“That’s a rough one,” Lara says, knowing all too well the pains of having a teething baby in the house.
“And!” Robin sings. “Bobby also says Em’s coffee table book, draft one, has been approved, and we’re looking at a holiday-season release!” she yelps, slipping her phone back inside her jeans pocket.
“Emily’s going to flip,” I say.
“Publishing that book has taken longer than I expected,” Robin says, twisting her lips to the side. “Better late than never, though.”
“Absolutely!” I say. “Never too late to do something fab.”
“Omigod,” Sophie breathes out from the closet. I peer over Lara’s shoulder to see what she’s got. “These are fab.” Sophie’s holding out my pair of broken Balenciagas. Actually, I should say my pair of refurbished Balenciagas. “These aren’t new, are they?”
All eyes are on me, and I dramatically groan out, “Yes, I’m dead-ass broke and I’m going and buying five-hundred-dollar shoes.”
I pull myself from the bed and walk over to Sophie. “These are an old pair.” I take the refurbished yellow shoes from her. “I broke a heel, and so…” I wave around the pump-like shoes, proudly showing them off. “I wasn’t going to let them go to waste.”
“They’re amazing.” Sophie fingers the new pump heels.
“What’d you do?” Claire takes one of the shoes.
“Pretty simple, actually.” I toss the other to Robin so she and Lara can take a look at my handiwork. “One heel snapped in half, so I took a saw to the other and…voila! It took a while to get the height to match.” I snicker, thinking back on that desperate evening when I really hated seeing those yellow beauties lying next to the trashcan. “That’s why they’re both sawed down so much. But pretty neat, hah? Instant pumps.”
“Wow,” Robin says, passing the shoe to Lara. “When you’re in a bind and desperate for designer clothes, you don’t mess around. The old Jackie would certainly go and buy a new pair.”
“Erm…” I pan about the room. “I kind of did, but that’s besides the point.”
“Designer shoes on your budget?” Robin’s eyes are wide.
“No, no, no. Basement deals. You really think spoiled Jackie’s going to make a complete one-eighty?”
Robin makes a psh sound and tells me she’s just happy I’m getting my priorities in order, putting everyday necessities and BFF’s apartment redecorating ahead of Dolce and Gabbana.
“Speaking of designer clothes…” I open the bottom of the dresser drawer.
“Oh no,” Sophie groans. “You did damage elsewhere in addition to the basement, didn’t you? I mean, that’s totally your business, but Jackie, I know you’re happy you’re doing better and your sessions with Dr. Pierce are going well and you’re—”
“Shut up and look,” I say, yanking free a plastic sack from the organized but still packed dresser drawer.
The room becomes silent in an instant, save for the rustling of the sack and my huffing and puffing as I pull it free and root about inside.
“Ta-da!” I cry as I withdraw a pastel pink and purple, silk Chanel scarf. “How’s this for some good news, Claire?” I send the beautiful accessory her way, its supple material flittering through the air as she catches it, her eyes and mouth wide open.
“For me?” Claire fingers the gorgeous material.
“Yup,” I say. “You didn’t think I’d sell everything, now did you, girls?” I wink and proceed to pull out one item I kept aside for each of the girls amidst my mad cleaning spree. The gold and coral cuff and matching earrings that Sophie’s complimented time and again; the Burberry umbrella and matching tote I’m sure Robin will get more use out of than I will; the leather bound journal—an impulse buy in the hopes of becoming the journaling type—for Emily, which I slip into her underwear drawer.
“And for you, my dear Lara,” I say, pulling out the last item.
“The Prada wallet!” she cries, clapping her hands to her mouth. “You doll, you!”
I hand her the beloved wallet I’ve been secretly keeping for her once I got the idea to sell some of my things.
I know it sounds crazy, but gift-giving feels better than any shopping spree I’ve ever had. I’ve given gifts before, and elaborate ones like these and never-before-used ones, too, but come on—it’s not exactly difficult to whip out the plastic and have Andrew pay for whatever it is I feel like buying.
Right now, though, it’s different. It’s a different feeling…a really good and satisfying feeling…to give a gift when you can’t afford it, when you could selfishly choose to keep or sell them instead of giving them away. And, let’s face it, I’m not really in the position to be giving away what few assets I do possess. But Dr. Pierce and I have been talking about embracing the changes in my life by adding a few more to the lot. It sounds kind of absurd, I know, but instead of fighting change, why not embrace it? Why not give it a run for its money?
Things with Andrew are obviously beyond my control, and I couldn’t really do much about being let go at Hodge’s Bookstore, but I can take control of my life and happiness in some ways.
So here’s one way. Fixing Em’s apartment is another. Searching for that new job or realizing that Claire moving away isn’t the end of the world are other ways, too. Keeping myself busy so I don’t pout about my troubles or go on a bender is definitely another way.
And, if I can be so bold, letting Andrew go is one more way. Letting that pain and that worry go, letting myself cling on to that hope of reconciliation while still staying ‘tethered to reality,’ as Robin says, getting on with my life newly independent and all, is just another way of taking control of my life…of my future…of my happiness. It’s me moving from limbo and onto the winning path.
“Come on,” I say to the girls, standing up and tossing the empty plastic sack behind me. “Enough gooey emotion here.” I make my way to the door. “We’ve got perfectly good wine and snacks out there—”
“And finger sandwiches with toothpicks,” Lara says cheerfully.
“That’s right.” I wave the girls to follow me back into the living room. “All this and so little time. Come on, let’s get our girls’ night started!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Lara could be right,” Robin says as she sweeps together the crumbs that the pastel-colored macarons have left behind on the new coffee table. “I don’t want to raise your hopes and then have them crushed, but I bet that’s exactly what happened.” She drops the crumbs onto the plate that once contained at least a dozen of Sophie’s delicious macarons.
Sophie hasn’t offered macarons at the café lately. She says they’re a lot of work, and it seems the moment she’s scraped up enough energy to make a batch she blinks and, just like that, they’re all sold out. It almost isn’t worth it, because she can’t keep up.
Also, other than Gatz, she hasn’t been able to find someone who knows how to make the difficult dessert. She’s tried to teach Evelyn, but Sophie just ends up dealing with such a mess she’s nearly given up, creating the petite desserts only when the spirit calls (or a certain someone demands a specific dessert at girls’ night).
Lara told Sophie she should really jump on marketing the macarons if they’re selling so quickly—they could even become more popular than her cupcakes! Sophie said she’d consider it, but tonight’s batch—a plate full of rose-, orange-, and strawberry-flavored treats—would be the last for a while. “Until someone with experience working in a French boulangerie or pâtisserie is willing to work for me for pennies,” Sophie said, “I’m going to have to stick to cupcakes and croissants.”
We all agreed Sophie should churn out the colorful cookies somehow. The strawberry macarons were amazing, and the orange would be a popular seller for sure, especially in the summertime, because biting into one is like biting into an orange creamsicle. The rose-flavored ones we all agreed would be a big craze if she started filling her display case with them. Eating them is like smelling a rose and eating a swe
et, fluffy cupcake at the same time. Delectable!
“You really think that’s exactly what happened?” I ask Robin, eyeing her, then Lara, as I finish my rose-flavored treat.
“You girls already know what I think,” Lara says, hands raised. She licks clean macaron filling from her thumb.
“Look at it this way,” Claire says sprightly. “You and Andrew have been separated for decades!”
“Three months,” I correct in a low tone.
“Like I said, decades! He’s probably finally realizing you’re pissed, still standing firm with wanting that Nikki girl gone.” Claire crosses her arms over her perky chest, the biggest look of cheer of the evening covering her face. “He’s figured out you’re not coming back so long as she’s around.”
“Or that he dare not return, running to you, with her still working for him,” Sophie says judiciously. She begins to tap her chin. “Or, and don’t get worked up over this, he could have had an affair with her—”
“Oh, Sophie!” Robin says loudly, one hand flying to her hip. She shifts in her seat on the sofa. “Sophie, don’t take that side!”
“Or!” Sophie raises the pitch of her voice. “He could have had an affair, and now he’s realized his tragic mistake and is doing all he can to fix it.”
“Covering up his tracks is more like it,” I sneer.
Sophie heaves a heavy breath, eyes on me.
“What?” I take a pull on my Chardonnay. “So long as we’re exploring all the options.”
“Look, I think we’ve talked the issue to death,” Lara says. “Jack, hang in there. I really think things will work themselves out some way, some time.”
“They have to,” Claire adds in. “What with all the pep talks we’ve given and advice we’ve dispensed. I feel it.” She pats a fist to her heart. “I feel it, right here. Things are going to change.”
“Yeah,” Robin says, “and until that situation works itself out, focus on getting that new job. That’ll surely take your mind off of things.”
“Totally,” Claire says.
“I wonder what I should do next?” I look to each of them.
“What about that antique shop next to the bookstore?” Robin offers with a pointed finger my way.
I shrug. “Asked Al. He said he thought it best I not work around all that temptation.” I chuckle. “Anyway, he said if Hodge’s thought finances were tight, then Al’s place was experiencing the crash of thirty-nine all over again.”
“Twenty-Nine,” Sophie swiftly corrects with a quick grin.
“Rent’s going up there, too,” I continue, “so everyone’s cutting back.” I take a slow sip of wine.
“Bummer,” Robin mutters. “I suppose you don’t have mad macaron-making skills you’re keeping secret from us, huh?” She picks up the empty dessert plate and scampers to the kitchen.
“Don’t hold out on me, girl,” Sophie kids.
“Hey, how are things with just Evelyn, anyway?” Robin asks Sophie as she disappears around the corner. “You still thinking of hiring on extra help?”
“Oliver!” Claire says abruptly. “He’s French. He’s a baker. He makes wedding cakes!” In a flurry she sets her wine glass down and turns to Sophie. “I bet he knows how to make macarons! Oliver would be perfect! Why didn’t we think of this before?”
“Oliver?” Sophie laughs.
“Yeah! You know? Oliver…” Claire presses. “Your old coworker? From Katie’s Kitchen? He’s still baking and catering there, isn’t he?”
“As far as I know,” Sophie replies with ease. “But, Claire, I wouldn’t just need a macaron-helper. I’m talking an extra set of hands, period. Macarons are a bonus.”
“And he could do that and so much more! Come on, you know I’ve mentioned before that hiring him would be awesome,” Claire enthuses. “You already know him, so that’s just a bonus. You know how he works, he’s reliable, blah-blah-blah. Come on!”
“Yes…” Sophie slowly rocks her head from side to side. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. Seriously, I have. But it comes down to the ol’ budget.” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“Sounds like he could be your ideal employee, Sophie,” I say.
She rubs her fingers together. “Like you, Jack, it all comes down to what we can afford. Honestly, I just don’t have that wiggle room with my cash flow right now.”
Then, a sparkle comes to her eyes. “But…” she sings, “that doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. If my math’s right—and my dad’s done a little research and checked the figures—I should be able to consider hiring on more help next year.” She raises her glass. “But until then…”
“Cheers to figuring shit out,” I say. Sophie and I clink glasses.
“Hey,” Robin says, reemerging from the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hands.
“Hmmm?” I say as I take a drink.
“Did you make this backsplash?” She points a thumb behind her. “The awesome mirror backsplash?”
“Yup.”
“I thought that was always there,” Claire says, scratching her head of blonde curls.
“Nope,” I say.
“Em’s never had a backsplash,” Lara says, getting up from the sofa and walking over to Robin.
“Take a look at it!” Robin leads Lara into the kitchen.
“Have you Picasso’d it in there or what?” Sophie says.
“That’s awesome,” Claire says once she lays eyes on it.
“You did that?” Sophie points at the backsplash made of a shattered mirror.
“Yup,” I say proudly. “I found a busted mirror and thought it’d look neat all broken up.” I walk over to the backsplash and run my fingers over it.
I saw a piece of art in the Seattle Socialite that was a giant canvas with hundreds of glued pieces of a broken mirror. It sparkled in the light and shimmered everywhere. It was brilliant!
Then, one bored afternoon when I was sitting atop the counters in Em’s kitchen, staring at the ugly wall above the stove, the idea for a backsplash came to me. So one busted mirror and a tub of grout later…
“You really went all out,” Robin says, touching the mirror pieces.
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter and begin to play with the edge of the drying towel Robin discarded. “I kind of wish I had this redecorating job to do after I lost my job at the bookstore. Would so keep me busy.” I toss the towel aside and push away from the counter. “But whatcha gonna do, right?”
I pull open the drawer where Emily keeps her matches. “Excuse me girls. I’m going to light up for a bit out back. Welcome to join me.” I snag a book of matches from the drawer and take a new pack of Parliaments from my handbag.
“Wait a minute!” Claire says in an enthusiastic tone. “Wait just a minute, Jackie!”
“Claire, please,” I say with a thin stick between my lips. “I know you’re a healthcare pro and all, but I’m not going to listen to a lecture about—”
“No, silly!” She races up to me as I slide open the back patio door. “I have a great idea!”
I take the unlit cigarette from my lips and glance from Robin, to Lara, to Sophie. I raise an inquisitive brow. “A great idea? The last time you had a great idea—”
Claire charges into the living room, hands dancing wildly around the room. “Look around here, Jack!”
I cast about. “Yeah, I’m looking.” I return the cigarette to my lips and strike a match.
“Your design skills!”
I step one foot out onto the back patio, cup a hand around my cigarette, and light up.
Claire looks like she’s going to burst from excitement. “Turn them into a business!” she shrieks. “Take your hobby and make it your job!”
***
“Claire,” Sophie says, “I thought the blind date idea for Em was a terrific idea. This is borderline genius!”
“Why thank you,” Claire says with a pleased face.
“I’m sure if you had been the victim of Operation
Blind Date, Sophie,” I say candidly, “you wouldn’t be so keen to think this is a genius idea.”
“Come on, Jack,” Robin says exuberantly. “You know this is not a bad idea.”
“It’s not not bad,” Claire retorts. “It’s good! It’s great!”
“It’s got possibilities,” Lara says with a sharp nod, her tongue gliding over her teeth. “It’s definitely worth exploring.” She hastily pulls out her BlackBerry from her suit jacket pocket.
“I don’t know, girls,” I say. I, somewhat nervous, take a drag on my cigarette. I send the smoke over my shoulder, away from my group of girlfriends huddled around on the small patio out back. “Just because I managed to keep employment for a few measly weeks at a small-time bookstore doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ready to earn my entrepreneur badge here.”
“We’re not talking guns-a-blazing entrepreneur,” Lara says in a rational tone, eyes and fingers dancing about her cell phone. “Small startups happen every day. You’d have almost no upfront costs, virtually no risk, and, honestly, I think you could do something with this talent of yours—this passion.”
“I don’t know,” I say again, letting my cigarette hang loosely between two fingers. I cross my legs and shake my bare foot. When I catch sight of the less-than-stellar pedicure job I did myself, I uncross my legs and push my feet under the chair. “Would anyone even pay for these services?”
“Sure!” Robin says.
“But if it’s all cheap DIY stuff,” I say, “why wouldn’t they do it themselves? Honestly, if they just got online or watched some of those repair and remodel shows or picked up any number of the magazines I’ve picked up, they could find out how to do these projects themselves.”
“That’s true,” Claire says. “I’m a major DIY girl and a big part of the DIY craze is that it’s Do-It-Yourself. You don’t hire and pay someone for something that’s supposed to be a money-saving project.”
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 41
