by B. N. Toler
I wanted to say all of this to Courtney, but I didn’t. The new me would carry herself with confidence. Or at the very least I’d make everyone think so. “I know,” I told her. “I know.”
After shopping, we went to dinner at a local diner.
“So did Kate show you guys the house plans? I would kill to have a back-porch setup like theirs,” Deanna stated before sipping from her water.
I glanced at Courtney in confusion. “House plans?” Were Kate and Will building a house? Why hadn’t she told me? Damn. Had I been that disconnected lately?
Courtney bit her lip. I knew what that look meant. She felt bad about something. Deanna noting our expressions, hung her head, before raising it and looking my way. “I just found out. I think she wanted to tell you herself, but here I am being a blabber mouth.”
I kept my gaze fixed on Courtney. Deanna had made an innocent remark, unknowingly letting out something that it appeared Kate was keeping from me.
“She wanted to tell you herself,” Courtney answered me, finally.
“I gathered that. How long ago did this start?” I asked.
“A few months ago.”
I looked away from her and fiddled with my silverware. I didn’t understand why Kate didn’t tell me. We were all best friends, right? I knew I hadn’t been myself in a while, but that was no excuse.
Courtney’s cell phone rang and she picked it up, checking the screen for who was calling. “This is Mike’s mom. She’s watching Turner so I gotta take it.” After Courtney hurried off, Deanna leaned over and rested her hand on mine.
“She was going to tell you.”
“When?” I murmured. “When I got the invite to the house warming party?”
“She felt…bad, Hannah.”
I flicked my stare to hers in question. “Felt bad for what? Not telling me? Telling apparently everyone but me? Why?” I questioned in a quieter tone.
Deanna tilted her head, her eyes soft. “Because she felt like maybe you’d…” Pausing, she leaned back in her seat and sighed. She was struggling with her wording. But I knew what she was saying. They pitied me.
“That because I am where I am in life, I’d be jealous or resent her?” Could that really be it? Would Kate think that about me? I would never want any of my friends to think that. I was a grown woman. I was learning to accept my reality, but my loyalty and sentiments for my friends had never wavered. That hurt.
“Of course not. It’s just hard to have someone you love struggling, and then you’re over here doing something amazing. It feels unfair.”
Fought them as I may, my eyes welled up with tears. Was this what I had become to them? This person they felt so sorry for they felt they couldn’t share their joys with me? “Do you feel that way, too?” I asked, my voice husky with emotion. “That you have to dull your happiness to accommodate me?”
Her features went slack when she looked at me and realized how upset I was. I wasn’t a blubbering mess sprawled out on the floor throwing a tantrum, but I was hurting, shredded really. Discovering they felt this stung on many levels. First, I was the friend with nothing…something I already knew, but it was somehow more painful feeling like my friends felt sorry for me. I’d always decline when they wanted to pay for me. And felt happy to know their lives hadn’t gone down the crapper like mine. On another token, these women were my tribe. I, no matter how low in life, would always rally and cheer for them. I loved them and wanted nothing but the absolute best. Had I had moments of jealousy…maybe. But not over them…just for my own failures and shortcomings. I had tripped and fallen in life, and sometimes felt like everyone else was miles ahead of me. But that didn’t mean I would ever not want to hear of my best friends’ good fortune. It didn’t mean I didn’t, with all my heart believe, they deserved every wonderful thing they had going for them.
Maybe it was because she had the biggest heart of us all, or maybe it was because she was riddled with hormones from baby making, but Deanna started to cry, too. Great. Now I made my pregnant best friend cry. Hannah Birchim, for the win.
“It just feels so unfair sometimes,” she rasped before wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. Ugh, I hated to see her cry. It was like hurting Bambi; something too beautiful to be in pain.
“What’s unfair, sweetie?” I asked.
“Just what happened to you and everything you lost. You didn’t deserve it.”
I wiped under my eyes, deciding I needed to calm down. This conversation went way deeper than I ever imagined it could have. “I made some bad choices,” I told her, taking her hand in both of mine. “Lots of bad choices,” I added with a defeated huff. “You guys don’t need to take those on as well.”
“Not everything though, Hannah. Look how hard you worked. I know what it took for you to put yourself out there with those books. And you did it. You made it. It’s just such BS that you’re back at square one.” She took her cloth napkin and dabbed at her face, before adding, “Below square one.”
Ouch. I chuckled a little. Apparently, I was a little farther up Shit’s Creek than even I had thought. Me, the pillar of feeling sorry for myself, tried for a silver lining. “It’s not as bad as it could be.”
She rubbed her tiny belly with her free hand as she stared down at it. “Sometimes I feel like Allen and I have had it too good, ya know?”
Tilting my head, I said, “Too good?”
Her tear-filled stare met mine again. “I mean…we have the perfect marriage, great jobs, a beautiful home. And now…a baby. Everything we ever wanted. It just feels like we don’t deserve to have all of this, especially when someone like you is hurting in life.” It made me sad she felt this way. She deserved everything she had, and then some.
“Deanna, that’s ridiculous,” I scoffed, releasing her hand and leaning back in my chair.
With a soft voice, she added, “Life is unfair like that. And bad things happen to good people. I just know it can’t be this wonderful for us forever.”
Why was she talking like this? I had never been angry with Deanna a day in my life. But I felt a little pissed then. “Stop,” I said firmly. Her lip quivered, but she stilled when she heard the tone in my voice. “You deserve it all and more. My shit luck has nothing to do with you, you hear me?”
She bobbed her head once, her eyes filled with a sad shame.
“I’m okay,” I told her. The words felt funny, and I realized maybe it was because I didn’t quite feel okay, but somehow, I knew I would be…eventually. “I’m writing again. Like…real writing.”
Her mouth turned up into a sad smile. “That’s great, Hannah.”
“And it’s going to be good.” I tried my best at enthusiasm. “I can feel it.”
“I know it will,” she concurred.
“And everything is going to be great,” I went on. Why not. I figured maybe saying it enough would make it so. “Kate’s building a house, you’re going to a have a beautiful baby, and I’m going to publish a great book and get back on my feet. Courtney will still be up to her same hilarious antics. Everything will be as it should be.” I reached out and patted her hand.
“Sorry about that,” Courtney huffed as she plopped down in her seat. “Mike’s mother just doesn’t know when to stop talking.” She rolled her eyes in a dramatic manner.
Deanna shimmied in her seat, sitting up and cleared her throat. We were silently agreeing to drop the sad talk. No need to get Courtney emotional.
“You guys okay?” Courtney queried.
“Yep,” I chirped. “We’re good.”
Tools
Standing straight, my booted feet firmly planted, and my arms crossed, I stared at Henry Coppel, the new manager of training. I was doing little to control my expression, which most likely screamed the contempt I felt toward him. He’d been here a week, and I already wanted to throat punch him. As he spoke, I glanced over at Kegs who was standing just like me, the muscles in his jaw ticking. He was clearly pissed. We both were.
“I want a complet
e rewrite of the course with new PowerPoints,” Henry asserted as he attempted to make his physical presence more intimidating by deepening his voice and puffing out his chest. Just one good punch, and I’d lay his ass out. “I want it done yesterday. We’re going to get this place running right, boys.”
Boys?
He called us boys?
My hands itched, and I could feel Kegs bristle beside me.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
Glancing over my shoulder, obnoxiously looking around the room, I snorted, “I’m sorry. Where are there any boys in here?”
Henry’s lip curled up, almost as if he thought I was being funny, as he cut his eyes to me. “Sorry, Marner. Didn’t mean to insult your delicate feelings,” he snickered.
Oh, he had jokes now.
I let out a haughty and over-the-top laugh. “I tell you what, Henry.” I scratched at my beard. “Why don’t we meet out by the woodline?” His eyes widened in surprise, or maybe I’d scared him a bit. I was challenging him to a fight and he didn’t like that. “I’d like to show you just how delicate I am,” I added when he didn’t respond. Back in the day in the Marines, when two men disagreed or couldn’t get on the same page—maybe because one was just an asshole, or maybe because there were two alphas and only one alpha could lead the pack—they’d fight it out. This wasn’t the kind of fight you see in boxing, two guys with padded gloves in a roped-off ring. This was bare-knuckled, bar-none fighting. No rules but one—the last one standing wins. This type of behavior was “officially” frowned upon in the Marines, but it still happened. And when two soldiers agreed to hash it out and returned the next day with bruised and lacerated faces, no one said a damn word because the disagreement had been settled. I’d met many men by the woodline and more so than not, I’d been the victor, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten my ass beat a time or two. And there was no shame in that. It taught me something and made me tougher. The funny thing was, after it was all said and done, after we’d beaten and bloodied one another, everything was all right. In fact, in quite a few instances I became good buddies with the men I’d fought. This method of settling a disagreement might sound unorthodox to some, but it worked. Nowadays, everything was so politically correct, and there were few men with any backbone. The male species had been muted; forced to soften to meet society’s ever evolving agenda. It’s not that I believed all things should be settled with violence, but there were certain times when I felt it was warranted. This was one of them.
Far shorter than Kegs and me, and nowhere near our stature physically, Henry moved and spoke down to us like he had the biggest dick in the room. It’s funny how a little power, a title, could give some men the illusion they were top dog, that they could treat other men like they were beneath them. The fucker was disrespectful, and we didn’t deserve it. We worked too hard to be treated like a couple of knuckle draggers.
Henry looked to Kegs, and let out something that sounded like a laugh. “You have a colorful friend here, Kegs.”
“I wouldn’t call him colorful,” Kegs replied with a shrug. “Just a guy that calls people on their shit.”
I smirked at my best friend’s reply, as Henry shook his head and fumbled with some papers on the desk. He never addressed my challenge. He was going to laugh it off; pretend it didn’t happen because if I was only joking, then that didn’t mean he was a gigantic pansy for rejecting it.
Taking a deep breath, I made an effort to calm myself. Henry’s job was to “manage” the training. But what he was having us do was bullshit. Kegs and I, along with a few others, had worked our asses off on the current scheduled curriculum before Henry was even a twinkle in Morrison’s eye. There had been countless long days and weeks without a day off while we slaved over it. We took pride in our work and wanted to offer the very best product. We may have been employees of Morrison, but it was our name and reputation on the line with the training. What we’d made was good…better than good. The problem was Morrison was pulling back. Instead of letting us train real security, they wanted us to start backing off and being gentler with the students. I’d been pulled in my boss Van’s office the week before because one of the students got hurt feelings when I told him to move his fucking ass.
“I want to see these changes made and on my desk by Friday,” Henry went on, giving Kegs a hard slap on the back before opening the door to exit. “I know you guys can handle it.” When he walked out, I dropped my arms and turned to Kegs as I let out a growl of frustration. Kegs was still frozen in the position. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. I knew what he was thinking—the same thing I was thinking. He was fantasizing about ripping Henry’s stubby little arm off and beating him with it.
“He touched me,” Kegs finally managed through gritted teeth.
I couldn’t help snorting a laugh. Maybe it was the time spent in the Marines, or maybe we both grew up with hardass fathers that built us a certain way, but we weren’t the kind of men some pint-sized fuckwad talked down to, or slapped on the back like he was our coach and we were high school football players. It wasn’t that we weren’t capable of taking orders and following directions…we were in the military at one point, after all, so obviously we could, but we were men now. We’d bled for our country. We’d developed skills that made us elite. We weren’t cocky or arrogant, but we knew we deserved respect. And to Henry’s disadvantage, we were civilians now. He knew damn well we could hand him his ass. This guy got off on treating men like us like less because it made him feel bigger. The little punk wouldn’t have survived one day as a soldier.
“Tracey and the kids were coming down tomorrow. Guess I should tell her to hold off since we have to recreate this whole fucking thing,” he gritted.
“I’m supposed to move into the new place in a week, and I haven’t even started packing,” I noted. I’d signed the lease the day before for the river house, but my previous landlord wanted me out as soon as possible because they’d found new tenants. I’d agreed, thinking I’d have a few days off to pack up before our next group of students arrived, but Henry fucked that up by asking us to remake our lesson plan.
“You know Henry is going to tell Van about your invite to the woodline, right?”
I bobbed my head a few times. I knew this, though I didn’t want to think about it. I’d probably be written up. “I’ll worry about it when the time comes,” I replied. “Maybe he’ll surprise us and keep it to himself. Might not want to look like a complete tool.”
Kegs’ mouth curled up on one side in a half smile. “A, you’re not that lucky. B, he is a tool…he can’t help but do toolish things.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was Hannah. I hadn’t spoken to her since Sunday. It was Tuesday. She probably thought I was being an asshole and ignoring her.
“I gotta take this, bro,” I told Kegs as I headed toward the door. “Hello,” I answered.
“Hi there,” Hannah chirped. The greeting had sounded odd as it was, add in the fact that her voice was about twenty octaves higher than normal, it was plain awkward. She was nervous. “How are you?” she quickly added.
“Busy,” I admitted. “I’m sorry I haven’t called, but—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “I get it…work.”
I narrowed my eyes, a little perturbed. The way she said it sounded like she didn’t believe it. “Hannah. Work really has been crazy. I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she clipped back.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a moment before responding. I didn’t want to take out on her what was clearly aggression toward Henry. If I snapped back, so would she and then where would that leave us? “You sounded like maybe you didn’t believe me.”
She was quiet for a moment, then, “Some guys might use work as a way to keep a woman at arm’s length.”
And there it was. That damned insecurity of hers making an appearance. I was right, she didn’t believe I was tied up at work. �
�I’m not some guys,” I replied sternly. “The sooner you figure that out, the better off we’ll both be.”
Again, quiet. I figured she was trying to decide what to say next. “I’m sorry work is so busy,” she finally said.
I let out a frustrated sigh. She was skating over it, avoiding confrontation. Clearly, she questioned my honesty, but decided not to address it head-on. Choosing to let it go, not wanting to have an argument, I mentioned, “And I have to move and haven’t even started packing yet. Gotta be out by Sunday.”
“Why so fast?”
“Long story,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I know that looks shitty…it’s just been hectic.”
“Maybe I could come and help you pack, if that doesn’t seem too weird,” she offered.
I was glad we were on the phone and she couldn’t see the expression of suspicion on my face. I wasn’t used to people offering to help me…not without a motive anyway. Who in the hell would want to come help someone they barely knew pack to move? “Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She must’ve heard the cynicism in my tone because she shot back, “I was just offering, Wren. Trying to be nice. Hasn’t anyone ever been nice to you?”
“It’s been a while,” I admitted, turning in the direction of where I’d last seen Henry-the-douche walk off to.
“Look,” she huffed. “I was only trying to think of a way we could see each other and still allow you to get stuff done. Sorry.”
Rubbing my forehead, I took a moment. I was being harsh—again. And judging her at the drop of a hat. Maybe I didn’t understand how she could even want to help, but I couldn’t deny I actually needed it. “I’d feel shitty asking you.”
