“Okay.” I can feel my eyes grow round in curiosity.
“I emailed him.” She feeds another quick spoonful of food to Phillip. “And I also called him. Left a message.”
“Oh, god,” I groan.
“Haven’t heard back yet…call-wise,” she says, and I shake my head brusquely. “But he did email me.”
“He did?” I say, jolted.
“Yup. He emailed to say he’d gotten my message. Oh, and I mentioned adoption to him in the message, by the way. I got straight to the point.” A small yet apparent self-congratulatory look comes over her.
“Good, good,” I interject.
“Didn’t have the balls to call me back.”
“Obviously.”
“But at least the email, right?” She gives a lackluster look and a one-shouldered shrug. “He wrote that he’s totally taken aback by this news. That he didn’t see it coming.” She wags her head in an irritated manner. “But he did say he’s open to discussion.”
“Open to discussion?” I gasp in disbelief.
“Yeah, crazy, right?” She continues feeding Phillip.
“So is that it? Open to discussion and then…”
“I don’t know.” Robin sighs and sets the spoon down in the nearly empty jar. “He said he’d get back to me, but when? How? Email again? That dreaded return call?” She looks off to the side.
I reach out for her free hand and give it a pat. “It’ll work out, Robin,” I encourage. “It always does. Some way, somehow.”
She lightheartedly sniffs in response, then says, her eyes trained on mine, “I’m so over this. I just want to push it all behind us, Sophie. He’s not a part of my family, and it’s time we finish this once and for all.”
“Definitely.” I couldn’t agree more. “On the upside, he’s open for discussion, so this could mean a wish come true.” I give a weak grin.
“Yeah,” she says in a positive tone. “Then I can finally stop coming over here and dropping Brandon bombs on you over tea and scones.” She simpers in a sullen way. “Oh how familiar this all feels.”
“Never stop coming by for tea and scones.” I look at Rose and finger delicately one of her thin braids. “Rose has the best father she could ask for.”
“That’s right. Bobby is wonderful with her.” Robin looks on at her daughter with adoring and grateful eyes.
“Daddy’s going to take me to the quay-eem.”
“The quay-eem?” I give Rose a big smile. “Daddy’s going to take you to the quay-eem? That sounds adventurous.” Not having a clue to what she’s referring, I coax her to tell me more.
“Yup.” Rose slowly yet roughly moves her head up and down. “And we’re gonna go see the fishes, the jellyfishes, the octotopuses, and the sharks!” She kind of barks this last word.
Robin giggles and says, “That’s right. Daddy said if you get a rainbow each day at daycare this week then we’ll go to the aquarium.”
“Ahhh,” I say with a tilt of the head. “A lover of underwater urchins and sea life, just like her Auntie Emily.”
“Exactly,” Robin says.
“I’m really good at daycare,” Rose insists. “Really good. I almost always get rainbows!”
“That’s right.” Robin looks proud.
“Only sometimes do I get clouds. Clouds aren’t as good as rainbows, Auntie Sophie.”
“Oh?”
“Just reminders to be a little bit more behaved, right?” Robin says, and Rose heartily nods in agreement.
Phillip suddenly begins to squeal, hands outstretched towards the jar of baby food.
“Here,” Rose offers to her little brother. She sticks her icing-covered hand in front of him. “Eat, baby. It’s gooood.”
Phillip stares cross-eyed at the sisterly offering, then opens his spinach-covered mouth and leans forward.
“Good, baby,” Rose says, laughing and looking up at her mom as Phillip licks and tries to suck at Rose’s hand. “Oh, it tickles, it tickles,” she coos, her laughter now turning into a full-on fit. “It tickles!”
“This is my family, Sophie,” Robin says with a bright smile. Her eyes are slightly glassy, though, as if she’s about to cry.
I grip her hand firmly and tell her there is nothing to worry about.
“Yes, it’ll be tough to talk to Brandon,” I say. “Yes, it’d be easier if you never had to deal with it in the first place.” Robin shrugs. “But think of how great it’ll all be when it’s done! It’ll totally be worth all the work and pain you’re putting in now.”
“You really think he’ll give up? Walk away for good?” She scrapes the remains of the creamed spinach onto the spoon.
“If there’s one thing Brandon’s good at,” I scoff, “and there’s only one thing Brandon’s good at, it’s giving up and walking away.”
That one gets a giggle out of Robin. “How true is that?” She feeds Phillip the last of the baby food. “How ever true is that?”
Chapter Eleven
Three-and-Half Years Ago, Winter in Seattle
I folded the load of laundry, my mind not focused on the mindless task of perfectly quartering the hand towels, halving the washcloths, and rolling the bath towels—the way I thought things should be, the OCD-way Brandon said they were.
My eyes were trained on nothing in particular ahead of me as I fell into my fog. Brandon and I hadn’t been connecting for the past couple of months. Even worse, we hadn’t been talking for the past couple of days. Nothing more than the rote “goodbye” and “hello” on our ways to and from work. We didn’t go out to the new Italian restaurant, Spaghetti Western, like we said we’d check out last night. Brandon came home late from work, grabbed a beer and a bag of chips for dinner, zoned out to ESPN, and eventually fell asleep on the sofa. He never even came to bed.
I contemplated asking him this morning why he’d stayed at work so late when we’d clearly planned a date, but what was the point? He’d dashed on to work so fast in the morning I didn’t have a chance, and, besides, I knew the stock answer I’d get: “There was work to be done, Soph, so I stayed and did it.”
There was no winning or getting through to him lately. It was as if he’d shut the door on our relationship, almost like I was a pest to him. He wasn’t cold and cruel, but he was hollow, distant, and whenever we did talk it felt like I would have gotten further talking to a wall.
I folded in half the washcloth I’d been fidgeting with for a while and placed it gruffly on top of the small tower of laundry poised on the sofa’s armrest.
“Hey, Soph,” Brandon said, monotone, as he walked through the apartment’s front door.
“Hey.” My voice was equally monotone.
I picked up the stack of hand towels and proceeded towards the cupboard at the end of the hall. I returned to the living room and picked up another stack.
“You’re home at a decent hour,” I said, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes.
Twenty past six was better than usual, but I’d hardly call it a decent hour, especially when I considered that he’d flown out of the apartment at a quarter to seven that morning. How many hours must he spend at the office?
“Yeah, slow day at work,” he replied. He emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of beer. “Finally, right?”
He took a long pull and sauntered to the sofa. He fell back into a comfortable position, rocking so that a rolled towel fell from its pyramid.
“Hey, careful, please,” I said, re-rolling.
He dismissively muttered an apology and turned on the TV.
“So…maybe we can go out to dinner tonight? To Spaghetti Western. Give it a try?”
“Nah.” He waved a few bottle-clenching fingers at me. “One of the guys at work told me he went there. Said it was total shit.”
“Ah.” I took some rolled towels into my arms. “Well, how about a hello kiss?” Honestly, where was his head lately? And he actually wondered why I said I felt disconnected?
He gave me a curious look, then stood up, groaning
along the way as if he was an eighty-year-old man being forced to walk up a flight of stairs.
“Hey, babe, sorry,” he said into my ear as he kissed my earlobe. “Work good for you?” He plopped back down, and I just stood there, slightly bewildered. “Work good?” he repeated, eyes on the TV.
“Uhh, yeah.” I wagged my head, unable to believe how little affection my boyfriend was willing to display. “Fine, nothing new. Nothing exciting,” I mumbled.
I grabbed a thin stack of the remaining washcloths. “I’m really considering quitting and opening up my own place, though.” I only said this out of spite. I was upset I was being ignored, shoved under the rug. Dinner? No. Kiss? Oh, what a burden. Desperate for some kind of serious interaction I spat out the first thing that came to mind (and that could incite some non-monotone-like reaction) when asked about my day.
“What?” He jerked his head my way as I stalked off down the hall. “What?” His voice grew louder, despite my walking away. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” I returned from the hall, really feeling incensed.
“Sophie, don’t be a fool. Quit your job?”
“Well why not? Why not dive headfirst into my dream?” I stopped what I was doing, one hand firmly planted on my hip. “I don’t have passion at home, in my relationship, so why not at work? With my career?”
“Oh, this again,” he moaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Sophie, I don’t want to talk about it. Work’s demanding for me. That’s why I’m not myself.”
“It was a slow day at work today, Brandon!” My voice was reaching hollering level. “And what was this promise of ‘when the new year comes I’ll be much more relaxed, more myself’? What happened to that?”
“Dammit, Soph.” He slammed his bottle of beer onto the coffee table. “This is why I stay at work so late. I don’t want to come home and be berated by you! God. You act like we’re a married couple of twenty years. Nag, nag, nag. Quit it already!”
Agog, I didn’t know what else to do, so I angrily grabbed at the remaining pieces of laundry and threw them into the air. They fluttered about the living room, and Brandon looked on in astonishment.
“Fine!” I roared. “I’m calling Claire and we’re going to dinner. Screw you!”
“Oh, jeez.” He sank back into the sofa and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “Have fun.” He took a slug of beer. “Go get your bitching session on.”
“You’re a real jerk lately, you know that, Brandon?” I grabbed my purse and rooted about for my keys and cell phone. “A real jerk.”
***
Three Years Ago, Summer in Seattle
It was in March—though it feels like only yesterday—that the longest relationship of my life came to a close. Brandon, out of nowhere, said he wanted out. He’d done some thinking, had a change of heart (though I beg to differ if he even had one at all), and decided that it was time to move in a different direction.
Of course, not long after I was shown the door I learned that that direction had been a one-night stand a few weeks before our break up—a one-night stand with one of my best friends.
At first I didn’t know if he’d been so riddled with guilt by the affair that he decided we had to break up or if he really did feel like our relationship was expired. He had been acting like a dick the few months prior…surely evidence of “the passion and love that had faded.”
Eventually, after he decided we go separate ways, he confessed the affair, and all the pieces—the shattered pieces—were laid out on the table. I had a boyfriend who’d fallen out of love with me. He’d cheated, we’d broken up, and that was how that year, the Year of Heartbreak, began.
Faced with the gut-wrenching truth that Robin and Brandon had hooked up, I thought I’d seen it all. Then the Year of Heartbreak really began to unravel its mess of episodes before me. I’d lost a boyfriend, lost my friend and yoga instructor Pamela to cancer, and lost a good portion of my dignity and my confidence in men. For a while I’d even lost hope that I’d ever find love again. And to top off everything, Robin was faced with the reality that she was single and pregnant.
Wrought with pain and wondering when the sun would ever shine again, I knew I couldn’t let go of a best friend. A best friend who, in spite of one horrible and foolish act of betrayal, was someone I still loved very much. A best friend who needed me most right then. In a time of grief and despair, with a mutual need for companionship, you don’t let go of those you love and those who are willing to show you love in return, in spite of all the ugly that transpires. You hang on, you fight, you make it work.
Long story short, it was the Year of Heartbreak when I started to feel myself sort of clam up with men. I was on red alert since Brandon had betrayed me. If one man could let go of a relationship we spent three years and numerous moments cultivating, then what would keep another man from doing the same?
I wouldn’t say I swore off men at that point. But maybe I’d become guarded? I knew I’d think twice before saying yes to some guy for a date, jumping into a serious relationship (and apartment) with someone I didn’t really know.
See, I had that baggage, that really big and heavy baggage, and letting go or reducing it felt impossible.
I had one thing going for me, however, and that was confidence. Though infinitesimal at that moment, I knew that some day I’d be able to heal and move on. Some day I’d find someone else, but time would have to heal me. And the only way I could see myself being able to lick my wounds, patch up, and scab over, would be to focus my attention on my friends, my family, and my goal of opening up my own café. In time, all would be righted. When? God help me, I had no clue!
Chapter Twelve
“Claire! I can’t believe you’re here!” I say for the umpteenth time. My face has been frozen in a smile for the past ten minutes since girls’ night officially commenced at Robin’s. I was as elated about Claire coming into town as a girl who’s learned she’s won the Girl Scout cookie sale competition—so ecstatic I closed the café an hour early and raced to the airport just in time to meet her.
“Is this not the most fun surprise or what?” Jackie roars as she uncorks the bottle of Veuve Cliquot. A loud pop sounds, and a swirl of chill escapes from the bottle of bubbly.
“Best surprise, ever!” I say, passing out empty champagne flutes. “No cheap stuff tonight.”
“I should’ve brought the Dom,” Jackie says, pouring out generous helpings—too generous, the first overflows onto Robin’s kitchen counter. “Oops.” Jackie bends over to suck up the spilled bubbly, and Claire giggles, saying she’s really missed us girls.
“But Andrew and I opened our last bottle of Dom for some serious celebrating,” Jackie says when she’s finished slurping. She excitedly shakes her hips, snuggly covered in a zebra-striped miniskirt, which matches stripe for stripe her five-inch-high heels.
“Celebrating, eh?” Lara says. She takes a glass for herself. “Did you get another client, Jack? Another top-of-the-line job?”
Lara’s referencing the latest interior design job Jackie landed. Jackie had texted and called me only about a dozen times before I finally answered the day she got the job. She wasted no time squealing into the receiver the high-dollar account she’d nabbed through word of mouth at Andrew’s firm—a million-dollar home over in Upper Queen Anne.
“Noooo,” Jackie sings. “But how awesome is that new gig, right?” She snickers and finishes filling the fifth and last glass, which I snag and then raise up.
“A toast to being reunited, once again,” I say. “Minus Emily, who is always finding some better place to run off to.” I flash a quick and reminiscent smile.
“Cheers!” Claire says. She bounces slightly on her toes, her head of wild, curly blonde hair following suit. “Conner’s such a doll to have surprised me with this trip. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!”
Robin laughs and says, “Claire, dear, it’s been like a month.”
“Month
and a half,” Claire astutely corrects. “Far too long.”
“So what was the cause for your Dom Pérignon celebration, Jack?” Lara pries through a sip of her champagne.
“It’s Jackie and Andrew,” Claire says through a giggle. “What celebration doesn’t call for the crème de la crème?”
“So true,” Robin says. She brings her glass to her lips.
“I’m a land owner, girls!” Jackie leans mock-seductively into the kitchen counter, gently swirling her glass of champagne about.
“Oh, no!” Claire claps a hand to her mouth. “You’re moving, aren’t you? Land? You moving out into the country? The wilderness? An island?”
“Jackie?” Robin says, nearly choking on her drink. “Jackie in the country? Let’s be real here.”
“She does like Bainbridge Island,” Lara points out. “You and Andrew like taking your sailboat there, too.”
I nod in agreement. “That’s true. I wouldn’t call Bainbridge country, but—”
“Compared to their downtown penthouse high-rise!” Claire says perkily.
“Chill, girls, chill.” Jackie motions with a flattened palm for us to take it down a level. “It’s nothing like that. Andrew and I are not moving. And we sure as hell are not moving into the country.” She blubbers her lips. “Or an island. I’m a city girl.”
We all nod in accord.
“We love Seattle,” Jackie waxes on. “We love our luxe townhouse. No, we’re staying put.” She takes a quick pull of champagne. “But I’ve been talking to Andrew about this for a while, and he thought it was a really genius idea. Expensive, but genius.” She takes another sip and leans further into the counter.
“You know that bookstore where I used to work?” she continues. “Hodge’s? Well, evidently the landlord was going to raise the rent pretty high next year. It’d set Hodge’s back hard and put Pioneer Square Antiques out of business!” She presses a hand to her flat chest in dismay. “I get so many great decorative items from Pioneer Square Antiques I’d be a mess without them! And the guilt of finding out Hodge’s would go under, after all their trust they put in hiring a pathetic girl like me, helping me get on my feet during that whole Andrew mess.” She gasps loudly and dramatically. “Anyway, I told Andrew all about their demise and asked him to look into buying the place. To help control the rent and all.”
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 9
