“Thanks, Sophie. Later.”
Claire’s right—those shared times here at the café, at this very counter, even, will no longer happen at the drop of a hat like they used to. It’s going to take some getting used to not having my best friend here.
I crack another egg against the bowl and watch as the sunshine center jiggles and plops down, the jelly white streaming slowly after it.
But, as with all difficult things in life, Time is the great healer. I’ve been through rougher episodes before and have emerged, and never with more than a few bruises and scrapes that heal…eventually.
Chapter Two
“What an exhausting day!” I cry as I roll out my yoga mat, a new turquoise one I recently bought, seeing how my other one was well past worn.
“You killing yourself over there?” one of besties, Robin Holman, says as she returns from the bin full of mini Fitballs. “Forgetting to carve out enough down time?” She tosses one of the balls to me.
“What do you call this?” I gesture around the room, a floor-to-ceiling mirrored yoga studio with wood floors and soft overhead lighting.
I’ve been going to Studio Tulaa in Capitol Hill for years. In fact, I was a student when Pamela Simons, the original owner, operated the studio.
Tragically, Pamela passed away three years ago, but her spirit lives on here through the variety of yoga, Pilates, and meditation classes offered, and I’m still a dedicated student. Thanks to Pamela’s niece, who picked up the pieces, Studio Tulaa remains the number-one non-kitchen spot I can turn to when I need to unwind.
It’s not just the benefits of the deep stretching and core strengthening that the classes provide, though, that keep me coming and make me feel relaxed; Pamela’s kind and cheerful spirit gives off the same infectious warmth—a soothing comfort—that it did when she was here leading the classes herself.
What makes yoga classes even better is that Robin’s been dutifully joining me. It’s a rare slice of “adult time” she can get on occasion, and a chance to keep on shedding what she calls “the pesky baby weight.”
Tonight Robin not only has the chance to sneak off to yoga class, but her husband Bobby was able to get off work in time to pick the kids up from childcare. He insisted that Robin take an extended “adult time,” which means first stop calorie drop-off with yoga, next stop calorie top-up with a coffee date.
“You know what I mean, Sophie,” Robin insists. She sits cross-legged on the edge of her yoga mat, setting the ball in her lap. “I’m talking about making sure you stop, take a breather, and keep on enjoying what you’re doing, you little stress mess.”
She begins to tie her long, dyed-blonde, wavy hair into a ponytail. “There’s no point in having the job of your dreams if you’re working yourself so hard to the bone you begin to resent it.”
“I never resent baking,” I say, taking a seat. “And I certainly do not resent the café.”
She flashes me a delighted grin as she ties off her ponytail.
“I’m getting better at delegating things to Evelyn, too,” I add for evidential measure.
“That’s what you hired her for.” Her reply is succinct.
“Oh, you know me, Robin.” I sigh. “It’s not easy for me to let go and let someone else take too much charge.”
“Ha!” she says rather loudly, causing two of the older ladies at the front of the room to glance at us. “Do I ever?”
I lean over to playfully poke at her arm. “We can’t all be calm, cool, and collected Robins now can we?” I give her an equally playful grin. “Managing life with such aplomb.”
“Ha!” she says again, only a tick softer this time. She tosses the Fitball methodically from hand to hand. “If I were collected you think I’d come to yoga class with a two-day-old spit-up-milk stain on my yoga pants?”
“Wha—?”
She pulls up the hem of her black sports top, which hugs tightly at her hips and stomach—areas she swears will never return to pre-mommy-normal, no matter how many crunches or squats she does.
Robin has put on some weight over the years thanks to her two pregnancies and busy schedule, no longer quite the mid-distance track star she was back in college, but I think she looks great. Put it this way: The majority of moms (and most women, for that matter) would probably be ecstatic to have Robin’s body.
She juts her hip out a tad and points at the disturbing evidence that she just may not be as collected as she appears.
“Oh, eww,” I wince as I spy the flaky cream-colored stain Robin’s fortunately been able to hide.
“Hey,” she counters, “when you have an eight-month-old, then get back to me. Stains are unavoidable.” She twists to the side, murmuring that she thinks she’s also got a ketchup or tomato sauce stain, from her toddler daughter Rose.
“That’s not it,” I say through unsuppressed giggles. “It’s the fact that it’s two days old.”
“That’s not the worst part yet,” she explains as the instructor takes her position at the front center of the room. “The stain’s two days old, but I’ve worn these pants at least five, six, seven times since.”
“Oh, god.” I cover my mouth to dim my cackling.
Robin shakes her head, eyes closed. “And what’s worse—”
“It doesn’t get worse, babe,” I manage to choke out.
“I fully intend to wear these at least two or three times more before washing them.”
“Okay,” I hold up a hand, “you are yanking my chain now. You are too much.”
“Told you, not collected.” She shrugs, smiling, and the instructor lightly claps her hands and announces that class will commence.
“And as for aplomb?” Robin whispers. “Years in the making, girl. Years, and quite an ongoing project.”
The instructor claps some more, drawing everyone’s attention.
Just before I join the class in seated meditation, I glance over at Robin. She’s pulling the edges of her sports top back over her hips, hiding Phillip’s faux pas, and looks positively content. Looking at her, confident and fully relishing the opportunity to have some time for herself and with a friend, I’m suddenly overcome with that usual warming and calming presence that fills Studio Tulaa.
I think some of that presence, actually, is more than Pamela right now. It’s Robin, a dear friend who’s been through some hell and high water with me in the past; it’s us getting to spend time together; it’s us joking around and having a good time; it’s her looking so happy and at peace; and it’s us having been able to forgive, forget, and move on.
See, once upon a time I had a boyfriend, and once upon a dark night he and one of my best friends were drunk and alone and one thing led to another. One night turned into a lifelong commitment from Robin to be a mother to the child of a man she didn’t know…and whom I would come to learn I also did not know.
What the incident demanded of Mr. Brandon Crossley, capital A-asshole, was some cash and nothing more, as he refused to have anything to do with the whole sodding mess. Brandon and I were already broken up before Rose waved her tiny hand to surprise us all, but he’d still planned to run off to some job in New York and never look back. He left the mess behind, and for several weeks Robin and I were in the darkest place we’d ever been together.
Thank god that’s behind us. It took time, but that, coupled with the willingness to forgive, is the greatest healer of all.
Besides, life is simply far too short to be bitter and hold onto resentment. Pamela’s sudden passing sure reminded me of that. The best of friendships deserve a second chance, and mine and Robin’s second chance has been like a refreshing breath of new life…probably because new life did come into the picture; and Rose is an extra sturdy link in the chain that is our friendship. She’s a reminder that sometimes even in the murkiest of situations and as the feeling of hopelessness clouds over, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, and often it’s worth fighting for.
Unfortunately, Brandon never learned how to put e
verything behind him. Once he was able to dutifully agree to his end of the child support, Robin and I thought we’d seen the last of him. Then out of the blue he decided he wanted to meet Rose and even play some kind of a role in her life. WTF, exactly!
As is classic Brandon, he was all talk and no walk, and for nearly the past three years Rose and Robin (and myself, for that matter) have been able to live our lives without ever seeing the loser. An occasional email or phone call or letter attached to the child support check will catch Robin by surprise, but this year it’s been smooth sailing. Thank god!
***
“So,” I say once the hour-long yoga class has concluded and Robin and I are in the parking lot. “Still meeting at Randy’s?” I’m excited about getting to spend more time together. After such an exhausting day I’m looking forward to even more repose…and a gossip sesh.
Robin adjusts her black plastic, cat-eye glasses further up onto her face with a push of a pinky. She unlocks her sedan and tosses her gym bag onto the floor of the backseat, where two large and complicated-looking car seats sit. The car’s floor is littered with papers and magazines and books, toys and blankets and sippy cups are spilling from the car seats. I’d have a panic attack over the messy state of this car, but Robin just chucks the yoga mat to the lot and shuts the door without a worry.
“Absolutely!” she says eagerly. “I’ll follow you there.”
Randy’s was always the perfect place to study and hang out back in college. With its homey bookstore and impressive selection of titles, and its café with affordable and tasty coffee and treats (to die for vegan chocolate and ginger muffins), it’s still one of our favorite places to hang out and scoop up new reads.
Robin and I take a seat in the familiar café in a cozy, tucked-away corner. With hot chocolates warming our hands against the sudden chill of the early October evening, I lazily page through a copy of The New Yorker.
“You and Claire have talked every day since she’s left?” Robin asks, slightly aghast. She curls both hands around her mug in lieu of paging through her own magazine, Small Book Publishers’ Digest.
I glance up at her, her brown eyes filled with surprise.
“Is it that bad?” she says.
“Not every, every day,” I clarify. “For the past few mornings, yeah. It’s kind of become a nice ritual in the morning, before work.”
Robin makes a ho-hum face and nods her head.
“The move’s been hard on Claire,” I say. “She’s lonely. I can’t blame her. I mean, I’m not exactly jumping for joy that she’s gone.”
“It’ll shape up. She’s got to give it time. We all do.”
“Exactly.” I close the magazine and approach my hot chocolate for the first time. Fearful it’ll burn at the first touch, I exhale gently as I go in for a sip. “Mmmm.” I smack my lips. Creamy, rich, dark—just the way I like it. Almost as good as The Cup and the Cake’s.
“Just what I needed,” Robin says, timidly tasting again her own hot chocolate.
“Chocolate craving? I get you.”
“No.” She sets her mug down, wrapping both hands around it to keep warming her fingers. “Well, yes to always having a chocolate craving. But I needed this—down time. Things have been non-stop lately.” She looks past my shoulder, seemingly at nothing in particular. Her expression is a bit glazed.
“The kids driving you up the wall?” I can only imagine.
“Not so much. Yes, they’re a handful, but nothing out of the ordinary.” She takes another small sip.
“Work?”
Robin works part-time at a small, local publishing house as a book cover artist. She’s always had a talent for painting and drawing and, like myself, has been fortunate enough to find a career that she’s passionate about.
“No,” she replies simply, though somewhat forlornly. “Work’s going well. Bobby’s the one with the work stress, usually.”
Robin’s husband of about half a year, Bobby, works at the same publishing house. That’s where they met in fact, fell in love (ahh, sigh), and, well, the rest is history. They have a son, Phillip, and together they raise Robin’s daughter Rose.
“What is it, Robin?” I ask. I push my magazine aside and lean further into the table.
“Bobby and I’ve been talking.”
“Yeah?”
I’m not so sure how I feel about the turn of the conversation or her far-off and almost distracted tone. They’re not quite eerily unsettling, not quite on-the-edge-of-my-seat exciting. I can’t figure it out.
I urge her to go on. “What is it?”
“I’ve only told Lara so far,” she says in a low voice.
“Okay.”
Out of our group of girlfriends, Robin’s closest to Lara, so obviously any breaking news would probably be sent that way first. I don’t mind. We all have someone we’re a little bit closer to, more comfortable with. Different dynamics, but still the best of friends. To remind Robin of this, and to hopefully cut through the building tension and put us both at ease, I say, “We’re best of friends, Robin. We’ve been through a lot of crap together. You can trust me.” I give her a warm smile. “And maybe I can help.”
“I know,” she says, voice small.
Robin, Claire, and I met freshman year at U Dub during our freshman orientation, and Lara was our camp counselor as the older and wiser junior. We all bonded, but as is often the law of friendships, there’s always a close one-on-one among each.
Claire and I bonded tightly, while Robin and Lara became bosom buddies. Robin and Lara used to live together in college and even shared a place when Robin was knocked up and single with Rose. The two obviously share a close bond and deep history.
I reach forward and take Robin’s hand in mine.
“Nothing’s set in stone yet…just ideas at this point,” she drifts.
“Yeah?”
She blinks long and hard, then locks eyes with me. “If you don’t mind, please don’t say anything to anyone else,” she practically pleads. “I just need to talk more about it, out loud, and I know I can confide in you, Sophie.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” I’m on tenterhooks now. What is she talking about?
“When Bobby and I are sure,” she says, “then we’ll obviously tell everyone.”
“Oh, Robin,” I say in a whisper, but a high-pitched and spirited one. “What’s this big, scary secret? Are you pregnant again?”
“Oh, god, no.” She whips her head about in a jagged round of shaking. I’ve obviously sent her straight from nervous to scared shitless. “It’s Bobby,” she blurts out.
I’m pretty sure my eyes are the size of finely rounded melon balls, growing to the size of grapefruits with each suspenseful second that passes.
The first thing that runs through my mind is, Bobby’s cheating!
It’s the worst thing to think, and I hate that that’s what automatically comes to mind when I think of one of my girlfriends coming to me with man news. You can’t blame me, though. I’ve got enough dirty muck I could start a blog on the down and dirty of dating, dumping, being dumped, and all the other unfortunate incidents that can occur along the way.
“What did he do?” I rasp out.
“It’s what he wants to do.” Robin’s eyes are fixed at her now neglected hot chocolate.
“Huh?” I furrow my brow in total befuddlement.
“He wants to adopt Rose.”
Her admission comes so quickly, so unexpectedly, I nearly knock over my mug of chocolate when my hands fly to my head.
“Whoa!” I gasp. I sink my fingers into the messy bun that I’m still wearing from yoga class. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Robin’s now smiling. “Can you believe it?”
While I’m in shock about the reality and recency of the news, I can actually say I’m not surprised. Bobby Holman is the prince on that proverbial white horse, the one Robin always dreamed about, the husband and father she and her children deserve. It was a long and hard road welcoming Ros
e into this world, but Bobby made the journey a little less bumpy.
Bobby and Robin started dating when she was pregnant with Rose, and if falling in love with a single-and-pregnant woman wasn’t proof enough that Mr. Bobby Holman was the real deal for Robin, I don’t know what would be.
And now he wants to go and adopt Rose! He’s already taken on the total role of being a father to the adorable toddler. This is, as Robin just now said, “The cherry on top, isn’t it?”
“Congratulations, Robin.” I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you. For all of you!”
“That means a lot coming from you, Sophie.” She gives me a sheepish grin.
Robin and I may have had our own personal rocky road when Rose was coming into this world, but, like I said, we’ve forgiven and moved on.
“So,” I say, my brow furrowing once again. “Does that mean—”
“Yup.” She symbolically dusts her hands off. “It’s time to clean things up.”
“You mean?”
“That’s right.” She gives a desultory chuckle.
I bring my mug of hot chocolate to my lips and take a long, slow, and contemplative pull as Robin says the dreaded words, “I have to contact Brandon and propose the plan to him.”
Chapter Three
As I got ready for bed that night I began to think about the conversation that had transpired with Robin at Randy’s. It makes complete sense that Bobby wants to adopt Rose. It’s not like Rose’s biological father, Brandon, has anything more to do with her than the obligatory child support payments. And now that Robin’s no longer a single mother struggling to get by, she doesn’t need to rely on those checks. Robin said tonight that she’s more than ready to move on with her life and begin living it with one and only one man and father in the picture.
I, naturally, had to laugh and tell here that it was always that way, wasn’t it? No thanks to useless Brandon. But I knew what she meant. As much of a douche bag as Brandon is, and as minor a role he plays in Rose’s life, he’s still listed as Rose’s Dad #2 in the titles of the film that’s Robin’s life.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 3
