When Girlfriends Break Hearts

by Savannah Page

  Her hair was rather long, like mine, but it curled up tightly because of her naturally springy curls that, let’s face it, every girl who doesn’t have naturally curly hair envies. She never colored her hair and she didn’t have to. Alright, so no one really has to. I tended to leave my color au naturel, but only because I was too lazy to color it and, to be quite honest, the natural mocha color of my hair just seemed to be the best fit for my complexion. I’d been down the blonde, bleach blonde, highlighted, and even black roads before. I figured sticking to what God gave me was my best bet.

  Claire’s hair, though, was a natural sandy blonde that so many people guessed was highlighted; it was that perfect. She had been a genuine towhead as a baby and all the way through grade school, then her color matured a bit and became what it is today: sheer perfection. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious of her lovely locks.

  Though she wasn’t the “classic sexy” in the height department, I think her rather short stature of five foot three worked to her advantage. Pair that with her curly hair and bubbly, positive personality and she was a spotlight-catcher. And of course her bright blue eyes were the icing on the top. Claire was the total package—stunning inside and out—and Conner knew it. He also knew she had a flirtatious streak, and was liable to play the double standard card. Conner could never flirt or even cast a friendly smile in a girl’s direction without Claire erupting into a fit of rage and jealousy.

  Claire, however, could get a table for the two of them at a popular and packed restaurant with a wrapping of a curly lock around her finger, a sweet smile, and a polite, “Oh please squeeze us in.” I think there were times when Conner was beside himself with her flirtatious tendencies, but he was such an even-tempered and confident guy that most of the time he let Claire’s playfulness slide. He knew where Claire’s heart was. She wasn’t like Robin, after all—a girl who apparently knew no boundaries.

  “An apple martini and a Cosmo, please,” I heard Claire say over the music.

  I surveyed the room. It was a relatively calm night; then again, it was Thursday.

  I opted for the Cosmo and sipped at the ruby-colored beverage. “Ah, that tastes good,” I moaned.

  “See, just what the doctor ordered, huh?” Claire said, smiling as she sipped at her fruity martini.

  Just as we were getting into a conversation about the upcoming episode of The Bachelor (I know, real in-depth, but the night was supposed to be laid-back and low-key), a familiar voice rang out.

  “Girls!” It was our good friend—one of the girls of the “sisterhood”—Jackie.

  “Girlfriends!” she cried, wedging herself between our barstools and hanging both arms over our shoulders. “What are you girls doing here?”

  She sounded, and smelled, of a few too many cocktails. That was actually one of Jackie’s signature scents. That and a titillating men’s cologne that came from some eligible bachelor she snagged…and shagged.

  Jackie Anderson was often the life of the party. She was our Seattle suburb sorority queen, and we loved her. She played on the dangerous side of the fence far more than any of us did, collectively, but she really did have a heart of gold.

  Jackie was decked out that night in a full silver sequined mini that left little to the imagination. She, like myself, didn’t have much upstairs, and the tightness of her dress could have benefited from a little more support from the twins. But Jackie pulled the look off. It didn’t shout “classy,” but somehow it didn’t exactly shout “trashy.” It just said… “Jackie.”

  In addition to her dress, her bleach blonde pixie hair cut, her equally bleached teeth, and her salon tan, which was teetering towards “subtle orange glow,” made her stand out in a room. Her loud personality, voice, and laugh lent hands in that, too. Men flocked to her. Jackie was a petite, thin, five foot nothin’ bundle of fun for anyone who was, well, looking for a good time.

  Alright, so maybe I’m selling her short. She wasn’t an “easy girl,” whatever that really means. She just liked men, liked the attention, and didn’t want to do anything unless it had “fun” in the heading. Though she was more wild and flighty than the rest of us, we all just seemed to fit right together. That was the fascinating thing about us girlfriends. We were really a diverse group of women who got along incredibly well. That is, all of us but Robin….

  I took a long drink of my cocktail.

  “Jackie!” Claire screeched, breaking my thought pattern. Claire gave Jackie a big hug. “What are you doing here? Coincidence. Coincidence.”

  “Girl, it’s a Thursday night. Where else would I be?” Jackie waved her silver bangle-clad wrist at the bartender. “Hey honey.” The bartender strutted in our direction. He was a nice piece of eye candy, that’s for sure. Except that too many of his features resembled Brandon’s, so I tried my best to keep from looking at him. No Brandon here tonight.

  “Can you be super sweet and get me a glass of your finest champagne?” Jackie gave him a very playful smile, then turned to me and embraced me in a strong hug. She may have been short and thin, but her hugs were the strongest. I loved them. “Sophieeee. It’s so good to see you. It’s been much too long, girlfriend.”

  I agreed. I hadn’t seen Jackie since that first weekend I was broken up with Brandon. When she got wind of the news that the jackass broke my heart she insisted we head to Vogue for a few drinks, then off to a round of night clubs. In light of what had happened the past weekend, the breakup with Brandon seemed like ages ago.

  If Claire hadn’t said anything about the affair, nor Robin, then Jackie was probably in the dark. I would have to tell my sob story again. And no doubt the moment I told Jackie she’d insist we all get hammered and find ourselves some hot guys.

  Once Jackie’s champagne arrived the three of us moved to a chaise lounge, and I told her the whole rundown in less than ten minutes. Concise but with all of the “can you believe that?” and “stupid bitch” and “asshole of a boyfriend” comments that a story like it demands.

  “Forget about them. Both of them,” Jackie said with a wave of her hand. “You don’t need them, girl.”

  I looked at Claire from the corner of my eye. From the look on her face she didn’t seem to share Jackie’s enthusiasm for forgetting about one of our dearest friends, but I didn’t care. It felt good to hear from a fellow friend that it was alright to harbor such harsh feelings toward Robin now.

  “Robin can be a total bitch, anyway,” Jackie continued, sipping at a fresh glass of champagne that she had waved for the bartender to send her way shortly—too shortly—after her previous glass. Jackie worked the floor and the bar like no one else. She was a pro.

  “Hey, you girls want a glass?” Jackie looked to me and Claire, eyebrows raised. “It’s on me.” She held up three fingers to the bartender before we could answer.

  “Land a nice job, Jack?” I asked.

  Jackie had never been one to keep down a job very well. And certainly not a career. She had opted to study Communications at U Dub, because it was, as I remember she said, “the easiest major there is and I like communicating anyway. I live on Facebook!” She scratched by with a ‘C’ average in her courses, but with an ‘A’ plus in being the most-loved DeeGee during her sorority days of Delta Gamma. Jackie was born to socialize, which is why, she said, she got a massive tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back. “I know it’s a tramp stamp,” she explained. “But we all have a little tramp in us. I figured, what the hell. I’m a social butterfly so why not get a butterfly tat?”

  Even though Jackie could be flighty and from time-to-time forget about girls’ nights, leaving us hanging, and even though she slept with what sometimes appeared to be any man with an imported sports car, a penthouse suite, and who spoke sugar-coated words from cognac-coated lips, she would never sleep with one of her best mate’s boyfriends. If any of us girls was a tramp, it wasn’t Jackie, that was for sure.

  “Oh God, no,” Jackie said, faking a laugh. “Me? A job? That could pay for this kind of bu
bbly?” She shook her head. “I’m sleeping with the owner of the bar. Hank. Everything’s on the house for me.” She sipped the expensive champagne that wasn’t costing her anything…monetarily speaking.

  “Jackie, you’re crazy,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “Are you working?”

  “Girls, it’s impossible to find a job. Hell, it’s impossible to keep a job!” That was Jackie. Always in and out of jobs. Just like she was in and out of relationships…if you could really call most of them that. She said that she had studied Communications “not to land a career in some big corporate office or anything like that,” but to have something to talk about and be proud of when she met eligible doctors, lawyers, and apparently bar owners.

  “I was working over at Anthro for awhile,” she said. “But I couldn’t handle the stress.”

  “Stress?” I asked, chuckling. “Jack, it’s an hourly job that eighteen-year-old girls have during summer break. How stressful could it be?”

  You could always be pretty honest with Jackie without running the risk of offending her or hurting her feelings. I think deep down she knew that she had squandered a perfectly good opportunity to take her life in the healthy direction during her college years. I think she knew that she drank a little too much, partied a little too hard, and bounced from one meaningless job and relationship to the next, always putting what was best for her far from her mind. But Jackie knew what she wanted and she lived in the moment. That was often the problem.

  “I know, I know,” she sighed. “I’m just not cut out for work. Ya know? I need to find myself a rich doctor or something and just live my life. This whole job thing is a real pain in the ass. I don’t know how you girls do it.”

  The hours passed quickly as we caught up and I finished off the second drink I vowed I wouldn’t have. It felt good to get out a little and unwind. But come ten o’clock it was high time Claire and I headed back to hit the hay, since some of us had jobs that didn’t involve wearing tight sequined minis and giving blow jobs to forty-something-year-old bar owners.

  “We should definitely do this again,” Jackie insisted as Claire and I slipped our coats back on and got ready to head back to the car.

  “How about this weekend? A real girls’ night with no curfews?” Claire offered.

  “Sounds like a plan!” I said.

  “Great. We’ll get all the girls together and make it a night out.”

  “Yeah, but without the bitch,” Jackie added. She was right. Robin was not to be invited. As far as I was concerned she didn’t exist. She was not one of the girls.

  “Jackie,” Claire said in a small, whining tone.

  “It’s a no-ho night, k?” Jackie set her empty champagne glass down and followed us to the exit. “Just girls who don’t fuck each other’s boyfriends, all right?”

  Jackie meant well, but sometimes her choice of words were not exactly appropriate. She instantly noticed the pain that spread across my face.

  “Sorry, Sophie,” she apologized. “That was insensitive.”

  “It’s okay,” I dismissed. I didn’t want to get into the topic again. “Saturday night? Sound good?”

  Claire and Jackie emphatically agreed and the date was set.

  As Claire and I got into a cab, Claire said, “Don’t take Jackie completely seriously with the whole Robin thing, Sophie.”

  “I know.” I shrugged it off; I was slightly offended at Claire’s cursory remark.

  “She doesn’t exactly have an unbiased view in the whole thing.”

  “I got it, Claire,” I said curtly. “I got it.”

  It didn’t really come as a surprise to me that Jackie had sided with me so quickly. She wasn’t particularly close to Robin, but the reason laid in her resentment or jealousy towards Robin’s relationship with Lara. Lara and Jackie were friends before Claire, Robin and I were in the picture. They were very close friends, in fact, but when we arrived on the scene, and Robin and Lara hit it off particularly well, Jackie’s jealousy came shining through. She often found it difficult to accept the close relationship that one of her best friends, Lara, had with the new girl, Robin. If there was ever moment like the drama that had become my life for Jackie to find a reason to scorn Robin, she would. I am confident that deep down inside Jackie would never wish anything bad on Robin, but jealousy can be an evil shadow.

  I kept Jackie’s history with Lara and Robin in my mind as I absorbed what Jackie had said that night about the situation. Things were getting complicated and I was getting fed a lot of Kool-Aid—but I found that ignoring the entire thing, busying myself with yoga and making the time to hang out with some of my true girlfriends, was making me a feel a whole lot better. Perhaps the road to recovery was really not that far away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Don’t call her, Claire! She is not invited!” My voice was raised, something I rarely, if ever, did with Claire. But she was angering me. How could she even think to invite Robin to our girls’ night?

  It was lunch time on Friday and the both of us had decided to take lunch at home. We were in the kitchen, maneuvering quickly around each other as we each prepared our own meals. I wanted a simple PB and J and she had a hankering for a crisp salad.

  “I wasn’t going to invite her, Sophie.” She rinsed off a handful of lettuce leaves. “I was just thinking out loud. Since we were talking about getting all the girls together for a night out…naturally I thought of Robin….”

  “Please don’t say her name.”

  “Well, naturally I thought about her.” Claire was getting an attitude. “Not to invite her but to just talk. I still consider her a friend, Sophie.”

  I knew that much, even though it burned me up.

  “I know, I know. Whatever,” I said. “That’s not the point. I just don’t want her invited. I don’t want her to be a part of the evening. If you want to see her, then go plan something separate. Quite frankly I don’t even know how you can stand to see her. Even talk to her. She’s a backstabbing whore, Claire. You know if she did this to you I would have nothing to do with her.”

  “I know, Sophie. But I can’t totally walk out of someone’s life. I’m not in your situation so I don’t know exactly what I’d do, but I don’t want to completely close the possibility of a friendship off.” She began to chop a carrot. “And I don’t think you should, either.”

  “What?” Was she serious?

  “I understand you’re still really upset about everything, but don’t you think it’s a little rash to completely end a friendship? A friendship that’s never had any bumps in it before?”

  “Bumps?” I set down my peanut butter-smeared knife. “Bumps? She slept with my boyfriend, Claire. That’s not a bump.”

  “Okay, okay. I honestly think, though, that down the road a bit maybe you’ll realize that a friendship, in whatever form, with Ro…with her…is not such a far-fetched idea. She’s one of your best friends, Sophie. Friendships like those don’t dissolve over one event. One horrendous event, yes, I know. But seven years have to mean something. Seven near-perfect years! Lots of memories and good times….”

  “Well, seven years with Conner is a lot too, huh, Claire? But if I screwed him you’d probably call it quits with him. And me. Am I right?”

  She didn’t say anything. I must have struck a nerve or shed light on the lunacy of her argument.

  “I don’t want to argue.” She drizzled some olive oil and red wine vinegar over her salad and approached the dining table. “I want peace between you girls. I won’t invite her for tomorrow and I didn’t plan on it. I just think that maybe you should consider the possibility of talking to her again. At some point. And I think you should consider the likelihood that I, even Jackie…all of us…will still be in touch with Robin. She hasn’t died.”

  “She’s dead to me, Claire. I’m through with her. Like I’m through with Brandon.”

  “I’m only mentioning it because I really think it’s something you’ll have to come to terms with at some point in time. T
hat’s all.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s all.” I angrily jabbed at the peanut butter. “The last thing I need is you telling me to kiss and make up with that backstabber. What’s next? I should make up with Brandon?”

  Claire was silent. She was never one for confrontation, and her bringing up the fragile matter was a surprise in itself. But she strove for peace among everyone. I knew that she wanted for Robin and me to make up. My best response to her urging a possible reconciliation or facing my problems was just the opposite—to deny that anything was possible, and that my problems were being put behind me. All that was ahead was healing. And healing did not mean dealing.

  After a long moment of silence, I changed the topic. “I’m thinking of doing a double session tonight. Staying late at yoga, so don’t wait up for me with dinner.”

  “Double yoga? Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

  “Claire, I don’t need a mom.” I said it softly, but the words hurt. I could see it on her face. “I’m sorry,” I instantly apologized. I hated hurting Claire. “The whole talk of what’s-her-face and everything just really got to me. I’m sorry, Claire.”

  “You’re hurting and I see that.” She spoke gently. “I only want what’s best for you and I don’t want to see you hide from your problems. You’re doing more yoga than I thought humanly possible.” She picked a carrot out of her salad and crunched on it. “You don’t want to talk about any of it. You don’t want to deal with it—but you can’t run away from everything. No matter how much it hurts.”