Mrs. Kittredge.”

  The final sting to the open, burning wound.

  ***

  I deserve them.

  They’re gorgeous and were made for me.

  Last night, right after I left the townhouse in a state of rage and disbelief, I was on my way home, to Emily’s apartment, maneuvering my way through Downtown, when I passed by Nordstrom and had an instant craving. I’d glanced over at my opened handbag, the corner of Lara’s envelope of cash sticking out, and I had a very good, very naughty, very deserved idea.

  “Gorgeous,” I gasp, turning my feet to the left, the right, admiring the new aubergine- and lime-green-colored peep-toe Marc Jacobs heels. They’re the perfect summertime and summer-turning-to-fall shoes, and they look even more perfect with my fresh pedicure.

  In such a state of shock yesterday (and having a sudden wad of cash), I went all out on myself. I got my nails done, touched up my roots, got a trim, picked up these pretty shoes, and even had enough money left over to buy a bottle of Merlot, a cigar, various fashion and design magazines, and just about a full tank of gas. If Lara asked where all the money went—if I bought groceries—I’d tell her that wine and cigars are staples, they’re practically groceries. I mean, I have a job now and all. I can pay for whatever I see fit.

  I twist from side to side once again, smiling at the reflection in the bedroom mirror. I was born for these shoes.

  “Hello?” I can hear a far-off voice call out. “Hello? Jackie?”

  I make my way to the living room, heels clicking merrily along. I peek through the front window’s mini-blinds. “Robin?” I say in surprise.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I let her in. She’s got a brown paper sack in one hand, and Rose’s hand in the other, the little girl looking up at me with a big smile and two blonde pigtails tied off with tiny pink scrunchies.

  “Good!” Robin exasperates. “You’re alive!”

  “You’re awive!” Rose says, clapping.

  I follow Robin into the kitchen. “Of course I’m alive,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Robin yanks open the refrigerator and gives me a petulant look.

  “What?” I ask defensively.

  “Do the words, ‘Call Lara before noon’ ring a bell?” She begins to move items from her brown sack to the refrigerator. “Escape your mind, did it?” She’s holding a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  “Oops,” I say with a crooked smile. I gesture to the ice cream. “That’s for me, I take it?”

  “No,” she laughs. “I was out getting some groceries when Lara called to see if I could check on you. Said she couldn’t reach you on your cell.”

  “Damn thing,” I mumble, looking over at it across the way on the kitchen counter.

  “Language,” Robin sings.

  “Oops again.” I look down at Rose hoping she didn’t hear me, she’s too caught up in the various magnets covering the refrigerator. They’re souvenirs from all over the world, which Emily’s picked up along the way.

  “Thanks for checking on me,” I say, watching as Robin hurriedly unloads her refrigerables.

  “It’s fine. I was in the area.” She closes the refrigerator door. “I just wish you’d remember things like this, Jack.”

  “I don’t need to be checked in on. I’m not a child.” I fold the empty brown paper sack.

  “You act like a child sometimes.”

  “Hey. If you came here to attack me…”

  She rushes out an apology. “That came out wrong. Anyway, Lara told me what happened at the townhouse, and I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, well…” I help Rose with a large magnet too high to reach—a croissant with Paris, France written on it—and I can’t help but give an affected smile.

  Robin and I head into the living room, leaving Rose to play with the magnets. She’s got a good number of them removed, lining them up along the kitchen floor.

  Achieving comfortable seats on the sofa, Robin leans her head against the plush back. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

  I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  The thing is, as much as I want to consider Hawaii proof of Andrew’s infidelity, there’s still an infinitesimal possibility that it’s nothing more than a coincidence. And I can’t end my marriage because of a coincidence, a hunch. I haven’t even honestly considered calling it quits based on the loneliness and negligence and fights. Sure, we’ve got our problems, but when you push past the hurt and the bitterness and the depression, there’s still that hope that everything will turn out right. There’s still that flicker, that gleam, of hope—a chance—that we can right this wrong, just like we’ve done time and again. So things have never really been this bad before. We could work through it, couldn’t we?

  But the one thing I swore to myself I’d never allow in a marriage would be infidelity. I know what an affair does to couples, to families, to friends, to lives. It’s a poison that will linger forever. Whenever arguments arise, there will always be that dagger to throw, that poison that will resurface, and it’ll make it a hell of a lot harder to overcome even the simplest and smallest of obstacles with something as large and dark and looming as an affair hanging overhead.

  No, my marriage could maybe survive the rough times—Andrew could eventually snap out of it and come racing back to me, telling me he’s sorry and that it’s time to make a fresh start, that we can go to couple’s therapy and really work through our troubles, for real this time. But not now that he’s cheating, now that he’s sealed the deal with the affair. The tiny hope of a happy ending I’ve held onto these few weeks is fading; the only shred of hope I’m desperately clinging to now remains because of love. I still love my husband. I either let go of the pain, the fear, the worry, the anger, and hope for a reconciliation, or I let go of the love, the hope, the promise, the chance for a future, and I move on. Stuck somewhere in the vast void that is limbo, I don’t know what to let go of.

  But talking to Robin is refreshing, even despite my plan to spend the day alone, just like last night. She offered some helpful advice this afternoon, even saying I could always join her and Sophie at yoga class if I wanted. Which reminded me that Emily had encouraged I try meditation class, or at least be diligent in reading my daily horoscope, both pieces of advice I’ve ignored.

  “Well, if there�
��s anything else I can do to help,” Robin says some time later.

  She grabs her handbag and recollects her sack of groceries. She calls Rose over as she approaches the front door. “I’m not exactly free a lot of the time,” she says to me. “Kids always keeping me busy.” She rubs Rose’s head, and the little girl holds up two handfuls of magnets.

  “Ook at what I found. Aren’t dey pwetty?” Rose says, showing off her collection.

  “Oh, honey.” Robin holds out her hand. “Give me those. Those are Aunt Emily’s. You can’t take them.”

  After a soft round of pouting and whining, Rose sets the magnets down on the loveseat.

  “Hey,” Robin says, gesturing to the top of the bookshelf across the room. “That new?”

  “The globe?” I say. “Yeah, first and only thing I’ve gotten to get this place redecorated.”

  “Well what are you waiting for, girl?” She takes Rose’s hand in hers and opens the front door. “That’s a neat piece, and I can’t think of a better way to help you get your mind off of Andrew right now.”

  ***

  Problem is, I could think of a better way to get my mind off of Andrew. Still feeling like I wanted to be alone, with resurfaced and ever-gnawing anxieties about my situation and the precariousness of it all, I grabbed some cash from Emily’s mason jar and jumped in my Mercedes.

  It was too early to go to the clubs, and going to the bars at that hour meant small talk with bartenders, which would get me into serious trouble. Or I’d get stuck talking to old geezers or drunks. So I did the next best thing and dropped by the corner liquor store three blocks over and grabbed a few things. I had already drunk the bottle of Merlot last night, and figured, judging by the way I was feeling at midday and assuming the pain wouldn’t subside much any time soon, I was headed for a similar night tonight. I was in need of a restock.

  Like always, though, drinking to the bottom of the bottle and grousing to myself and my dog only do so much good, if any. Sure, the emotional pain begins to feel numb, and I can’t really think straight or form any intelligible word past a mumble or a whoop, so I guess knocking a few back does some good.

  It’s the hours later, though, that really bite. When the headache surges forward; when the backs of my eyes feel like anvils have been dropped on them; when the white noise becomes so loud I feel like my ears are going to burst and bleed; when the feelings and the issues that plague me begin to come back into view, however fuzzy…that’s when I either wish I’d never have touched the drink, or when I wish the bottom wouldn’t have come so soon.

  I’ve drunk my resources dry, and now I’m in the middle of my bedroom, scratching my heavy head, wondering where I went wrong in life.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I’m not sure what day it is, much less what time. My mouth feels dry, my head massive, and my eyes crusted over with sleep. With one eye tightly squinted shut, the other barely pried open, I yawn and stretch one arm over my head. I make a high-pitched yelp as I conclude my yawn. Bella appears from nowhere, leaping up onto the messy bed and settling near my pillow.

  “Hey, darling,” I say, groggy. I pet her just as another yawn escapes my lips. “Damn. I think mommy’s reached her limit.” I rub at my eyes and make a mental note to lay off the alcohol for a while, weekend or no weekend. The way my head feels right now, I think a month ought to do it.

  I grab my cell phone and wait a second before the numbers are no longer fuzzy. 10.49, it reads. Monday.

  “Oh no!” I cry once the reality of the time settles in. “Bella!” I look to my little Yorkie, as if she can talk to me or understands. “Do you know what time it is? What day?” I clap both hands to the top of my pounding head. “I’m late! Oh shit! I’m late!”

  ***

  So that’s another one for the ol’ career book.

  I strolled into The Cup and the Cake over two hours late that morning and Sophie had nearly had an epileptic fit. I noticed, a few hours too late, that she called me, even texted a few times first asking where I was, then if I was okay, then telling me I’d better have a good excuse or else. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good excuse for my tardiness, at least not one she was willing to hear a second time much less buy into.

  I told you, I’m just no good at jobs. I screw them all up!

  “You were doing so well,” Sophie said once I finally arrived at the café, still a bit disoriented, but luckily my fresh visit to the salon resulted in hair that looked effortlessly fantastic. “I can’t believe you’d blow off work like this! Second week on the job, Jackie!”

  I weeped into the blueberry-lemon scone that eventually became Sophie’s peace offering after she ripped me a new one.

  As for my job? “Can I keep it?” I asked in a timid voice.

  “Sheesh!” she cried, throwing her hands up and sounding just like Ricky Ricardo after a foolish Lucy stunt. “You’re kidding me, right, Jack?”

  I gave a lazy shrug, stuffed a piece of tasty scone in my mouth, and said, “Sowwy I asked.”

  It was a disaster. A total disaster. I’m so embarrassed and upset with myself, and Sophie. I know I’m far from Employee-of-the-Month, but how could she do this to me? After all I’ve been through, couldn’t she have cut me a little slack? The fact that I’m dead-ass broke, the little nasty part where my husband has left me and run off to the Hawaiian islands with his secretary… Where’s the pity? The sympathy? The warning and second chance?

  It’s only a few days after the fact of my firing, when I have nothing to do and not a cent to my name, that I’m beginning to really ask these questions. So Sophie was upset about my sleeping in. I came in, however late, and I offered to help, even though I wasn’t too fond of working there to begin with. I tried, I showed effort, I did all those things Dr. Pierce and the girls tell me I should do, and look at me now! I’m back in the unemployment line, running through Emily’s mason jar of cash faster than my marriage turned itself upside down.

  After I finish typing out a hasty email to Emily, catching her up on the problems at home and begging her to email me back some time this century, I decide to give Robin a call. I know I’ve been a bit abrasive and kind of under the weather, locked away and hiding from the world this weekend, but she did say if there was anything I needed…

  “Robin?” I say hurriedly as her friendly voice comes on the line. “Is this a bad time?”

  “One child screaming at the top of his lungs for lunch, the other on a sugar high and jumping all over the furniture,” she says with an exhausted sigh. “No, it’s as good a time as ever.”

  “Great. Okay, I hate to ask and bug, but I could so use a favor right now.”

  There’s a bit of dead air before Robin says, “I heard about what happened at the café, and I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, well. It wouldn’t have worked out in the long run, I’m sure. Sophie’s too perfect, and I’m a mess.” I laugh pathetically to myself. “Whatever. I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  “You know Sophie doesn’t mean any ill will towards your friendship,” Robin says in assured tones. “She’s just thinking business-wise here.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Let’s just put it behind us.” I sigh loudly. “Of course, I still think I could have been given a second chance—”

  “Rose, please stop that right now,” Robin calls off, voice sounding distant, yet booming. “Rose! I’m going to count to three. One. Please listen. Two… I’ll call Daddy. Thr—” Her voice returns to a normal volume now. “Okay, crisis averted,” she says to me. “For now, at least.” She half sighs, half laughs. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “Robin, I need some help. Need to get back on my feet.”

  “Okay, I get it. You want me to talk to Sophie for you? Ask her to give you your job back, a second chance?”

  “No.” I wince. “No, no, no. Thanks, but no.”

  “So what?”

  “Can I borrow some money? Just a little bit?”

  “Jackie.” She exhales loud
ly.

  “Look, I can pay you back when I get a job.”

  “You’re looking for another job?”

  “Well…not exactly.”

  “Jackie.”

  “Listen, Robin, please.” I scratch at my worry-creased forehead. “I’m just about down to the change in Em’s jar.”

  “Huh?”

  I shake my head, deciding against divulging the information she doesn’t really need to know—the money that was intended for decoration and not gasoline and groceries…and the mani/pedis, tanning salon packages, wine and cigarettes, a magazine or rented movie here and there. Oh, and the two pairs of shoes and couple of shimmery tops I couldn’t help myself from buying at the mall.

  I want to cry out, “I need help! I’ve practically stolen from my best friend and I don’t know what to do!” But, instead, I pipe out, “I’m broke, Robin. I really need some money.”

  “If you need some food, I’ll bring some groceries by,” she offers.

  “Sophie sent me home with all sorts of sweets. I’m good.”

  “Jackie—”

  “Look.” I clear my throat in a discomfited way. It’s always so much easier to ask for money from Lara. She’s always been there for me with a spare twenty, a quick transfer of funds to cover a bill. “All I need is a little bit to help me for a few days.” I pause, waiting for Robin to say something, anything. When she doesn’t, I continue. “A little to tide me over until my next job. I’ll find one! Promise!”

  “Jackie.” Her voice is calm and crisp. “I understand your predicament right now, really I do, but Bobby and I are working on a tight budget. We have two kids, I’ve gone part-time, there are the part-time daycare costs… I can’t, and even if I could…” She pauses. “I know where you’re at right now. You’re depressed, you’re lonely, you’re having a rough time—”

  “Yes, thanks for the reminder.”