When Girlfriends Break Hearts

by Savannah Page

  Claire said something that really resonated at that moment we were apologizing on the kitchen floor. She said that if I continued to hide from the facts and never learned to accept and learn to let go, live, and love, then everything that was, or had once been, great would inevitably turn sour. And everything that had already turned sour would never have the chance to spring into something beautiful and new. It was sound with her logic of “with the bad comes the good.” She said that there was plenty of room in the world for both the bad and the good, but so often we would get caught up in how terrible something was. We’d often forget to recognize that there’s always something good to see among the chaos. Always something good to enjoy and be grateful for.

  “When life deals you lemons,” Claire told me, “You make lemon chiffon cupcakes.”

  She told me that I couldn’t try to piece back what had once been and was now lost. That moment in time, in life, had passed. It was time to take the pieces and create something new now.

  Finally, though slowly, the light at the tunnel was actually starting to shine. It was small, but I felt confident that that small light would soon grow and grow. An “end” to the madness was not far off. And it was all up to me. I guess I sort of did have control, although from a different perspective.

  Claire was right and she had made me see it, even if against my will. I had been grabbing at what I wanted, neglecting the reality and hiding from the pain. I had been cutting away the friendships that meant the most to me. I was trying to gain control of my life, but in doing so I was driving everyone away, and ironically I was actually losing more control.

  “It’s not going to be easy to pick up the pieces,” I cried through Claire’s soft curls.

  “I know,” Claire said. “Step by step. We’re going to fix all of this. Somehow, Sophie. Somehow…”

  I didn’t know what step I would take next. Would I call Lara? Try to make amends with Robin? I wasn’t so sure about the latter. That option seemed positively horrendous. But where would I go from here?

  Yet it was just like Claire said: I couldn’t know all the answers; not yet. I only had to be willing to learn them.

  “It won’t be easy,” she said. “But it’s all very possible. Things aren’t exactly easy for me right now, either. If that makes you feel any better.”

  “Yeah,” I said, realizing that there must have been some excuse for Claire’s reticence before our cupcakes went all black on us. “What’s going on with you, Claire? You’re avoiding telling me what’s wrong and I know something is bugging you.”

  Claire nodded her head and said, “I have been trying to avoid it. Funny. I should take my own advice. Here I’m telling you to face the facts and deal, and I can’t even do that myself.”

  I gave her a look of, “Tell me. What is going on?”

  “It’s Conner,” she said. “I mentioned marriage and now he’s all weirded out. He says he doesn’t want to talk about it and that we should enjoy the way things are now. He says, ‘Because nothing is wrong with the way things are now, so why make trouble?’ Isn’t that lame? Like, get a backbone and talk to your girlfriend—your girlfriend of seven freaking years—about some serious stuff. We’ve talked about it a couple of times before, too. Before today in the park.”

  “And that’s what you were talking about when I came home the other day?” I asked.

  She nodded and continued. “Yeah. The same thing. I ask him to think about it. Just thinking about getting married, and he gets all angry and it’s the same stupid thing over and over. I want to talk about it and he doesn’t. And then—” Claire rubbed at her eyes. “And then he’s been talking about this ridiculous idea—and I mean totally ridiculous—this ridiculously stupid idea of moving to Los Angeles.”

  My eyes widened. Claire couldn’t move away. “What?” I gasped.

  “Don’t worry. We’re not moving. Well, I’m not at least. He’s been talking about it for months now and I never thought it was that serious. When he first brought it up I told him it was something we could think about—maybe—in the future.”

  “Like when you got married?”

  “Exactly! But then…” She glanced away and sighed heavily. “He keeps throwing L.A. in my face every time I mention marriage. It’s like…he has to have something to bitch about because I apparently am—what does he say?—am ‘unhappy with the status quo.’” She made quote marks with her fingers.

  “I mean,” she said. “He’s being so stupid about it all. I told him that I’m not against the idea of moving in the future. If he finds a good job there, alright. I know my job can travel well. But it’s just…it’s just so irresponsible of him. It’s immature. That’s all it is.

  “I’m here talking about a serious commitment to what I assume is a serious relationship, and he’s rambling on about making a big move from our home. And out of the blue! For no reason. He feels like we should give his home a try.”

  I listened intently, trying to offer the best comfort I could with the holding of a hand or the rub of her back. I had heard once, perhaps when he first had the idea, that Conner wanted to consider making the move back to his home in California. I knew that Claire wasn’t against the possibility, but she had made Seattle her home since going to school at U Dub. Her friends, her career, her life were here.

  “I’m just not ready to move,” Claire said firmly. “And I’m certainly not going to consider moving without a ring on this finger. I even told him that, Sophie. I told him I would be much more serious about moving to L.A.—actually give his idea a chance—if he were serious about getting married. But he’s just so damn evasive about it all.”

  She pulled her knees in tightly to her chest. “It’s like, why would I bother uprooting my entire life for, what? Chance? I know marriage isn’t necessarily forever, but I’m not running that risk. I’m not going to chase him around. If he wants L.A.—if he wants me—he’ll have to prove it. Or he can just go to L.A. by himself.”

  I smiled and gave Claire a warm hug. “Claire, you know he loves you. And you know he won’t move without you. And you know he’ll pop the question at some point. And I bet it won’t be too far off.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. I seriously think so. Besides, you don’t want to get married, kick me out of your house, and move away from all of us girls, do you?” I kidded.

  “Well, no,” she said. “Of course not. I just…oh, hell, I don’t know what I want.” She laughed. “I think about how long we’ve been together and how getting married shouldn’t be too crazy of a concept. Do you think?”

  I shook my head.

  “Exactly!” she shrieked. “It’s the most logical step. I don’t know what bigger sign he needs, but goodness. I certainly hope he considers me ‘the one.’ I want to marry him….”

  “Claire,” I said softly. “Conner is over the moon about you. He’ll propose when he’s ready. And if I know Conner, the proposal is going to knock your socks off. And that kind of magical proposal takes time. And!” I was quick to add. “A wedding like the one I’m sure you want and the one I’m sure Conner wants to give you takes money. You said you’ve both been saving for your future, right? Together?”

  She nodded.

  “See? You’re as much a part of his future as he is yours. You need to be patient, Claire.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Patience, patience, patience. But this whole L.A. thing is ridiculous, am I not right?”

  I told her that he was only running the idea by her and that I honestly couldn’t picture him packing up and hauling the two of them hundreds of miles south, farther away from Claire’s family in Oregon and far from both Conner’s and Claire’s friends.

  Of course, if Claire had intentions to marry Conner then the notion of moving to another city was something that came with the territory of marriage. She couldn’t expect to play by all of her rules, leaving Conner to follow or else. She told me that she knew sometimes she was overreacting about the moving situation, and per
haps about the whole tying-the-knot situation, too. But a girl’s got to be a girl sometimes, and irrationality and impatience can unfortunately come with the package, especially when it comes to the opposite sex.

  “I’m happy to have a great friend I can confide in, Sophie,” Claire said as I gave her another hug. “I really appreciate it.”

  I told her it was the least I could do seeing how she was the best of friends any girl could ask for. But there it was again—that give and take relationship that I had with Claire. And with all my girls. Well, the few that still stood by. I had a crisis and Claire was there to help me see straight. Claire had an outburst and I could offer some pep talks. And some cupcakes.

  “Hey, at least your life isn’t going crazy like mine,” I said.

  “Yeah. Yeah. But Sophie, seriously. I know things are tough but you’ve got to stop wallowing in the pity. You’re going to pick yourself up and get through all of this. One step at a time. Okay? Pity party—over.”

  “You’re right.” She was.

  “Life can really suck, but we can’t let it get us down,” she said. “Easier said than done, I know. Obviously.”

  She stood up and held out a hand for me to take, then pulled me up.

  “Yeah, but why does it have to suck so hard?” I asked, chuckling. “I mean, when am I going catch a break?”

  Claire held a discerning finger up and gave me a stern look. “Uh-uh, that’s the wrong attitude, missy. Don’t look at your life as something disastrous. It could all be gone tomorrow. I even have to remind myself of that when I’m complaining about Conner being slow on the engagement front.” She offered a small smile. “And you’d kick yourself if you spent your last days complaining about how miserable your life was. Wouldn’t you rather spend it finding the good things in it? Making more of the good things? Focusing on turning the bad to good?”

  She picked up a cooled, black cupcake from the sink, glaring at it. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather eat cupcakes instead of complain about how you let a batch burn?”

  I snagged the meteorite out of her hands and gave it a playful toss up in the air.

  “Nope,” I said. “I’d rather turn lemons…” I chucked the black cupcake into the sink. “…into lemon chiffon cupcakes! Come on, let’s finish this batch and then catch a movie or something. We have got to get out of this house. That’s the first step I’m taking. That we’re both taking. Enough self-pity for the both of us today, right?”

  Claire started to wipe down the kitchen counter of burned black specks of cupcakes. As we cleared the kitchen, the mood began to lighten. As clichéd as a rainy scene during a depressing moment? Ironically, yet wonderfully, so.

  “Clooney’s got a new movie out and I’ve been dying to see it,” I said. “I’m not into that whole ruggedly handsome, seriously mature, older kind of man thing—no matter how devilishly handsome he might be. That’s not why I see his movies of course.”

  Claire nodded her head in agreement. Neither of us were the die-hard George Clooney fans that we were of, say, Hugh Grant, Brad Pitt, or even Ryan Gosling. Sure, Brad and Hugh could probably fit into the whole “older attractive guy” group with Clooney, but it wasn’t the same. Clooney was his own brand of “hot older maleness” that neither Claire nor I really understood.

  “But I think the movie looks decent enough. And I usually like what he does.”

  “Yeah,” Claire said. “Maybe we can finally understand what Jackie sees in that whole older-guy thing, you know?”

  I laughed. “Seriously! What in heaven’s name is she doing with the latest guy?”

  “Oh God, I don’t know. Have you heard from her lately?”

  “Oh, Claire, you know she’s always out doing something or busy going somewhere.”

  And on we went, as if there had never been a fight to begin with. And even in spite of, or perhaps because of, the fight with Claire I was beginning to feel that newness she said I needed to embrace. I was willing to let the pieces fall where they may, and I was finally ready to pick them up and piece them together, turning them into whatever was next for me.

  Would it be a reconciliation and newfound friendship with Robin? With Lara? Both of them? I hoped so. Would it be a new love in my life? I was pretty confident that would happen. Would something good come from the bad that Pamela was going through?

  One thing was for sure: Pamela’s bright and shining star was illuminating my life—opening my eyes—to a world that was wide, and beautiful, and ready for me. Ready for what, I had no idea. But I was ready. It was finally time to let go, let love, and just let live.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday morning was filled with mixed emotions. It was great to get to spend time with Pamela, just the two of us chatting about the big party she was planning on having soon. We ran through a variety of menu and dessert options and naturally we sampled a few desserts that I had brought along for the visit. Pamela knew that her favorite carrot and zucchini cupcakes that I had designed—and, if I may say so myself, perfected—were going to take center stage on the dessert table. But to make sure of the other sweets on display I insisted, and she did not deny, on a fun round of taste-testing. Besides, what woman doesn’t like nibbling on cupcakes, tortes, and puff pastries over a cup of Earl Grey and chit-chat?

  But it was emotionally trying to see Pamela in the condition that her body had rendered her against her will. She had already begun taking the regimented doses of pain medication, which left her feeling lethargic.

  We chatted about the party food and desserts near her bay window, so she could enjoy the sun’s warming morning rays while watching the landscape artists wheelbarrow soil and river rocks about her garden. She had spared no time in beginning her garden project—of course, not that she was able. And planning her grand garden party was no different. Within a couple of hours we had the entire menu planned.

  I didn’t want to leave, although work at the kitchen was awaiting my return and I knew I had a busy day ahead. But it felt impossible to leave; I almost felt afraid that if I left I might never see Pamela again. Though her doctor had given her four to six weeks, Pamela could very easily have only a few short days. I hated the vulnerability and uncertainty, and, worse, the inevitability of it all.

  During my drive back to work I ran through what Pamela told me. She said that forgiveness was a powerful tool of the wise. She said that “with forgiveness we can put the past to rest…far behind us. And we can live today to its fullest, and look forward to tomorrow.”

  We spent a good deal of time chatting about my situation with Robin and Lara, and I guess Brandon obviously played a part in it, too. But I was getting to the point where I could care less about his role in the ordeal. Robin and Lara were the focus. I was starting to see that I could forgive and forget about Brandon. He would eventually be one among my short list of ex-boyfriends. Lara and Robin were another story, though. That situation wasn’t so simple, and their friendships were not something I really wanted to kiss goodbye. Despite what had happened.

  “You’re a strong woman, Sophie,” Pamela said, her eyes weary with sleep. Her medication begged her to take a nap. Her warm hands enclosed around mine and she smiled her soft and sweet smile. “Be that strong woman and forgive. You know that’s the key to happiness, right? Lots of people say ‘Aw, there’s no key to happiness.’ But you know what?” She pulled herself up a little out of her cushioned recliner and leaned towards me.

  “What?” I asked softly, smiling at the kindness and pure joy that still managed to radiate from her mellow and aging face.

  “Forgiveness is the key. When you forgive, everything’s alright in the world. I think if you do that, Sophie, you’ll lead a very happy and content life. Forgiveness, forgiveness…” She leaned back into her chair and closed her weary eyes.

  “I’m going to sleep now,” she whispered. “I’m feeling quite sleepy.”

  I stood up and gave her a light kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Pamela.”

  Her eye
s opened and a smile overtook her face. “Don’t forget that. Forgiveness.”

  I returned the smile and said, “I have a lot of forgiving to do, I know. A lot.” Pamela closed her eyes again. “I know what I have to do though. It’s just going to take a little time. But you’re right. I need to forgive.”

  She nodded, eyes still closed.

  “You rest now. I’ll be in touch.” I looked down at her—angelic, at peace, a forgiving soul I would miss so very much.

  “Thank you for everything, Sophie,” she called out as I began to clean away the dishes.

  “Thank you, Pamela.”

  ***

  A late lunch that afternoon at Café Baudelaire, not too far from Katie’s Kitchen, one of my favorites and oft-frequented, was just what I needed after the rather bittersweet and emotionally charged morning. I didn’t feel very hungry; the amount of baked goods and desserts I snacked on with Pamela had done a fine job in curbing any lunch time hunger. Opting for a light cafe latte and a glass of Perrier with a small wedge of lemon at the cozy corner café was the right fit. I had meant to give my older brother John a call for some time; this presented the perfect opportunity.

  Whenever I had something troubling on my mind, which had been the usual as of late, John could always be a reliable source for venting. Like a typical male, he never had too many words to say, and often I chastised him for not having enough. But the words he did say were usually spot-on.

  I had not yet turned to John regarding my latest tales of despair. Besides, I knew that John would tell me what I didn’t want to hear—what Claire had encouraged, what Pamela had suggested, what I had ringing loud and clear in my ears. He would essentially tell me to get over myself, stop being such a bitch, and kiss and make up. He’d tell me, “You’ll work it out, Sophie.” That was my brother John.

  But since I had started to sort things out, ever so surely, and since taking the necessary steps to forgiveness were on my very large to-do list, I decided now was as good a time as ever to return Jack’s missed calls (he had rung again the day before while I was taking a shower).