by Kendall Ryan
Bob was one of my first clients on retainer when I opened my own firm. I’m always hard on him, and he’s always hard on me. We hold each other accountable, and at the end of the day, whether it’s pretty or not, we need each other. I know with every fiber of my being that he’s not going anywhere.
“Whatever you say, boss. Don’t forget you have lunch with Sadie in half an hour,” she says on her way out, shooting me a reproachful look before shutting the door behind her.
Shit. I completely forgot.
Sadie’s a friend from college who moved to the area a few months ago, and while we hadn’t kept in super-close contact since graduating, we’ve always been close. No matter how much time goes by, whenever we get together, it’s like we just saw each other yesterday. Besides, after all the crazy shenanigans we saw each other through in our twenties, there’s no way we could ever really stop being friends.
I shoot off a few more emails before grabbing my purse and hurrying to the parking lot, my stomach already growling. We’re meeting at one of my favorite lunch spots a few minutes away from the office, and I can’t wait to order my go-to salad—or to see Sadie, of course.
When I arrive at the warm, brightly lit café, I spot Sadie instantly, her signature waist-length dark hair swept over one shoulder. She’s wearing a flowy, brick-red shift dress, the hemline hitting just below her knee, the color perfectly complementing her olive-toned skin. Her sense of style makes me I wish I’d worn something a little cuter today than my usual pencil skirt and blazer.
A smile brightens her face when she sees me, and she stands and wraps me in a huge hug that immediately reminds me why we’re such good friends. Sadie is the warmest, kindest, most loving soul I’ve ever met, and being with her now makes me forget all the meaningless bullshit at work. Thank God.
“Oh my God, Layne, it’s so good to see you!” She squeals, stepping back and giving me a head-to-toe once-over. “You look amazing. I love the whole corporate badass look.” She winks.
“Are you kidding? Look at you! I swear you haven’t changed at all since college.”
“Oh, please, you’re being way too nice. After ten years of marriage, I’ve definitely gained a little comfort weight.”
She giggles, and I laugh along with her, my eyes lingering on the silver band and round-cut solitaire diamond on her finger. Sadie was the first of all of us to get married, and I remember her wedding like it was yesterday. At that time, I was so sure I’d be right behind her walking down the aisle . . . and yet, here we are.
“Come on, you look amazing. When are you going to tell me the secret to keeping your hair so shiny and healthy?” I ask.
“Being Polynesian is a good place to start,” she says, her deep brown eyes dancing with amusement. “But besides that, coconut oil works wonders.”
We laugh again as a waiter appears at our table with waters. Once he takes our orders—the Chinese chicken chopped salad for me, and a Cobb salad for her—we dive into catching up, eager to hear about everything we missed by not living in the same city.
“I still can’t believe you opened your own firm,” Sadie says, leaning forward and resting her chin on her palm, her eyes wide.
“It sounds a lot harder than it actually is. I was practically running the place at my last firm, and not getting paid for the work I was doing got old really fast. Once I found an office space that was affordable, the rest was history.”
“You’re a force, Layne. You really are.”
“Stop it. What about you? A transfer to Los Angeles has to mean good things for you, right?”
“Well, I’m certainly not doing anything as exciting as running my own law firm, but yeah, it’s kind of a big deal. I’d heard rumors months ago that they were looking for someone to replace the head of HR at the main office, but I swear, I never thought in a million years it would be me.”
“But you’ve always been so good at what you do.”
“Thanks. It’s exciting, but I’m just hoping I don’t shatter all their expectations.”
“You won’t. I’m sure of it.”
“Speaking of shattering expectations—did you hear about Alyssa?”
I shake my head, a small knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Alyssa is another of our married friends from college, one of the only ones to give up her career to stay home while her husband brings home the bacon. We’ve never been that close, but I’ve always liked her and often wonder how she’s doing. Something tells me I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.
Sadie’s face is bright and excited. “You’ll have to keep it on the down low because it’s still early days, but she just found out she’s pregnant! Can you believe it?”
I do my best to match her tone, but the knot in my stomach grows larger. “I didn’t know she and Adrian were trying.”
“They didn’t tell anyone. I was sure they didn’t want kids, they’ve been married for so long without them, but it turns out I was wrong. I saw her a couple weeks ago, and she’s absolutely glowing.” Sadie keeps talking, explaining how they’d been trying for a year and a half and were about ready to turn to IVF before Alyssa finally skipped a period and did an at-home test.
I plaster a smile on my face throughout the whole story, but on the inside, the knot in my stomach tightens, threatening to make me ill. I can practically feel the physical weight of my disappointment and shame pressing down on me, pinning me to the chair.
Eventually, I tune Sadie out, my thoughts spiraling out of control.
Alyssa is thirty-four and married, and even she considered turning to IVF. I just turned thirty-seven, hopelessly single, and totally at a loss as to how I’ll ever find someone to settle down with. Now more than ever, the life I’ve always imagined for myself—where I’m happily married to the man of my dreams with a thriving career and a couple of kids—seems completely, absolutely out of reach.
When our food arrives, Sadie changes the subject. Still, the damage is done.
I barely taste my salad and go through the rest of the lunch in a daze, doing my best to fake being happy and content, but I know that I’m failing. Sadie doesn’t say anything about it, but she gives me a worried look when we part, making me promise to call her next week to set a time to come have dinner at her place.
By the time I make it home from work later, I still haven’t been able to shake the heavy feeling. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Every email, every phone call, every meeting at work is like a reminder of all the time and energy I’ve spent on this part of my life—while totally ignoring the other goals and aspirations I had for myself.
After pouring a glass of red wine and plating a few slices of cheese, I settle on the couch. Sighing, I flip to something mindless on the TV so I don’t feel so damn alone in this cavern of a home I was so sure would be filled with other people by now. I rifle through my drawer of takeout menus and decide on Indian food for dinner, but when I pull my phone out of my purse, it’s already ringing. I’d forgotten to take it off DO NOT DISTURB after my lunch with Sadie, so I quickly answer, barely even glancing at the name on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Settle a bet for me. Are all corporate lawyers so busy they never call any of their friends back, or are you just one of those out of sight, out of mind assholes?”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. It’s Griffin, busting my balls yet again for not calling him back a couple of days ago. “You’d think after four years you’d have learned by now that I don’t call back unless you leave a message.”
“Only a monster leaves their friends voice mails.”
“Oh, so now I’m a monster? And you wonder why I don’t call you back.”
“I know for a fact my voice mail has been full for six months now. So either you’re a liar, or I, like the good friend I am, always answer my phone.”
“Uh-huh, sure, whatever you say.” I let out a weak chuckle. “What do you want, Griff?”
“She’s in a great mood today, folks,” he replies sarcastically,
making a clucking sound with his tongue.
I know he’s only teasing me like always, but after the day I’ve had, I’m not really in the mood for it. “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone serious now.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” I sigh. “I had lunch with an old girlfriend today and was reminded of all the parts of life I’ve let pass me by.”
“I didn’t know you had a questioning phase in college,” he teases. When I don’t laugh, he sobers up again. “Sorry, you said girlfriend. I couldn’t resist.”
“No, it’s fine. I just can’t believe this is what my life looks like right now.” I down the rest of my wine and pour another glass. If this gnawing, sinking feeling isn’t going away on its own, I’m ready to drown it out, at least for tonight.
“You mean you can’t believe that you’re a high-powered lawyer living in the home of her dreams?”
He keeps his voice light and sort of teasing, but I can tell he’s serious too. It’s a sweet gesture, but not enough at this point.
“The home of my dreams includes the love of my life and the pitter-patter of little feet. Without all that, this place is just an empty shell.”
I surprise myself with how depressing that sentence is. I can’t remember the last time I felt this low, or if I ever really have before. Part of me worries about what it says about me that I’m not even trying to hide my sadness—but then again, this is Griffin I’m talking to. I’m not sure I can hide anything from him anymore.
When he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, I check my screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Griff? You still there?”
“Yep, sorry, I was checking something. What are you doing tomorrow?”
Figures he’d change the subject. He’s twenty-seven. Not exactly an age where you’re ready to deal with your older friends’ existential dread.
“Oh, I don’t know, what does any single thirty-seven-year-old woman do on a Saturday? Clean the bathroom? Adopt a cat or two?”
“Good. Clear your schedule. I’ve got something to cheer you up.”
I chuckle at his misplaced optimism. “Look, that’s sweet of you, but really, I’m fine. I think a quiet weekend in will help turn things around.”
“I’ll pick you up at ten. Pack an overnight bag—and don’t forget a bathing suit.”
“Wait. What are you—” But before I can ask my question, the line goes dead.
Did he hang up on me? I stare at the blank screen for a moment, trying to process what the hell just happened—and to formulate an excuse to get out of whatever trip he has planned for tomorrow.
Then again . . . did he say something about bathing suits?
My mind wanders to the last time I caught a glimpse of him shirtless. Maybe a year ago now? Maybe longer. The image is burned into my memory, one I revisit more often than I’d like to admit.
All right, fine. I’ll give him a chance to cheer me up. Something tells me whatever Griffin has planned, I won’t want to miss it.
10
* * *
GRIFFIN
Compared to most people, yes, I am a very spontaneous person.
I’m usually the first to suggest skinny-dipping at a pool party. I’m not afraid to recommend some drunken truth or dare at a family reunion. True, there are certainly times when that impulsive decision-making bites me in the dick. Hard. And I’m afraid this might be one of those times.
“I’m so sorry about this weekend,” I tell Wren, injecting equal parts regret and self-reproach in my voice.
I don’t really do the regret thing, so it’s harder than I remember. I’m also not very good at self-deprecation.
But it’s always been easy lying to Wren, as shitty as that sounds. I’ve had to weasel my way out of more than one situation with the help of a little white lie, just to preserve something of myself every now and then. It’s hard having a needy friend hanging on your arm every time you leave the house.
“I feel like a dick,” I tell her.
“Your words, not mine,” she snaps back, obviously pissed. “Just like last time, and the time before. What’s going on with you?”
I’ve just told Wren that I can’t go camping with her tonight. It’s something we used to do in school, a whole group of us. And more often than not, Wren would get too drunk and find herself in my sleeping bag at the end of the night. Forgive me if I’d rather not spend the night curled up, sans blanket, on the dirt again.
“You know, ever since I split up with Cora, I’ve been scattered, and now a friend needs my help this weekend.”
That isn’t a lie. Being with Cora reminded me how much I want to be in a meaningful relationship. One with substance that’s just about getting my dick wet on the regular. I want to spoil a woman, claim someone as mine, work toward a future, and more than anything, I want to find long lasting love. No matter how much I liked Cora and enjoyed her company, I knew she wasn’t the one.
Now that I’m single again, I feel like an untethered buoy, bobbing around in the vast ocean of my empty sex life. I haven’t slept with anyone since the breakup. Frankly, I don’t even know if my dick is still down there. It’s not that I don’t have the urges . . . it’s just that the one person I want refuses to see me as more than a fuckboy with little to no future. Good times.
“That was the whole point of this trip! To bring you back to the real you,” Wren says with a moan.
Now that annoys me.
“Maybe I’m all over the place, but I feel more like myself than I have in months,” I say calmly. It always bothers me when Wren thinks she knows me better than I do.
“I don’t disagree with you,” she says with an exasperated sigh, probably inspecting her nails like she does whenever she knows she’s in the wrong but won’t admit it.
Tired of this conversation, I say, “Look, I’ll make it up to you, okay? We can do brunch next week.”
“Brunch? Really, Griffin? Brunch is the go-to for when you don’t want to hang out with someone.”
“Not for me. Brunch is a marathon with me. We start with mimosas and end up at the corner bar six hours later.”
Wren laughs. I think I’ve saved my ass, for now.
We say our good-byes, and I toss the phone on my couch. I need to shake off the whole unnecessary thing this friendship has become.
Why is talking to Wren such work sometimes?
It’s not like that with Layne. With her, it can be a challenge, sure. But it’s exciting and always new. Even after all these years we’re constantly discovering new things about each other, for the better. There isn’t any of this weird circular bullshit.
Thinking of Layne, I start packing. Sunbathing on the beach, roasting our dinner over a fire, sipping on margaritas as the sun sets over the crystal waters . . . I have a perfect vision for how I want this night to go.
Now I’ve just got to make it happen.
I hadn’t forgotten what Layne’s half-naked body looks like, but I appreciate the refresher.
Her hair falls in long, messy waves across one shoulder while the other is bare, enjoying its moment in the sun. Her bathing suit is fucking phenomenal—a navy-blue number, high waisted and cheeky, with a halter top that cups her breasts so perfectly, it’s hard to keep my eyes where they belong.
Jesus, Griff. You need to get laid. But these aren’t just any woman’s tits . . . these are the tits of a woman who’s placed me squarely in the friend zone.
“Hello? Eyes up here?” Layne waves in my face.
We’re in our swimsuits on a surprisingly vacant beach, towels and cooler at the ready. I’ve been lying on my side, my head propped up on one hand, unabashedly staring at her gorgeous body. The sun is beating down on us, apparently frying my brain.
I protest, tapping her sunglasses with one finger. “What eyes? I don’t see them.”
Layne snorts, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her piercing green eyes meet mine, and awareness jolts through me.
“Better?” she asks.
“It’ll do.” I sigh, feigning nonchalance. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says with a smile. “I always forget how much sunshine can actually improve one’s mood.”
“Exactly. You just needed some vitamin D.”
“Gross.”
“Believe it or not,” I say with a chuckle, “I wasn’t making a dick joke.”
“Not.” She smirks and throws herself back on her towel, her breasts bouncing with the effort.
I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m such a perv.
“It’s so hot,” she murmurs, placing her sunglasses back over her eyes, then trails her fingers across her collarbone, discovering the moisture there.
I almost offer to take care of that with my tongue, but think better of it. Now’s not the time, dude. “So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been so depressed?”
She sighs dramatically. “People don’t need a reason to be depressed, Griffin. You really need to catch up on your mental health awareness.”
“Maybe,” I reply, my brow furrowed, “but I know you. And I know that you usually have a reason for feeling down.”
Layne turns her head toward me, biting her lip. It’s clear she’s deciding whether she wants to share what’s on her mind.
I’m careful not to change my expression. My impulse is to try to make her laugh, to erase those worry lines from her face. But I need her to know that I’m serious, and that I legitimately care about what she’s going through.
“It’s nothing new,” she finally says with a soft sigh. “I just found out that one of my close friends from school is pregnant. I didn’t even know she wanted kids. She was one of the only ones left that hasn’t already had them. And now . . . well, now it’s just me.”
Her voice cracks on those last words, and I see a tear race down her cheek from under her lenses, too fast for her to catch. I reach over, using the back of my fingers to wipe it away. She smiles at me, but her expression is still sad.