Unravelled

by Robyn Harding

  “We’ll focus on our careers,” Angie said, slurring a little as she refilled her wineglass. “That’s all we need: a satisfying professional life and good friends.”

  I felt a lump form in my throat at the thought of the friendships so recently lost, but I pasted on a smile and clinked my glass to Angie’s.

  Finally, exhausted from the emotional upheaval, Angie began to yawn. I put the foam boxes and our chopsticks into the garbage and the wineglasses in the sink. With a hug and instructions to call me any time, day or night, I left. Alone with my thoughts, I walked through the night back to my apartment.

  Thirty-two

  FOCUSING ON MY career proved a little harder than I had anticipated. The next day I received form letters from two of my top magazine choices: Thank you for you interest in our publication, but we currently have no suitable positions available. We will, however, keep your résumé on file in the event of future vacancies.

  They may as well have just said, “Please fuck off. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.” At least I had my other articles to focus on, and I really needed to research taking some kind of exercise class or sports team. I was fighting hard to keep myself from sliding down the slippery slope of depression, but it wasn’t always easy. In my loneliest moments, my thoughts often drifted to Colin and how different my life would have been if only I’d stayed with him, if only I had given him a second chance. I might not have had the exact life I’d dreamed of, but it would still have been better than the one I was living now. I’d at least have a kind and caring man to love, and the stitch ’n bitch club would still be intact.

  Thursday nights were still the hardest. I signed up for a yoga class but that only lasted from seven until eight and was a poor replacement for a three-hour session of stitching and bitching. But on this Thursday evening, when I arrived home from yoga to find Kendra sprawled on the couch watching Legally Blonde (Reese Witherspoon again!), I knew what I would do. Angie was alone, too, her heart still in pieces after Thad’s heartless text message. I would see if she wanted some company, maybe a drink or a piece of cheesecake. We could start our own Thursday-night tradition—the Drown Your Sorrows Club, or the Pig Out Until You Can’t Remember Why You Felt Sad in the First Place Club. Taking the phone to my room, I dialed her apartment.

  “Hello?” she answered, after several rings. She sounded surprisingly cheerful.

  “Hi,” I said. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh... uh, hi Beth.” There was an awkward pause. “I’m pretty good, thanks. How are you?”

  “Fine. I just called to see how you’re holding up.”

  “Not bad,” she said, with an uneasy laugh. “There’s no point moping forever.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Uh...it’s really sweet of you to call, but this isn’t a great time.”

  “Oh, okay... sorry.” I became aware of muffled voices in the background. “Have you got guests?”

  “A couple of friends popped by,” she replied, casually.

  And then I heard it. “Ange! I’m going to open this bottle of Shiraz.”

  It was Nicola’s voice! I would have recognized it anywhere. A rush of realization almost overwhelmed me, and a sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. The stitch ’n bitch club was continuing to meet without me! I’d been ostracized. They had chosen Nicola. Tears began to sting my eyes.

  “Uh . . .” Angie said, at a loss for words.

  “It’s okay,” I said weakly. “I understand.”

  “Beth, it’s not like we’ve been seeing each other this whole time. We just got together this week . . . Well, and last week, but that’s it.”

  “Right,” I croaked, my voice hoarse with repressed emotion. “I’ll let you go, then.”

  “Please, don’t be mad.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, the tears now streaming unchecked down my cheeks. In that moment, I felt more betrayed than I had when I’d discovered that I was sort of, in a way, Nicola’s stepmother. It wasn’t the same kind of stomach-turning shock and horror, but in a way, it was an even more painful kind of disloyalty.

  “Oh, you’re upset,” Angie said, chagrined. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  “I’ve got to go,” I said.

  “Beth—” but I hung up. Alone in my room I was engulfed by an unprecedented loneliness. Just when I thought I’d reached the depths of despair, I received another devastating blow. The tears were flowing now and I felt a painful sob shudder in my chest. I knew I couldn’t hide in my room, suffering this latest betrayal alone. I had to reach out to someone, but to whom? Mel? Kendra? My mom? I had kept the details of my latest breakup to myself, for obvious reasons. What could I say now? “Hi Mom. My latest boyfriend turned out to be my friend Nicola’s dad, who, incidentally, is still married to her mother. But worst of all, all my other friends hate me and are knitting with Nicola at this very moment!” God, it sounded ridiculous. And that’s not to mention the lecture I’d receive on (a) not telling her I was dating someone new; (b) dating someone old enough to be my father; and (c) if we had had sexual relations, had we used the proper protection, because the pill did not prevent sexually transmitted diseases, you know. No, there was no one I could call.

  And then, almost unconsciously, my hand picked up the phone and pressed the talk button. My fingers were dialing his digits before my rational mind could talk me out of it. Of course, he might refuse to talk to me. He might even yell at me and tell me I’d gotten what I deserved. And it was entirely possible that he had moved on by now. His new girlfriend might even answer the phone! But it was a chance I was, apparently, willing to take. My heart beat audibly as I listened to the phone ring in his apartment.

  “Hello?” I could hear sports playing on the television in the background. I prayed that meant he was alone.

  “Colin . . . It’s Beth.”

  “Beth...” He sounded surprised, but not overtly hostile. “Uh . . . how are you?”

  “Oh, you know...okay, I guess,” but the emotion in my voice belied my claims. “I, uh . . . I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  If he said, “Well, I’m just getting a blow job from Tammy here,” I would throw myself out the window. “No . . . nothing. Are you okay?”

  “Sort of. I just wanted to hear your voice . . . I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, too,” he said, softly.

  “And,” I forced myself to continue through the lump of sadness in my throat, “I wanted to apologize. When we were together, I should have been more patient with you . . . and more understanding of your issues.”

  “No, you were right. I’ve actually been seeing a therapist. We’ve talked a lot about how I let my past influence my present relationships.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah . . . it’s been tough, but I need to deal with it. I mean, unless I want to be alone for the rest of my life . . . which I don’t.”

  “I’m happy for you,” I said, sadly. Some girl was going to be very lucky to get the new, improved Colin Barker.

  “Thanks. It’s really helped me move on.” I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my heart. Colin continued, “So...how are you? How’s the boyfriend?”

  “Oh,” I said dismissively, “it’s over. It was . . . all a lie, really.”

  “Yeah?”

  He was obviously prompting me to elaborate, but I felt so ashamed. And yet, I had chosen to reach out to Colin as a friend. I had to be open and honest. “It turned out he was married.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah . . . to one of my friend’s mothers.”

  “What? How old was this guy?”

  “He told me he was forty-eight, but he’s really fifty-three.”

  “That’s sick!”

  “Well,” I said, defensively, “I don’t think age matters that much. Look at Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones.”

  Colin chuckled. “I don’t mean the age difference, I mean lying to you like that... An
d lying to his family.”

  “I know.”

  “God . . . that must have been really . . . well . . . gross.”

  “It was.”

  “What about your friend? How’s she dealing with it?”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t speak to me, for obvious reasons.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, “that would be a little hard to get over.”

  “I’m actually more upset about losing her than I am about losing him. Jim was . . . well, I thought he was this great guy who wanted the same things I did out of life. But it was all just bullshit. With Nicola, I lost a true friend.”

  After a moment’s hesitation Colin said, “Sorry.”

  I decided I’d monopolized the conversation long enough. “So . . . how’s work?”

  “Oh, fine. The same. You?”

  “I’m looking for something full time. I’ve been feeling a little isolated lately.”

  “Good . . . well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I suddenly felt completely drained, like the exertion of continuing this dialogue could cause me to fall asleep mid-sentence. “It was really nice talking to you.”

  “Yeah,” Colin replied, “you too.”

  “I’m glad things are going so well for you.”

  “Thanks. I hope things improve for you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Don’t worry. They will.”

  I could feel tears pooling in my eyes as I said, “I wish you all the best, you know.”

  “I know you do, Beth,” he said, tenderly. “I want you to be happy too. You deserve it.”

  “Goodbye, Colin,” I croaked.

  “Bye.”

  Well, we finally had it: positive closure. Jim would probably be able to get an excellent hard-on now! But obviously, I could not have cared less about Jim’s boner at this stage. Dropping the phone onto the floor beside me, I lay back on the bed and fell asleep.

  The next morning I awoke to the phone ringing. It took me a moment to get my bearings. A glance at my digital clock radio indicated that it was 8:42 A.M. I couldn’t believe I had slept so late! I never set my alarm anymore. Kendra’s smoothie-making was more reliable than any clock could be. Had I really been so exhausted that I’d slept through it? Or was it possible that Kendra, for once, had had something quiet for breakfast? Like cereal? Or toast? Obviously it didn’t matter. I grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Beth?” a male voice said.

  “This is she.”

  “It’s Martin.”

  “Oh... hi Martin.” The sound of my friend’s voice brought back last night’s betrayal. I wasn’t in the mood to speak to any of the stitch ’n bitchers today, but this could be a professional call. If Martin had an assignment for me, I would have to accept it. My bank account wouldn’t allow me to snub him for his disloyalty.

  “Look...” he said with a sigh, “I’m calling about last night.”

  “Oh?” My voice was cool as I sat up in bed.

  “We should never have gotten together without talking to you first. It wasn’t fair. I felt bad about it from the beginning and I wouldn’t have gone except . . . I haven’t been knitting much since the group disbanded. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I got drunk and had a cigarette. I was afraid I was backsliding, so when Nicola called and invited me, I said I’d come.”

  “Fine,” I said shortly. “I understand.”

  “But last night, when you phoned, we all felt awful. We decided that we can’t go on like this.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I stayed silent, and let him continue. “It’s not fair to leave you out in the cold just because you made a mistake.”

  “Uh . . . no,” I agreed.

  “But obviously Nicola isn’t comfortable seeing you anymore.”

  “Obviously,” I said, morosely.

  “We talked about it for a long time, and I think we have a solution.”

  “A solution?”

  “You and Nicola can alternate your Thursday-night attendance!” he said excitedly.

  “Oh . . . has Nicola agreed to this?”

  “Yeah. Honestly, Beth, I don’t think she hates you. She’s sort of... well, disgusted, I guess you could say, but I don’t think she hates you.”

  “And what about Sophie?” I asked suspiciously. Sophie had been anything but supportive since the night of the rehearsal dinner. I wasn’t sure she’d be thrilled about my every-other-Thursday attendance.

  “It was her idea!”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  But getting over the fact that they’d continued on without me wasn’t going to be easy. Even if it had only been for the past two weeks, the fact remained that the stitch ’n bitch club had regrouped and I hadn’t been invited. “I don’t know, Martin,” I said. “It’s nice of you guys to try to include me . . . at this stage,” I added, pointedly. “But I’m just not sure . . .”

  “We miss you, Beth. I miss you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  After I hung up, I padded to the kitchen and made myself some toast. I sat at the table, my peanut-buttered breakfast and a glass of orange juice before me, and pondered my reluctance to Martin’s plan. In the weeks since Nicola’s rehearsal dinner, I had been pining for the friendship and support of the stitch ’n bitch club. I missed them far more than I missed Jim! So why was I letting my ego get in the way of its resurgence? The phone rang again. Before I even picked it up, I knew it would be Angie.

  “What’s going on?” she said, by way of hello. “Martin says you need to think about our alternate Thursdays plan. What’s to think about? It’s the perfect solution.”

  My feelings were still hurt—especially in relation to my closest friend. “I don’t know,” I said, sulkily. “I’m not sure I really need to be in the stitch ’n bitch club anymore. You seem to be getting along just fine without me.”

  “Come on, Beth,” Angie cajoled, “don’t be like that. I know it was wrong, but when Nicola called . . . well, after everything she’s been through, I didn’t have the heart to say no. She needs us.”

  “What about everything I’ve gone through?” I shrieked. “I need you guys too.”

  “I know you do! And since Thad and I broke up, I need the support group more than ever. We all need each other. That’s why you have to come back—every other Thursday,” she added.

  “Maybe,” I said, softening a little.

  “Nicola doesn’t hate you, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “She has some serious issues with you, of course, given the fact that you boned her dad.”

  “We never actually—”

  Angie cut me off. “I know. I know. It’s going to take Nic some time and some therapy to come to terms with everything that’s happened, but I think she’s really trying.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she forgives you one day.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I need her forgiveness,” I retorted. “I mean, it’s not like I purposely went after her father, like I said: ‘Oh, look! There’s Nicola’s dad. I think I’ll make him my new boyfriend.’ ”

  “Of course not. I’m just saying that I’m hopeful that one day, she’ll be able to get over her hurt and angry feelings toward you, and we can all be together again.”

  “Me too.”

  When I hung up, I had still not given a definitive answer on whether I’d be attending next Thursday’s stitch ’n bitch at Martin’s apartment. Despite my friends’ overtures, I was still smarting from their previous exclusion. And while I knew that Martin and Angie really did want me there, I still wasn’t sure about Sophie. Until I heard from her, I just couldn’t commit to rejoining the group. It wasn’t like I needed Sophie to beg me to come, but I wanted some reassurance that my attendance would be welcome.

  But Sophie didn’t call that day... or the next, or the next. I stuck close to home, hoping for the gesture that would assuage my anxiety, but none came. On Tues
day, Angie left a message while I was in the shower, querying my presence at the Thursday session. I couldn’t phone her back. I still didn’t have an answer.

  It wasn’t until Wednesday evening, as I was working in my office (well, really I was checking out soapcity.com) that the phone rang. Kendra answered it, and then yelled “Phone!” from her permanent spot on the couch. I went to retrieve the receiver, and took it back to my bedroom before saying, “Hello?”

  “Hi,” she said. “It’s Sophie.”

  “Uh...hi.” Part of me was relieved to hear from her; part of me was frightened that she would express her distaste at my rejoining the knitting circle.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” she said. “I’ve been so busy with Flynn . . . and Rob.”

  “I understand.”

  Sophie chuckled. “I never realized working on my marriage would be so time-consuming!”

  “Things are going well, then?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “we’ve had our ups and downs, but it’s a lot better than it was.”

  “Great.”

  “So . . . are you going to come to Martin’s on Thursday?”

  “Well...” I wasn’t sure how to express my feelings without sounding like a big baby. “I’m not sure. I mean . . . I don’t know if you really want me there.” Damn! I totally sounded like a big baby.

  “We do,” Sophie replied, not entirely emphatically.

  “Are you sure, Sophie? Because if you’re not comfortable with me anymore since I . . . well, you know... just tell me. I don’t want to come to the stitch ’n bitch club if it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.”

  “It won’t be,” she said, and her voice was sincere this time. “Look, I know I didn’t handle our relationship very well but I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Nicola and I have known each other longer and, well . . . You’re so close to Angie and you have Martin . . . I just thought she needed me more.”

  “Nicola has those five look-alike bridesmaids!” I wanted to shriek. “I only have you guys... and Mel and Toby, of course.” But I remained mute. Sophie continued, somehow reading my thoughts. “Nicola has lots of friends but she’s too humiliated to see most of them. They all looked up to her dad. They thought she had the perfect family.”