When Girlfriends Break Hearts

by Savannah Page

  “I know what I did was wrong; that’s why I broke it off.” His voice was almost more pathetic than the situation. “You’re right. The guilt was eating me and it was pulling me away from you, so I finally decided enough was enough.” Now his voice rose too.

  “No,” I shouted. “No, you pulled away from me the moment you slept with someone else. That’s when you decided enough was enough and that you didn’t love me anymore.”

  “I’ve thought about that. And that’s another reason why I decided it was best to leave. If I really loved you, Sophie, if I really and truly loved you, would I have done that to you? Would I have felt the need to be with someone else? If I could do that to you then I must not have loved you. I must have needed something more or something…else…in my life, and you couldn’t fill that void. I didn’t want to live a life of lies.”

  “Well you set up that path for yourself. No one forced you to cheat, Brandon. You set yourself up for this mess.”

  “I can accept that.” So rational, so calm—it made me so angry!

  “I can’t listen to this any more.” I pivoted, heading for the front door. “No, wait. Answer me this.” I angrily pulled on my cardigan from the coat rack and flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Who’s the bitch, and was she worth it?”

  His head was bent and he lifted his eyes slowly to me in an almost dramatic way. “That’s why it’s been so difficult to tell you, Soph,” he said meekly. “That’s why I was torn up since the affair. How do you tell your girlfriend you slept with one of her best friends?”

  The room suddenly started to spin. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was weak at the knees. Who? Who would do this? I had a strong circle of girlfriends who had come together in college, and all of us had been thick as thieves since we graduated. I couldn’t imagine that any one of them would do something like this. Did I believe Brandon? Could this be true? Did one of my best friends really betray me?

  With the room still spinning wildly, I rested my hand against an entryway wall to maintain balance and managed one small word. “Who?”

  “Robin.”

  Robin Sinclair was one of my closest girlfriends. I met Robin when I met Claire—at freshman orientation at college. Robin was often just as much my partner in crime or sister as Claire was. She was like my sister…but a sister who had stabbed me in my back.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, Sophie. I wouldn’t lie about this.”

  “You’re right. You’re a cheater and a liar, but why would you lie about this?”

  He didn’t say anything. And he didn’t have to. What he had told me was true. Deep down I knew it. He knew it and Robin knew it.

  “When?”

  “About a month ago. It was just one night—”

  “One night is more than enough. When? How?”

  “Her colleague’s house party.” Brandon dug his hands deeply in his jean pockets. “We were drunk and one thing led to another.”

  “That night you told me to go have fun with the girls?” I said, piecing that evening’s events together. “When I went to the club with Claire and Emily and Jackie…and I stayed at Claire’s that night. Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I tried to quickly work out the sequence of events in my head. “And that’s around when you started to pull away and become really distant.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Was something still going on with them?

  I instantly tensed and shot out, “Are you still seeing her?”

  “No. It was one night. Literally just one drunken night and a huge mistake. We both swore we wouldn’t tell you…we couldn’t tell you. I told her I wouldn’t tell you and she said she’d keep quiet. She didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t either.”

  “Yeah, well, you guys did a bang up job on that, didn’t you?”

  “I had to tell you, Soph. I know you don’t want to hear it or believe it, but I had to tell you.”

  I held back the tears that were finally on the verge of pouring forth. “I’m glad you told me. And I hate you for this.”

  “Don’t hate Robin for this,” he said. “It was my fault.”

  “It takes two to tango, Brandon.”

  “Neither one of us wanted to hurt you.”

  “Doing this is hurtful. Didn’t you think about that?” I was livid. There simply were no excuses. None at all. What Robin and Brandon had done was unforgivable. And Robin had it coming for her now.

  “I’m sorry,” was one of the last things he said to me, but not before he added, “I know what we did was wrong, but maybe it happened for a reason. You and I are not supposed to be together.”

  “That’s rich!” I cried. “Sly way of justifying this crap you pulled on me. Real rich.”

  “I wish it didn’t happen like this, Sophie. I’m really sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.”

  I opened the front door, more than ready to leave this apartment once and for all.

  “I came for closure and to gain some control over my life again.” I paused. “I have closure now. And I never want you to be a part of my life again. Do you understand?”

  Brandon nodded.

  “And don’t ever think of fucking me or any of my friends ever again.”

  I stepped into the brisk morning air and slammed the door, feeling both an onrush of relief and a wave of despair. My boyfriend had cheated on me and I was hurt. Yet a best friend had deceived me and I was devastated.

  Chapter Seven

  My next move came in the heat of the moment, born of anger, irrationality—despair. I was at my wit’s ends and needed to lash out, seek answers, and somehow pull my life out of its downward spiral.

  Gripping my steering wheel tightly, I did a California roll through the stop sign that separated what used to be my and Brandon’s neighborhood from the main streets of the upscale Queen Anne district. I drove up and down the steep hills that rose above the scenic Elliott Bay to one side and Lake Union to the other, rolling through each and every stop sign.

  I owe all of my poor driving habits to my big brother, John, who relieved my fearful parents of the “teaching to drive” duties. They taught their eldest son to drive and earned a few premature gray hairs doing so. They were more than thrilled when John offered to step up to the big brother plate and teach his little sis how to manage the road.

  Call it a California thing, or maybe just a lackadaisical thing in this world of rush here and run there, but one of the first no-nos that was “okay to do” that John taught me behind the wheel was the California roll. Resident Santa Barbarans, John explained that barely stopping at a stop sign and carefully rolling through it, with the foot just lightly depressing the brake, looking responsibly left, right, and left again before releasing the brake and proceeding through the intersection at increasing speed, was just “what we do at stop signs in Cali.” Unfortunately, that no-no has remained a habit, leaving me with two warnings and a ticket.

  Rolling through stop sign after stop sign, each one distancing me from Brandon’s apartment, was not the product of an age-old habit that morning, but rather distraction and anger. Now I wanted someone else’s answers. And apologies. Although I wasn’t sure if any amount of apologies or begs of forgiveness would be sufficient to overcome these hurdles.

  The moment I fled Brandon’s apartment, leaving him to wallow in his self-pity or misery or whatever he was feeling (I hoped it was extremely painful), I knew precisely where my little Prius and I were headed. My new destination was a short fifteen minutes or so across town, just over the I-5 and into the U District—the home of Robin, my so-called BFF, whatever the hell that even meant anymore.

  I can’t believe this is happening, I thought to myself over and over as I irresponsibly switched lanes frequently. You think you know someone. And what did I ever do to deserve this? I’ve done nothing but be there as a friend. As a best girlfriend….

  Yet as I approached Robin’s apartment complex, my anger transformed into nervousness—even fear. How was I going to approach Ro
bin with this news? Perhaps she’d know as soon as she laid eyes on me. Would I even have to segue out of a casual “nice to see you” conversation and into the elephant that would undoubtedly be in the room?

  It was too late to think any more about the possibilities—the inevitabilities. I was at her apartment.

  Robin had lived in this complex, in a small one-bed and one-bath apartment, since her senior year at college, not too far away from campus. She had lived with our good friend Lara Kearns for awhile on campus, but when Lara graduated a year earlier than the rest of us, Robin decided to spend her senior year in residence off campus. Robin was susceptible to moodiness, which us girls chalked up to her being artsy. It wasn’t unusual for her to turn down a night out on the town in favor of some quiet time at home curling up with a good book, or, her favorite hobby, dabbling in watercolors and getting lost in her sketchbook. Living solo to have time to herself was signature Robin.

  And four years later Robin still called this apartment community, with boisterous neighbors and young students, home. All us girls never understood why she maintained her inexpensive residency at Pacific Green Hills. It made sense when she was in college, and its proximity to campus was convenient.

  But Robin now had a blossoming career at a small publishing company as a graphic designer. She was a hard worker, a very talented artist, had great grades in college—always keeping above an impressive 3.75 grade point average. A sweet internship during her last semester had turned into a promising career. We all knew that her salary wasn’t Ramen noodles, and though it wasn’t duck a l’orange, it was more than enough money for a young, single woman who was making a name for herself.

  All of the girls were proud of her and even looked up to her and her success as a career woman. When I thought of opening my own bakery and café, I looked up to her.

  But now I loathed Robin. Now the words “inspiring” and “Robin” were as far from each other as either of us were from having duck a l’orange night after night.

  I pulled into a free parking space that was just a few doors shy from Robin’s first floor apartment. I could see the light yellow curtains hanging in her front window from where I was parked. Those were Claire’s apartment warming gift to Robin, and the “Martha Stewart” that Claire is, she also made matching pillow shams for the sofa.

  How on earth am I going to do this?

  My palms were wet. My stomach turned, but I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or breakfast hunger. I decided it was both.

  Without any further thought, I got out of the car and approached the familiar door. Robin had hosted many girls’ nights at her apartment. Many nights we had all gotten together at her place for a bit of pre-partying before we hit the clubs. Many mornings we had woken up from an exhausting night of dancing, or from a twelve-hour marathon of Sex and the City, and made delectable blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Robin was one of the girls in my sisterhood of girlfriends, and her home was just as much a second home to me as was Claire’s. But now?

  I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and knocked on the door. I wasn’t sure what I would say or how I would say it—or even when. No girl ever prepares for this kind of thing. I don’t really think there is a way.

  Robin opened the door and she stood there, dressed and ready for the day. Even her long, blonde hair (which she claimed was natural but all us girls knew otherwise) was curled and cascading beautifully over her shoulders. It wasn’t unlike Robin to be up and ready for the day early in the morning, even on a weekend. She was always eager to get a start on the day and always looked very professional when she went to work. Even on her “off days” she’d lounge around looking professional. She always had a soft hint of makeup applied—basic powder, blush, and maybe a swipe of mascara. Always ready for something—except for this.

  “Sophie,” she said. “This is a surprise.” She pushed her black plastic-rimmed glasses further up her nose, squinting into the morning sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

  I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. A few things had come to mind. You bitch. Or, How dare you. Or, I know everything. Instead, I finally responded with, “Hi, Robin,” purposely not answering her question. She would find out soon enough how I was doing.

  “Hi.”

  I detected a slight hesitation in her voice. Did she know?

  And then it happened. She knew; I could tell by the horror suddenly on her face. The truth was out. There was no denying her secret anymore.

  After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she said, “You know.”

  I narrowed my eyes and slowly shook my head. My lips tightened. My jaw tightened. I felt like slapping her hard across the face, but somehow I refrained.

  Robin crossed her arms and her posture slightly caved. “Sophie—”

  “How could you, Robin?” I interrupted. “How could you?” I was surprised at how calm I was.

  She backed up into the living room—presumably to keep the conversation private instead of on the street—and I followed briskly behind.

  “How?” I demanded, louder this time. “How the hell could you do it?”

  Robin moved from the front door and headed towards the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, I don’t want coffee!” What did she think this was? Some damn fireside chat? “I want to know why you screwed my boyfriend!” Any rational behavior on my part was gone.

  “Sophie, I meant to tell you.” She took a shaky seat in the chair across the room. “It’s been killing me keeping this from you.”

  “Why’d you do it? How could you do it?” I started to pace. “I mean, how does someone do something like that? My boyfriend and my best friend deceive me like this? I don’t understand how you can have little…no…no…how you can have no regard for my feelings. Or my relationship. Hell, my relationship with you! Doesn’t our friendship mean anything? How the hell does someone do something like this?” She opened her mouth to respond. “And don’t tell me you were drunk and wah, wah, wah. I don’t want to hear that crap.”

  “We were drunk, Sophie. We were way past okay-drunk. He was drunk and saying all these things about how he didn’t know what he wanted in life.”

  I quickly shot her a damning look. Was she really going to drag Brandon’s uncertainty about his future—about us—into this conversation?

  “He said he was going through a tough personal time,” she continued, starting to chew her lips; an insecure habit of hers. “He said he didn’t know what he wanted in life and that he wasn’t sure about taking that next step with you.” She looked up to see my reaction. I had a cold stare.

  “I guess I wanted to make conversation,” she said. “And I told him I wasn’t sure about my life, either. I mean, single for awhile…not sure where my career would go…wondering if I’d ever meet Mr. Right. We were just on a roll complaining about our lives and all of the uncertainty, I guess. I started to talk about the breakup I had with Joseph and how that was tough….”

  Joseph was Robin’s last serious relationship; it dissolved last year. They had gotten into a series of arguments and nit-picking that eventually became lethal to their relationship. No matter; Robin eventually concluded they were going nowhere anyway. Since Joseph, she had had some dates here, some second and third dates there, but nothing that was “send me over the moon” worthy. Apparently Brandon had answered that call for her.

  “Before I knew it one thing really just led to another and we ended up kissing. And then we went back to your— Err, uh, his place.”

  “You did it in my bed? In our bed?” I was disgusted.

  “It was a total mistake and we were just so hammered,” Robin cried, finally giving in to the tears that she must have been holding back from the moment she discovered the reason for my visit. “It was just that one time and the next morning we decided we’d never tell you. Figured it was for the best. Neither of us wanted to hurt you.” I rolled my eyes. I had already heard this pathetic routine.

/>   “Sophie.” She stood up and walked towards me tentatively. “I told Brandon that I wanted to tell you. That…that…it was the right thing to do. That I couldn’t not tell you and continue to be your friend. And I told him he should come clean with you and maybe you two could work it out. But he swore he’d never tell and he begged me not to say a word. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  “Lies, lies, lies. Deceit…. You sleep with my boyfriend. You keep it a secret. And expect that nothing will happen? Shove it all under the rug and forget about it?”

  “I know there’s nothing to say to make any of this right. What I did—what Brandon did—was wrong. And for that I will forever be sorry. I don’t know where to go from here.” She cried like a baby. “What can I say or do to make things alright? I don’t know, Sophie. I just don’t know.”

  “I don’t either, Robin.” My fists were squeezed into tight balls. I was so enraged and beyond words or rational thought I wanted to lay one into her. I had never punched anyone before. This moment seemed like a perfect first time.

  “I know I should have told you.” Robin’s shoulders heaved. “I should have come clean right away.”

  “What you should have done was never sleep with my boyfriend in the first place!”

  “I know. I know.” Her eyes fixed on the carpet. “What can I do to make it up to you? What can I do to fix this?”

  Was she serious? She wanted to repair the disaster she had caused? This was all beyond repair. There was no going back. No apologies. No forgiveness. As far as I was concerned, Robin could rot at the bottom of my enemy list right along with Brandon. They were both vindictive people who had taken my heart and my love and my trust and torn them apart.

  “You can’t do anything, Robin. What you’ve done is unforgivable.”

  “Please.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I don’t want our friendship to be destroyed. I understand if you need some time to think about this. Please don’t let this ruin us. Please. What we have should be stronger than this.”