When Girlfriends Let Go

by Savannah Page

  Sophie pokes me in the ribs.

  “I tried calling him,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

  “And?”

  “I can’t do it. Chicken out every time.” I look down at my hands. I no longer have acrylic nails, and the manicure job I gave myself isn’t exactly artwork. I finger my wedding ring. It’s still just as sparkly as the day I first wore it. It still holds just as much meaning as it did the day Andrew slipped it on my bony finger, promising me he’d be there, for better or worse.

  “How’s this?” Sophie peers at me with a suspicious expression. “If we’re both…oh…say, forty, and neither of us have found love—”

  “I found mine,” I quickly assert. “Just to be clear.”

  “All right, all right.” She rests both elbows on the table, the side of her head in one hand. “If we’re both forty and still aren’t with our true loves. If we’re still unattached, then we’ll be old maids together.”

  “Oh, god, Sophie,” I say through a throaty laugh.

  “Come on, promise.”

  “Like a couple?” I raise a curious brow.

  “Like a ‘we’re both old maids and a good friend helps another friend’ kind of thing.”

  I consider the proposition for a second, then shrug and casually say, “All right. If we’re both forty and neither of us are married and aren’t with anyone serious…”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then we’ll be each other’s backup.”

  “Deal?” She holds out her hand.

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” I say as I take her hand in mine.

  She pumps it strongly then briskly makes her way across the kitchen. “Maybe all I need is some cleaning to get my mind straight, you know?” she says as she reaches for a broom.

  “I don’t but…whatever floats your boat.” I jump into her seat. “Well, I came by to drop off the fliers and business cards. And for a little breakfast snacking.” I point at the arrangement of chocolate muffins atop a glass cake stand. “May I?”

  “Go for it. And when you’re done you can help me tidy up back here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ohhh, Sophie,” I whine as I pull back the muffin’s wrapper. “You’re not seriously going to make me work for this muffin, are you? I do have a job now.” I give her a playful wink.

  “Jackie, I love you, and I’m glad to see not everything’s changing, but…”

  I take a bite of the succulent, moist muffin. “Me, too,” I say with a full mouth. “Deese muffins aw good.”

  She laughs and continues sweeping. “Come on. I set out your fliers, you help wash a few pans.”

  “Aww, Sophie.” I take another bite, crumbs spilling about the table.

  “Okay, if not for that then how about for the company? It’s quiet back here.” She looks at me with imploring eyes. “I’m still trying to digest this whole ‘I’m going to be an old maid’ thing.”

  “You made the deal,” I say in a teasing way.

  “You know what I mean.” She crosses over to the opposite side of the kitchen and begins sweeping her way back towards the middle. “Evelyn knows I know about the move, and she’s been saying she’s excited to take this step—her first move-in with a guy, you know?”

  I roll my eyes and lick my index finger and thumb. “God, been there, done that a zillion times. Don’t envy her that journey one bit.” I lick my pinky. “And with Chad. Oh, god help her. He can be such a pig.”

  “I know, right?” Sophie says with a high-pitched laugh. “Well, she’s a sweet girl, and I’m trying my best not to rain on her parade.”

  “Rain comes, parades come, and they go.” I take another bite of muffin and page through the morning’s newspaper. Sophie continues her sweeping as I turn to the horoscopes page.

  “Claire’s going to be leaving soon,” Sophie says more to herself than me. “I’ve got this Chad and Evelyn thing shoved in my face… I’m trying to be a good sport, but I just don’t care to hear about it…”

  “Life’ll blow sometimes,” I say, careful not to spit muffin out onto the newspaper. “Oooh! You’re a Pisces, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay. Here’s your horoscope for today.”

  “Oh, Jack, you’re such a goofball. I appreciate what the Zodiac signs predict, but seriously, I think time’s just going to have to do its thing for me to get over this loveless state of my life right now.”

  “It says…” I go on, ignoring her babbling, “Oh, and this is so good. You should definitely listen. It says, ‘Pisces: You’ve encountered some resistance on some of your undertakings. It is advised you let them go, because it’s possible your goals have changed. It’s time to consider alternative actions. Perhaps a new career? A new hair color? A new attitude?’”

  I make a tsking sound and poke a finger repetitively at the newspaper. “You really should read this daily. I’ve gotten so behind. Em’s right—the Zodiac’s got some very wise pointers.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” Sophie replies with a long, drawn-out sigh. “But a new career? I’ve got it. This place is my passion. A new hair color? I’ve been a natural brunette forever, so I’m not changing now. A new attitude?”

  “Oh, and your lucky numbers today are thirty-three, thirty-five, one, and seven.” I look up from the paper.

  “Thanks again.” She sweeps the crumbs into a dustpan. “I appreciate your help, but I hardly think my horoscope is my answer.”

  I look over my own horoscope, jut out my bottom lip in consideration, and say, “Now if mine isn’t truth-telling then I don’t know what is. It says, and I quote, ‘If you feel like you’re not making enough money, now is probably the time to do something about it. Are you maximizing your earning potential? Are you being paid what you deserve? Perhaps you’ve wanted to change careers for some time but have felt held back. Now is the time to break free and make a change.’” I look to Sophie, my eyes round with awe. “Fascinating, isn’t it? God, these things are so amazing.”

  “Jackie.” She walks over and puts a hand over the paper. “I agree, they’re fascinating, and sometimes totally accurate.”

  “I know, right?”

  “But,” she keeps her hand over the paper despite my attempt to read more, “I think this maximizing earning potential means I need to make you a coffee and you need to help out with a few dishes. I’m not done whining, and my nerves are a little too frazzled for me to be alone with Evelyn right now.”

  “Got it.” I say, cramming the remains of the muffin in my mouth.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  That night, right before I turn out the lights well past midnight after a long and exhausting day of getting all my fliers passed out, my cell phone rings. I lean over Bella, who’s snuggly situated between my legs on top of the comforter. “Could be my first client,” I tell her as I reach for the phone. “Cross those paws!”

  I glance at the screen—it’s a long number I don’t recognize. Who on earth could this be?

  “Hello?”

  “Jackie?”

  “Emily!” I bellow. “Omigod! Emily! Is it really you?”

  “The one and only,” she says, her voice sounding somewhat distant. “The connection’s not the best. I’m using the computer, and the speaker’s pretty old.”

  “Oh, I don’t care. Omigod! How are you? What are you doing? Where are you? How’s Gatz? How’s Australia?”

  “Brisbane is awesome,” she says. “Gatz is just super. The Center for the Blind is amazing. Those kids are teaching me so much— Oh, erm… I know I’m way ahead of you, time-wise. Is now an okay time to call?”

  “Uh, yeah!”

  “I’m just so bugged up excited with your news I couldn’t wait to call! What time is it there?”

  “Who cares?” I sit up higher in bed. “I’m so happy to talk to you, I’m not going anywhere!”

  “So you’re starting your own business, eh?”

  “That’s right,” I say, proceeding to tell her all about Interiors By Ja
ckie in that hyper, super-summary, excitedly rushed-out kind of way you do with a best friend whom you haven’t talked to in ages.

  “Interiors By Jackie,” Emily says. “It definitely is to-the-point. It sounds classy, sophisticated. I like it.”

  “And Em, I think you’re really going to love your apartment when you see it.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “So just when is that? Gatz decided to stick with the semester, or are you shooting for the full academic year?” I bite down on my tongue, nervous to hear her answer. She sounds so happy over there in Brisbane, though, that I’m sure a year is probably what she wants deep down.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, sounding cavalier. “It still feels like we’ve just gotten here, and Gatz is so crazy into his work. The guy’s like ridiculously inspired over here.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “He’s cranking out some really good poetry. Some inspired stuff.”

  “Writing you loooove poems?” I titter.

  “He’s even started a novel.”

  “Wow. That is impressive. It sounds like you guys are having a blast. Good for you.”

  “And it sounds like you’re keeping yourself busy,” she says. “Good for you, Jackie.”

  “Busy, indeed. Now all I need is my first client. I swear, if I don’t get one soon I’m going to cry into some tequila shooters.”

  “All in good time, Jackie. Starting a business takes a lot of work, a lot of dedication.”

  “I’ve got the time; I need the work. But trust me, I’m dedicated. I’m making this work. Something’s got to pan out in my life, right?”

  Emily sighs, then says she knows I can do it. “Look how far you’ve come. Don’t give up now.”

  I tell her things with Interiors By Jackie could be shaking and rattling sooner than I expected, thanks to Chad possibly offering up his place as a staging project.

  “Seriously?” she asks with a cackle.

  “Yeah. I know, sloppy Chad and his frat boy roomies.” I sink back into the pillow I’ve propped up against the headboard. “Who would’ve thought he’d want his place all spruced up? But he’s asked Evelyn to move in with him and—”

  “Huh?”

  “More juicy gossip news for you. God, girl, you have got to come back here. It’s just not the same without you.”

  “So Evelyn’s moving in with Chad?” she gets straight back to the point.

  “Yup.” I stroke Bella’s head. “Guess they’re taking the next step. Sophie was miffed a little today—had to calm her down, poor thing…think she’s got it rough with Claire moving away and all. Her emotions are out of whack.”

  “Why was she miffed?”

  “Oh, you know… Last single girl standing kind of thing. Of course, she insisted she has no time for love anyhow, but still…”

  “Ahhh. I see.”

  “I told her she’s being ridiculous. Not everyone’s finding love. I mean, look at me, right?”

  “So he’s really moving in with her?” Emily says, sounding taken aback.

  “Yes,” I say with a furrowed brow. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Anyway.” I hug an arm to my stomach and begin to finger the silky camisole left over from my Parisian shopping spree. “The neat thing is that I just might get to design his place. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  There’s a bit of dead air for a moment, and I’m not sure if the line’s cutting out—the connection has been getting scratchier—or if Emily’s attention has been drawn elsewhere.

  “Emily? Emily, you there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Is the connection bad?”

  “Yeah.” A pause. The scratchiness subsides a bit. “Guess we should go.”

  A yawn sneaks up on me, and I make a loud noise as it escapes. “Probably,” I agree.

  “Well, good for Chad. Good for Evelyn, too,” Emily says. “Definitely tell Sophie not to worry. Her time’ll come. It always happens when you least expect it, love.”

  “So true.” I fluff my pillow and lie down, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  “And good for you! Best of luck with redesigning Chad’s place, and with getting those clients!”

  “If they ever call.” I push out my bottom lip in slight disappointment as the line crackles louder.

  “They will. Just be patient. And until then, stay away from the tequila shooters. Tell the girls I say hi.”

  “Will do. And say hi to Gatz for me.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Jack. Love ya.”

  “Love ya, too, Em.”

  I disconnect the call and close my eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day finally get the best of me, but not before I see the image I usually call forward before I fall asleep these days.

  Nestling down into the plushness of the bed, I slowly begin to see Andrew’s face—his crystal blue eyes and those wrinkles around them, the wrinkles along his brow, his mouth…they’re a map of his worry, his fear, his happiness, his love. I see him grin, then break out in laughter, low and slow at first, then deeper, head shaking, eyes closed, and he motions for me to sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around me, kisses the top of my head, then presses his cheek to mine. He tells me how much he loves me, how I’m his entire world. And as he rocks me back and forth, leaving a trail of kisses from the nape of my neck, up to my chin, down my throat, to my shoulder…I fall asleep.

  ***

  The following day I spent a good portion of my time at The Cup and the Cake, enjoying breakfast with Sophie before Evelyn and the usual Monday morning rush arrived.

  I spent the rest of my day working on design ideas for Chad’s place. It’s going to be quite a project, and thank god he’s agreed to be a guinea pig. Even though I wish he could let me get my hands on the kitchen and really sink my teeth into a full-on, top-to-bottom project, I’m going to have my hands full with the rest of his place. He wants me to brighten it up, make it look more mature and like a real home. As for the feminine touch, he agreed to let me change the color palette of the dark bedroom, trading in the dark charcoal-grey, and black for a softer tan, cream, and light blue. It’s not obviously feminine, but at least not so obviously masculine.

  The following day, while I’m busily gathering ideas for Chad’s two bathroom remodels, running up and down the aisles at Randy’s, setting up a makeshift office in the café portion of the bookstore, I get my very first biz bite.

  “Excuse me?” a woman’s voice says from the adjacent table. “Are you working on a home renovation project, too?” She gestures to my stacks of materials.

  “I am,” I say jubilantly. “Just about everything except for the kitchen.”

  “Oh, lucky you!” The woman, whose blonde-grey hair is pulled into a sophisticated chignon, removes her thin-rimmed reading glasses and sets them on top of an interior design magazine. “That’s exactly what I’m working on.”

  “Are you doing a complete kitchen overhaul or just sprucing some things up?” I query interestedly. “Switching out some old appliances?”

  “Overhaul, I fear.” She makes a worried face and glances at her magazine.

  I lean forward in my seat to read the magazines title: Exclusively Kitchens. “Looks like you’re starting out on the right foot with your homework,” I tell her.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing, what I’m in for.” She turns in her seat to better face me. “I thought taking one room at a time would be the best way to eventually turn my home completely around.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I scoot my chair nearer hers. “I’ve found taking one thing at a time is the best way to tackle any interior design project.”

  The woman gives me a warm smile and says, “I’ve found it’s the best way to tackle any project in life.”

  “Correction,” I say, deciding I like this woman and her outspokenness, her friendliness, “now I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Suzanne Lakin.” She
holds out a manicured hand, her French tips sporting that once-familiar sparkle of a new fill.

  I hold out my hand, feeling a hint of shame at how un-Jackie they look, and say with a shake, “Jackie Kittredge. Nice to meet you.”

  Suzanne retrieves her magazine and holds it out for me. “I don’t even know if this magazine is too advanced to start or if it’s even what I should be looking for.”

  I lightly page through her magazine, determining quickly that Exclusively Kitchens is more of an inspiring publication than one that will help you get a leg up on knocking out some cabinets, ripping up some old backsplash tiles, or installing the most suitable oven hood.

  “What I really should be looking for are interior designers,” Suzanne says. “I considered it, but what with my tightwad of a husband—erm—ex-husband.” She picks up her reading glasses, folds them closed, then looks at me with a slightly sheepish smile. “Oh, listen to me babble. So divorcée of me, right?”

  I only give a close-lipped, kind (and, sadly, seemingly understanding) smile in return.

  “He’s not that tight, I suppose…” Suzanne runs on, fingering the rims of her glasses. “I just know a complete home facelift will not come cheap, help or no help. A professional designer would be great, but I figured I could try it myself.”

  She points to the magazine I now have on my lap. “That’s why I’m doing this. The renovation. The complete one-eighty of my home.” She giggles lightheartedly. “I’m ready for a change; time to let go of the past.” She giggles again, this time not as lightheartedly. “I haven’t changed more than a few throw pillows and rugs in the twenty-three years I’ve lived in that home. I think it’s time for a change.”

  “I think you’re right,” I say spiritedly. “Suzanne?” I set the magazine down on top of my large stack. I take my coffee mug in hand and wrap all of my fingers around its warmth. “You’ve come to the right place.”

  “Randy’s?” She surveys the open café area. “I admit I haven’t been here more than a couple times, but—”

  “No, no.” I cross my legs and begin to excitedly shake my foot. “You, me, running into each other like this. A good friend of mine would say fate or Kismet’s done its thing, and I think she’s spot-on.”