by Becky Monson
“Oh, honey, what happened?” Gram says to me as I walk into the apartment.
“I . . . I . . . Adam . . . he broke up with me.” Really, it is more like “meeeeeeeeeeeeee” because I start blubbering again when I get to that point.
Through hiccups and snot and tears, I explain the whole crappy, sordid night to Gram as we sit on the couch. My coat is still on, my snot-filled scarf still around my neck. She rubs my arm and offers a sigh or a “humph” or a “tsk” when it’s appropriate.
“Oh, Bridgette, I’m so very sorry,” Gram says, her eyes round with empathy. “You know, if he doesn’t see all that you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
I let out a big breath and give her a look of defeat. She’s going to pull out the sympathetic looks and words of comfort already? I really don’t want to go there yet.
“Thanks, Grams. I know you mean well, but I’m not ready to hear how ‘it’s his loss,’ or ‘I could do better,’ or ‘you’ll find someone better,’“ I say and look down at my hands, twiddling the ends of my scarf.
“Well, all those things are true.” She pats my shoulder. “But I’ll hold off on all that until you’re ready. How about a cup of hot chocolate to warm you up? I’ll put marshmallows in it, just the way you like.”
I actually stopped liking marshmallows in my hot chocolate when I was twelve, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her. “I’ll pass tonight, Gram. I think I’m going to go cry myself to sleep.”
“Yes, yes. Cry it all out. I will be here if you need to talk,” she says, sympathetically. It occurs to me that Gram has most likely been through breakups in her time. I seem to imagine the only person she ever dated was Pops, but I can tell by the look on her face she knows exactly what I’m going through.
I go into my room and shut the door. I take off my coat and dress, put on a tee shirt and sweats, and crawl into bed without brushing my teeth or washing my face.
I cry until I fall asleep.
CHAPTER 2
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Bridgette, this is an intervention,” Ashley says to me in a very serious tone as we sit in our favorite café.
“Huh?” I look up from reading the most recent text from Adam on my phone to see her and Justin staring at me. “What are you going on about?”
“Justin and I have been talking, and I—er, we—think your relationship with Adam’s family is unhealthy,” she says, sitting across from me, cradling a paper cup full of steaming coffee in her hands.
“Oh, geez, you guys,” I say, giving them a look of complete annoyance. This is not the first time we’ve had this discussion. It’s never gotten to an intervention level, though.
“Bridge, it’s not normal,” Ashley says, tossing her long, red hair off her shoulder.
“I don’t know how I can keep explaining it to you. Just because Adam and I broke up, doesn’t mean I had to break up with his family.” I look from her to Justin. They’re giving each other conspiratorial looks, and Justin nods his head, nudging Ashley to continue.
“I, well, Justin and I,” she looks at Justin and then back to me, “We think that you spending so much time with Adam’s family is a bit . . . well . . . stalker-ish.” She says the last part quietly as if someone were listening to our conversation.
“I am not a stalker!” I say, slamming my phone down on the table, not caring who hears me. “And frankly, I find it offensive you guys would say that. I’m not stalking Adam.”
Justin and Ashley look at each other, skepticism in their eyes. I’m trying to ooze disgust and outrage at their stalker comment, but the truth is, they are not far off. They know me well, my two best friends.
I haven’t been stalking him, per se. Have I spent time with Adam’s family because I want to be present in their lives so I’m vicariously present in Adam’s? I suppose that’s part of the reason. I’m not using them. I really do love his family, and they love me—in fact, I think his mom was more devastated than I was about the breakup. Okay, she couldn’t have possibly been more devastated than I was, but she was very upset about it. She told me she was going to disown Adam. That hasn’t happened yet, but I didn’t honestly expect it to.
“Okay, fine. What about Adam? When’s the last time you talked to him?” Ashley asks, sitting up straight in her seat. Oh, no, she’s got the “lecture” look on. Here we go.
“He texted me this morning, actually.” I click on the text and hold my phone up for them to see. They don’t bother looking.
It wasn’t like it was some poignant text. Just a simple, “How are you?” which I interpreted as, “How are you? I’ve been thinking about you. I miss you. Let’s get back together.” Although not said, those things were obviously implied.
“When’s the last time you saw him?” She folds her arms, sitting back in her seat, taking on the look of a therapist. I’m anticipating an “and how do you feel about that?” at any moment.
“I don’t know.” I look around the room, thinking about the last time I saw him. Like, physically saw him. It’s been a while. With work picking up and my taking all the shifts I can get, I guess I hadn‘t realized. Plus, we’ve talked on the phone and texted since then. Well, maybe we haven‘t talked on the phone as much as just texted.
“I think we met up for coffee a few weeks ago.” I look back at Justin and Ashley, suddenly recalling that last, somewhat stilted, coffee date. I could tell his mind was elsewhere.
“Bridgette, can we be honest with you?” Her position now shifts to leaning forward on the table, on her elbows, her hands clasped together. This is getting super serious.
I don’t say anything because she is going to be “honest” whether I like it or not.
“It’s been three months, Bridge. We think you should move on,” she says.
“Yes, you should move on. Like perhaps to someone who, while not as muscular and well-built as Adam, has a certain boyish charm and a stunning smile,” Justin pipes in, showing off said stunning smile and winking at me.
Ashley whacks his arm with the back of her hand.
“What? You jealous?” Justin does a double eyebrow lift in Ashley‘s direction.
“Uh, hell no,” Ashley says, her lips faintly curled into a smile.
I roll my eyes at the both of them.
“Well, what if I don’t want to move on? What if I still hope something might happen?” I fold my arms and sit back in my chair, my pouting face on.
“Bridge, if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to happen, sorry to say,” Ashley says, giving me a concerned look. “Didn’t you read the book I loaned you?”
“You mean He’s Just Not That Into You?“ I scoff. “I read it. It’s a bunch of bull.”
“No, it‘s not. It‘s good advice.” Her mouth drops open in awe of my blatant disregard for her “dating bible” as she has referred to it.
“Well, maybe I‘m the exception to the rules.” I shrug, hoping it‘s the truth.
“Exception?” She scrunches her face. It’s not a pretty look on her. “That was from the movie! Did you even read it?” She stares me down intently, looking for an answer.
“Well, I skimmed it a little but then figured the movie would be more entertaining.” I shrug and smile sheepishly.
“You’re ridiculous, Bridgette.” She gets up from the table, plodding angrily over to the counter to top off her coffee.
I sigh. “Justin, you don’t honestly think I’m a stalker, do you? I mean, Ashley dragged you into this, didn’t she?” I plead with him using my eyes, hoping he’s on my side.
“Well . . .” he trails off, answering my question without any other words.
Ashley returns, plopping down in her seat. She opens her mouth to start her lecture again but stops herself.
“You know what?” she says, tilting her head slightly to the side, “I’m going to stop bothering you about this. You can make your own mistakes.”
“Well, thank you ever-so-much for your vote of confidence,” I say sardonically.
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“I have confidence in you,” Justin says, feigning seriousness.
“Oh shut up, Justin.” Ashley slaps him on the arm again.
“For what it’s worth, I do appreciate how much you both care about me,” I say, reaching across the table, grabbing them each by a hand.
“Crap, what time is it?” I say, letting go of their hands as soon as I grab them so I can look at my phone. “Oh, man, I’m gonna be late.” I get up and grab my jacket from the back of my chair, putting it on quickly.
“It’s only eleven thirty, where’re you going?” Ashley asks, looking up at me strangely.
“Um . . .” I trail off, looking out the window so they can‘t see my eyes. “I’m, um, sort of having lunch with Carla,” I say, the name barely audible to the human ear. Carla may or may not be Adam’s Mom. More may than may not . . .
“Oh, hell.” Ashley collapses back in her chair, defeated. “Bridgette, you really need some therapy.” She puts her porcelain-skin face in her hands.
“No, I don’t. I’m in complete control and know exactly what I’m doing. Talk some sense into her, would you, Justin?” I gesture over to her. “Love you guys! See you tonight,” I say as I grab my purse and head out the door.
~*~
“Carla!” I say, somewhat breathlessly as I walk into the restaurant. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I wasn’t paying attention to the clock.” I take off my white blazer and hang it on the back of the chair, and with my hand, I swipe off the various raindrops that have gathered on the shoulders. It‘s a rainy May day in the city. I managed to make it to the restaurant before it started raining too hard. The cuffs of my skinny jeans didn‘t get too wet, but I fear my favorite red Steve Madden platforms may have suffered the most.
I take a seat across from Adam‘s mom, my not-future mother-in-law. Not for now.
She smiles a warm smile. “Bridgette, my dear, wonderful to see you,” she says in her thick New York accent.
“I love what you‘ve done with your hair,” I exclaim, noticing her new hairstyle.
“Do you?” She runs one hand through her salt-and-pepper hair that‘s been shaped into a lovely chin-length bob. Her other hand is holding a rather large glass of red wine.
“I do. I love it. You look ten years younger.”
“Oh stop,” she waves a diamond-encrusted hand at me. “You know, I wanted to do something different for a while now, but Frank didn‘t want me to. So I finally says to him, I says ‘Frank, I‘ll do what I want, it‘s my own damn hair.‘ But I have to tell you, Frank really liked the cut. A lot.” She gives me an insinuating wink.
Gross.
“But enough about me and my hair. How have you been, my darling Bridgette? I love your jacket. You know I had a jacket like that once. I think I had it in the 70s. It‘s so funny how styles come back, isn‘t it? I swear, this one time . . .”
I tune out a tad. Carla can talk your ear off if you let her. Her mood can also turn on a dime. She‘s a bit of an “Italian hot head,” as Adam‘s dad refers to her. In truth, her candor and lack of filter were a bit off-putting when I first met her, but soon became endearing to me. We bonded quickly, and she‘s like family to me now. Especially since my own parents moved from Goshen to Charlotte two years ago. I hate that they‘re no longer a train ride away.
“. . .so then, he sees me, only in my undies and it was very embarrassing . . .” She keeps going.
I laugh when she laughs and add in a “you don‘t say” and “no way” when it‘s fitting to the story.
The server comes to the table, interrupting Carla, and we place our order. As soon as the waitress leaves, she picks right back up on her story, not missing a beat.
“Oh, would you listen to me go on and on.” She stops, taking a sip of wine. “Tell me what you’ve been up to, my dear. I haven‘t seen you in nearly two weeks. What’s kept you away from me?”
“Well, not much, really. I’ve just been working . . .”
“And dating?” she interjects.
“Oh, well, you know me.” I smile self-consciously, insinuating there’s more to the story than what is the truth—I stay home most nights with Gram, hang out with Ashley and Justin, or I’m working. Oh, yes, and I’m still holding out for her son. I nibble my bottom lip, which I always do when I’m not being completely honest.
“Ooooh, anyone in particular?” She winks at me, clearly hoping for something juicy.
“Oh, no, just, you know, different . . . er . . . men,” I stutter, making myself sound a bit on the whoreish side. What a lovely thing to say to the mother of your ex. The ex you still love and want to be with.
Perhaps, though, if I imply I’m dating someone, maybe it will get back to Adam somehow, and he might get jealous and come find me at the Eiffel Tower and declare his undying love to me. Or maybe something a little less dramatic. Clearly, I am still letting my brain go off on crazy romantic tangents.
Well it’s already out there now, it’s not like I can take it back. I have to roll with it at this point.
“Tell me about all these men!” Carla says, excited and possibly living vicariously through me. She married very young, and I’ve often wondered if she thinks she missed out on sowing her wild oats.
“Oh, it’s not that interesting. Just some guys I’ve met at, um, bars.”
Work! I meant to say work. Bars? I don’t even hang out in bars. Oh, hell, I’m digging myself a hole.
“Well . . . that’s nice . . .” she trails off, looking to the side as if thinking to herself that her son dodged a bullet.
He might possibly have. Apparently, post-Adam, I’ve become a slutty bar-hopper.
I need to fix this. “Well, there’s this one guy that I met,” I say without thinking it through, and she looks up, her eyes brightening. “His name is . . . uh . . . ” Of course now I can’t think of his name—any name since he’s not even real. Why would I go completely blank for a guy’s name? How hard is it?
“Justin,” I finally say and smile awkwardly. “Justin is his name.”
“Justin? Well, I’m going to have to meet this Justin of yours. You know I once dated a guy named Justin . . . or was it James? I can’t remember. I know it started with a J. Anyway, this one time we were out on a date . . .”
Well, at least the conversation has gone back to her. And at least Justin is a real, tangible person. And we do work together, so that was true. He took me on a date once. Well, it wasn’t so much a date as a way to try to cheer me up after Adam and I broke up. And it truly didn’t cheer me up, since Justin is about the least sympathetic person out there. But he paid, so I’m going to call it a date. See? I’ve been on one date since things ended with Adam.
“. . . and her name is Serendipity. Who in the hell would name their kid that? She goes by Serene, which is worlds better. I don’t know what he sees in her, with that ridiculously long, dark hair and her huge dark eyes. If you ask me, she sort of looks like a witch! But I told him she ain’t got nothing on you . . .”
Wait—what did I miss? Who is she talking about? My heart starts pounding loudly in my chest.
“I’m sorry, Carla,” I interrupt her, “I think I missed something.” I shake my head. This is awkward. How do I find out what she was talking about without letting on that my mind had wandered and I missed what she was saying?
“Were you saying Frank Junior is dating someone?”
“Oh, please.” She bats a hand at me. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find a girl for F.J. I’ve given up hope on him, what with all the clubbing and fooling around he does. I told him the other day, I says, ‘Frank Alan Dubois Junior, when are you gonna give me grandchildren?’ And you wanna know what he said? ‘I probably already have, Ma.’ He thinks he’s so funny—”
“So Adam’s, um, dating someone?” I cut her off, trying with all my might not to sound like the girl who is freaking out inside my head. It’s a difficult plight.
“Oh, Bridgette, darling, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but yes. Her name is Ser
ene. They’ve been dating for nearly three weeks now.” She looks at me, obviously concerned about how I’m taking this.
Shocking news: I’m not taking this well. But I must do my best not to freak out in front of her. If that got back to Adam . . . well, I don’t want it to for many reasons, mainly my pride.
“No . . . uh . . . that’s great!” I paste on a fake bright smile, pushing back the tears that are ready to spill out of my eyes at any given second.
“It is?” She looks taken aback by my reaction.
“Sure! I’m glad he’s moved on.” I pause, swallowing the lie deeply. “I hope he’s happy. I really do.”
“Hmm. Well, Bridgette, I’m not going to lie. I wasn’t sure how you would take it. Heaven knows, I didn’t take it well. Told him he was a complete moron. Serendipity. What the hell kind of name is that?” She closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head in disgust. “But I have to say, I’m quite surprised.” She gives me an approving grin.
“We’ve been broken up for three months.” Three months and four days, to be precise. “Of course he’d move on. I’ve moved on,” says the big-fat-practically-crying liar.
“Well, I’d always hoped things would work out with the two of you.” She gives me a thin, sad smile.
You and me both, lady.
The server brings us our food. I’m not feeling so hungry at this moment.
“You know, you should meet her,” Carla sputters out after the server leaves, her eyes widening as the thought dawns on her. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and bring that guy you’re dating—Justin was his name?”
“Sure,” I say brightly, but add internally, First, let me get a root canal. That sounds like more fun.
“Then it’s all settled.” She pulls out her planner and starts flipping through it until she gets to the calendar. “How about next Friday?”
“I . . . er . . .” I forgot Carla is a planner. If you say you’re going to do something, she takes it seriously. How could she even think I’d want to meet evil-witch-man-stealer-whatever-her-name-is? Oh, that’s right, because I told her I was “happy” Adam’s moved on and that I was dating Justin. What have I done?
