by Angela Terry
As I near the coffeehouse, I see Eric sitting at a table by the windows and sitting across from him is a brunette. As I get even closer, I see that she’s probably around my age and has long, tousled locks, olive skin, and light-colored smiling eyes. She’s clearly laughing at something he’s saying. My heart is suddenly in my throat, and I stop walking to stare at them in the window. They must be finishing up their conversation because the woman stands up and Eric gives her one of his big bear hugs. I don’t want to know if he’s going to kiss her, so I immediately turn away and run back home.
I AVOID THE coffeehouse all weekend. Eric sends me a couple texts of the What’s up? variety, and while I don’t completely ignore them, I simply text back, Busy weekend. See you, Monday! in order not to invite any further communications. I’m shocked by how jealous I am. But why am I surprised? Eric is single and hot, and so why wouldn’t he be dating? What if he’s on one of those swipe-left-or-right apps getting his groove on? I can’t bear the thought and stay holed up in my condo for fear of running into him and possibly one of his dates.
At ten o’clock Monday morning, I’m sitting at my regular table in the corner waiting for Eric for our status meeting. Though we talk every day, it’s a nice routine to officially discuss goals for the coming week or any issues. The issue at the top of my mind is, Who was that brunette? but I know better than to go there.
Eric brings me a latte that I didn’t order. “Morning,” he says, setting down my drink and taking the seat across from me.
“Morning and thank you,” I say politely, even though my heart is very sad at the moment.
“How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Good. Yours?” I take a careful sip of my latte to gauge its temperature, hot, and then blow on it.
“Good. Busy.” He gives me a searching look. “I was surprised I didn’t see you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I wanted to know how your first day with Girls Run It went.”
Oh. “It was great.” I go on to tell him about Gabriela and meeting the program and communications directors. I’m probably not as enthusiastic a storyteller as I would have been Saturday morning, before seeing the brunette, but I give him the gist.
“When is the 5K?” he asks.
“Labor Day weekend,” I say. “So in two weeks. Training started a while ago, so I’m filling in for an injured volunteer.”
“I’d love to be there and cheer you on. Let me know what time so I can coordinate my schedule.”
Last week it would have warmed my heart that he wanted to cheer me on, but now I wonder if he’ll bring a date.
“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that,” I say, waving my hand airily as if this run is no big deal.
“Are you kidding? I don’t have to, but I want to. I was the one who suggested you volunteer, so the least I can do is be there.”
“Um, okay. Thanks. I’ll email you the info.” I fiddle with my laptop. “So should we talk about this week?”
He leans back and says, “You’re the boss.”
Even though we talk business, the whole time I can’t help thinking: If I’m “the boss,” then who is The Brunette?
At the Girls Run It 5K, I’m bouncing on my toes and looking around for Eric. I know I said he didn’t have to show up (for fear he’d bring The Brunette), but when I don’t see him, it takes a little of the spring out of my step. I’ve successfully managed to avoid him in person for the last couple weeks unless it was strictly business-related. Now that I’m aware of my feelings for him, and my jealous streak, I’m worried I’ll screw something up with my consulting gig. But, let’s face it, Neil never showed up to my events. Sure, he said he was disappointed when I gave them up, but then it wasn’t like he was exactly supporting me either. Eric made me feel like a rock star at a time when I felt anything but and has only been supportive of pretty much everything I do and say. Though I’ve been trying to find my inner strength and not be so tied to others’ expectations, I can’t help but value his approval and acceptance. Still, I know I can’t be dependent on it. Especially, when he’s not mine.
I’m so busy looking over people’s heads to find Eric that I’m surprised when I spot Kate. What in the world is she doing here? I was always trying to get Kate to take up running with me, and she always brushed me off. And although she’s dressed in workout capris, her flip-flops tell me that she’s probably not running. Probably feeling my bewildered gaze on her, she looks my way and our eyes meet. Hers widen then narrow before composing themselves into normalcy. Mine are probably doing the same. I swallow my pride and decide to be the bigger person and wave. To her credit she waves back, but then turns around so her back is to me. I should probably go talk to her, but not until after the run. Right now my biggest commitment is to Gabriela, so I need to keep my head in the game.
As if I thought her into being, I see Gabriela walking up with her mother. Maria doesn’t speak much English and so when Gabriela points me out, Maria smiles as Gabriela lets go of her hand to run up to me. I give her a hug and say, “Are you ready to rock it today?” She nods enthusiastically and Maria points out to where she’ll be watching and leaves her daughter in my care.
Gabriela and I join the others for a group pep talk before we line up. At the starting line, Gabriela takes my hand and for a moment my heart squeezes and the unfortunate thought pops into my head, I may never have a child. I try to banish it and force myself to smile. But there it is, that empty hollow feeling. I look around to recalibrate myself. Fortunately I don’t see Kate this time, but I do spot Eric, who waves at me and gives me a thumbs-up. This makes my heart squeeze a little more. Good lord—between Kate, baby fever, and now trying to hide my secret crush, I’m not sure how I’m going to hold it together. Just then, I hear the starting gun—and we’re off!
Gabriela drops my hand the second we start running. There’s a fire in her and she’s off in a full sprint as I run next to her. I say, “Pacing,” to remind her not to burn out early, but she’s not listening to me, and her eyes flash with determination as her legs and arms pump up and down. After the first mile, she’s breathing hard and her face is tomato red, and so I remind her again, “Let’s save something for the finish line.” But she’s still not listening. She keeps on her sprint through mile two and then into mile three until we cross the finish line where we immediately start celebrating by jumping up and down. We’re both laughing and suddenly, and quite embarrassingly, I start crying. “You did it! You did it, Gabriela! I was trying to tell you to slow down, and you didn’t listen to me, but it’s okay because you did it!”
She is grinning from ear to ear and her mother comes rushing over saying something in Spanish, probably Congratulations and about how proud she is of her. And I wish I could communicate better to say how proud I am of her daughter too (oh, why did I take French in high school?), but I’m sure my beaming face tells all. In my heart, I say a little prayer that may Gabriela never listen to anyone who tells her to slow down and always go after what she wants with her full heart without any limitations. Without anyone telling her what she “should” or “shouldn’t” do. Without caring what others think or acting solely for their approval.
I hope she understands all that when I say, “Way to bring it! You’re a rock star, lady!” and give her another hug and high five. We check her time and it’s a personal best for her, which causes more celebration and high fives. And then Eric is there, “Do I get a high-five too?”
I laugh. “Of course you do!” And we slap hands. “This is my friend, Eric,” I say to Gabriela and her mother. “Eric this is Gabriela and Maria.”
“Congratulations,” he says.
“Thank you,” Gabriela says a little shyly, but not as shy as she was when we first met. Her mother smiles and says, “Hello. Hola.”
“Hola,” he says, following it up with something else in Spanish, which I don’t understand. Gabriela then says something back in Spanish, and Eric laughs. I don’t know what’s going o
n, but I just smile and laugh too. So, Eric speaks Spanish. Of course he does, because he’s not totally amazing or perfect already.
“There’s a breakfast tent where we’re going to refuel. Would you like to join us?” I say to Eric.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
As we walk over to the tent, Eric asks Gabriela how long she’s been running and, pumped full of endorphins and his attention, she can’t stop talking to him. I can tell he’s probably great with his CrossFit kids and, frankly, he’d probably be great with all kids. Sigh. At the tent, as I reach for a banana, in my peripheral vision, I see Kate talking to our program director. The director sees me too and waves me over. Give me strength. I plaster on a smile and walk over trying not to squish the banana in my clenched hands.
“Hey, Allison. This is Kate. She works at PR Worldwide, and they’re thinking of helping us with corporate sponsorship.”
“Hey,” she says to me, dully. Kate may be in PR, but even she’s not that good when it comes to smoothing out this awkward moment.
“Hi, Kate. Good to see you again.” I hold up my hands, one of which is still holding my uneaten banana. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m pretty sweaty after that run.” That, and you tried to ruin my life, bitch.
“Oh, you two know each other! Great!” The director seems excited. “So I wanted to bring Allison over. She has her own consulting firm and could probably be an asset to this discussion.”
“Great,” Kate says, though I know she means anything but, and the feeling is mutual.
What follows is an uncomfortable conversation where Kate explains that some of her clients are considering sponsoring programs that are in line with their community outreach efforts. Never mind that these clients are all my old clients that Kate stole, but this isn’t the time or place for a confrontational smackdown. As she talks, I feel the bile rising in my throat. For the sake of the program director, I just smile and nod (and use my poor banana as a stress ball).
After we all say our goodbyes, with Kate promising to follow up with the director to talk further and the director asking me to weigh in by conference call or lunch, we go our separate ways. I turn back to where I last saw Gabriela and her mother, but I don’t see them. Who I do see is Eric, and he’s talking to The Brunette from the coffeehouse, who is now wearing running gear. Is she part of Girls Run It too? Or is she here for Eric? Eric sees me looking over and smiles. He waves for me to come over, but after running into Kate and being forced into conversation, all my energy for handling uncomfortable situations has evaporated. So I wave back, but shake my head no as I point to the porta-potties. It’s not the most elegant way to avoid a conversation, but it’s the most convenient.
When I walk back from the porta-potties to the party, I feel my phone buzz with a text. It’s from Kate.
So, that was awkward. What are you doing tonight? Want to meet up?
I do not want to meet up, but I guess we really should. Especially if we’re going to be working together, again. I need to know what I’m up against and it’s probably better to confront her on my own terms than being ambushed into another awkward situation. No matter what, we need closure.
I type back: Sure. The Allis? 7?
The Allis is a lounge at Soho House where we used to go to celebrate our PR wins with champagne. Maybe it will remind her of better times when we were friends, before she decided to backstab me.
When I look up from my phone, Eric is standing in front of me. I look around him and luckily The Brunette isn’t in sight. “Hey,” he says. “So I need to get back to work, but I just wanted to say, great job today! Gabriela’s a great kid.”
“Yes, she is. Thank you so much for coming out.” My eyes continue to dart around to see if The Brunette is approaching.
“So, hey,” Eric says, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking me in the eye trying to get my full attention. “What are you doing tonight? Would you be up for a celebratory dinner?”
“Uh, that’s so nice, but I have plans tonight.”
“No worries. How about another time?”
“Sure that sounds great and thank you again for coming and you should really get back Saturdays are busy,” I say this hurriedly in one breath.
Eric looks at me strangely, probably wondering why I’m trying to give him the brush-off, which I am because I really don’t want to meet his girlfriend, or whoever that brunette is.
“Okay. Congratulations, again,” he says.
We wave goodbye and I try to shake off the icky feelings of the last twenty minutes and rejoin the Girls Run It after-party.
WHEN I WALK into The Allis, I spot Kate at the bar with a champagne glass in front of her. I can feel my pulse quickening in fight or flight mode, so I pause to take a deep breath and repeat in my head, Forgive and let go. Forgive and let go.
She notices me, and I walk over. When I approach, she removes her purse from the other bar stool. “I was saving this for you.”
“Thanks,” I say. She doesn’t get up, and we don’t hug; but then Kate’s never been a hugger.
“I got a glass, but should we get a bottle?” she asks.
“Sure. You pick.”
We awkwardly confer over the menu and order a Brut Rosé.
“So a consulting business? How’s that going?” Kate says, starting the conversation.
Considering she’s the reason I had to start a consulting practice in the first place, I feel a vein start to twitch in my neck.
“It’s going well,” I say coolly. I don’t offer anything more because who knows how she could use it against me.
“And Neil?” she asks, with a raised eyebrow.
“Over it.” Good lord, where is that champagne?
“Glad to hear it. So I guess everything fell into place for you?”
“I guess,” I say tartly. Forgive and let go. Forgive and let go.
Luckily, the bottle appears and I have a moment to collect myself.
When both of our glasses are filled and the server leaves, Kate holds up her glass in a toast. “Here’s to you,” she says, “and your charmed life.”
I do not clink glasses with hers, but instead pull mine away from her and say, “Excuse me?”
“Anyone else who lost their job and their fiancé would be a mess. But here you are running a 5K, running a business, and a new Prince Charming. I saw you talking to that cute blond guy at the race.”
I narrow my eyes at her and take a gulp of my champagne. Kate, sensing the mood is not celebratory, abandons her toast and takes a gulp of hers as well.
“I was a mess. If you had bothered to call me afterwards, you’d know that.”
“I’m sure you were, but you landed on your feet anyway,” she replies, not looking as remorseful as I think she should.
I know this is the moment for confrontation (with love, of course), but I need more alcohol in me before getting into it.
“So what have you been up to?” I ask, and then take another large gulp of champagne.
“Buried. Working my ass off. I didn’t want to be at the race early on a Saturday morning, but it was for the clients. Who are driving me crazy, by the way.”
This is the person in charge of community relations? “Well, if you don’t like your clients, why’d you steal them from me and get me fired?” Oops. Not exactly the “place of love” confrontation I was aiming for.
Kate looks at me shocked. “I didn’t steal your clients!”
I roll my eyes. “O-kay. Well, then, I’m sorry you’ve suffered so terribly from my misfortune,” I say this with a sarcastic angry edge, “but maybe if you didn’t get me fired—”
“Whoa!” Kate puts her hands up. “How would I have gotten you fired?”
“By badmouthing me. Spreading rumors that I couldn’t handle the work. Saying I was too distracted with the wedding. That I planned to leave right after I got married to pop out babies.”
“Are you kidding? That wasn’t me! That was Paige! Paige wanted you gone, and she was o
n the warpath.” She narrows her eyes. “Why in the world would you think that was me?”
“I heard it from a trusted source.”
She now rolls her eyes. “Was your trusted source Darren? Paige’s whipping boy? That guy is sweet but so innocent.”
“Why would Paige want to start a rumor like that?” I still don’t believe Kate, and I’m not going to throw Darren under the bus.
“Uh, hello?” She waves her hands about. “Why would I? I didn’t want more work!” She takes a deep breath. “So, let’s see. Cause Paige had been screwing up a lot, and you were next in line for her job?”
I sit stunned as Kate drinks her glass of sparkling and lets her revelation sink in.
Paige? I never in a million years would have thought, but now I remember Paige’s near constant insistence on that terrible day that my termination wasn’t her idea. (The lady doth protest too much.) Also, if Paige had actually been giving me good recommendations, then the recruiters wouldn’t have even heard the rumor and would have found me a new job. And if I had a new job at another firm, then there was the possibility that my clients would follow me. Suddenly, everything clicks in place—of course, Paige was the source all along!
“But Paige was my mentor? How could she do that to her mentee?” I say.