But would they have me?
I figured as much, seeing how they had already approached me and begged their apologies, but after I had given them the cold shoulder and refused any contact would they still feel as open to a second try at a friendship?
I looked over at Schnickerdoodle, who had planted himself next to me on the sofa. He was lying there, just less than a foot from me, his head resting on his two front paws. He wasn’t sleeping, his eyebrows raised, and his eyes scanning the living room.
“Whatcha think about that?” He perked his head up and cocked it to one side, giving me a sappy little look. “Whatcha think about this craziness, Schnicker?”
He reached a paw toward me. He knew, just as well as I did, that he wasn’t my favorite four-legged creature, but he also knew that I had a tiny soft spot in my heart for the little bugger. So he smelled funny, had way too much energy, barked mindlessly at birds twenty feet away, ran after cars, and took up space on my sofa. Schnickerdoodle had never done anything wrong to me (aside from possibly stealing one of my Keds that I still couldn’t find).
“Huh?” I piped in a high voice, making him cock his head to the other side, eyebrows raised even higher. “This crazy, crazy life.”
I heaved a heavy sigh and led him into the kitchen, where I retrieved a small rawhide stick for him to munch on. He was delighted and immediately ran to his pillow near the television. Schnickerdoodle wasn’t exactly the most well-trained, but Conner had taught him that his treats had to be eaten on his “treat pillow.” He chewed loudly and happily on the rawhide as I shuffled off to the shower.
“Oh, this crazy life, Schnickerdoodle. What am I going to do?”
***
The springtime scent of peaches from my freshly shampooed hair tickled my nostrils. I had slipped into a comfortable pair of lounge pants and a favorite fitted U Dub Huskies t-shirt, ready for a lazy evening. Yet not before I made an important move.
I talked with Claire briefly after she returned home from her dinner date with Conner. Evidently it turned out to be a disaster. Barely a word was spoken. Claire had told Conner that she wanted to have a calm and collected discussion about the topics of marriage and moving to California. He told her that all he wanted to do was forget about it and enjoy a meal out. From that point on not more than a few desultory remarks about how good the food tasted were said.
I told Claire that perhaps the best next move would be to tell Conner that she wanted to set a time to talk, seriously, to put the entire mess to rest. No complaints or excuses. The time had come. He couldn’t run from it and she couldn’t keep hammering away at it. They were going to have to face the music sometime.
“That’s just what I’ll do now. He has no choice,” Claire said. “We have no choice.”
I then broached the topic of reconciliation with Lara. I wanted Claire’s opinion; I considered sending Lara a quick text or an email, asking if we could talk about things. Claire’s opinion, her advice, and of course her support would be a great help. Claire agreed that if I wasn’t comfortable with calling Lara up, then a short text or email arranging for a call or a visit was the next best thing.
Starting that text to Lara wasn’t any easier than when I had sent similarly dreaded bad-news texts to boyfriends when we “needed to talk.” And how would she react? I hadn’t exactly been rational or kind to her recently. I’d just have to send the text, then a silent prayer upward, and wait.
What should I say?
Keeping it simple and direct, as Claire suggested, was probably easiest. It wasn’t like I wanted to apologize or make amends via text. The point of the message was to see if Lara would be interested in talking, maybe even meeting up. But though simple, it was still difficult to write. Hints of reconciliation would stand strong behind the text, naturally. Why else would I be contacting Lara?
And sending it was an alarm that I was opening myself up to vulnerability—to possibly having Lara tell me where to stick it and what an awful friend I had been to her and Robin for not hearing them out…not accepting their apologies. Texting Lara was admitting that I had a part to play. That I was a guilty party for not letting myself forgive and look at the greater picture. I had two very dear friends who I was allowing an ex-boyfriend to remove from my life. I was allowing someone I could not, quite frankly, care less about, come between friendships that I had, up until a few weeks ago, thought unbreakable. I was letting my bitterness and unwillingness to forgive stand in the way of something that could be wonderful. Who knew what the friendships I had with Lara and Robin could blossom into if I were open to finding out and open to forgiveness—if I were open to repairing bridges and building new ones.
What Brandon and I had had disappeared, and I always vowed that a man who cheats is no man for me. Maybe I had started to fall out of love with him. I was missing him less and less and actually looked forward to the idea of dating again and meeting men who would value me and return my love.
But I missed and valued Lara and Robin. And as each day passed I found myself missing them more and more. I’d lost something so wonderful and I wanted it back. Any maybe it was like Claire said; seeing myself lose something I valued with Pamela, I didn’t want to lose this too.
I think she was right. In a world filled with so much chaos and uncertainty, learning to love and appreciate what you have was fundamental to finding contentment. Fundamental to the process of forgiveness.
Right then I knew what to text.
We have so much to talk about. If you like, when do you want to get together? I typed.
Short. Matter-of-fact. The perfect and simplest way to get from “A” to “B,” but positively nerve-racking.
Tucking in at that point for the night with reruns of Desperate Housewives of Atlanta sounding in the background, I drifted off to sleep, hoping I’d awake to a kind response from Lara.
Chapter Nineteen
My anticipation was killing me. I had my cell phone snug against my back jean pocket the entire day at work so I would immediately know when Lara responded. Yet as the day passed, I wondered if she would. The suspense was almost too much to handle and I found myself giving over to my ridiculously controlling and compulsive sides, checking every five or ten minutes to see if I had a missed call, a text message, a voicemail, anything.
Why wasn’t she answering me? If she didn’t want to see me the least she could do was tell me so, right? Ignoring me was the most adolescent thing she could do. And it was very out of character for Lara to act like anything less than her age. She was supposed to be the mature and sensible one. Where was that mom-esque maturity now? Where was it in when I really needed it?
This totally blows, I thought as I helped Oliver remove a freshly baked batch of soufflés from the oven. How long do I have to wait?
I thought about sending her another text, just in case the airwaves had screwed up. But as I thought about it, I knew that it was unlikely. Maybe Lara wasn’t sure when or how she wanted to talk with me. In person? Over the phone? As soon as possible? Did she need her own healing time?
“I know,” Oliver said when I explained my edginess and he tried to find distractions for me. “Start work on your business plan. You know this? Begin to make it happen. You’ve been talking about it all the times and maybe it is now the perfect chance to make it happen. Yeah? You know this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like, start zee paperwork or think of a name for zee business or…whatever you have to do. Look more into what you have to do for it. To get things moving.”
“I’m up to my ears in research, Oliver. I’ve done the homework and know what I need to do next; it’s just actually doing it.”
“Exactly. Just do it. Do it and get it all done.”
“Yeah, but,” I started.
“No, no, no, no ‘buts’ about it.” He finished boxing his last cookies and proceeded to clean up our workspace. “That’s the problem. You’re always finding excuses. Find out now what you do next and do
it for your business. We all believe in you, Sophie. Katie, me, this whole crew. You’ll be simply fabulous at owning your own business. Making up your own recettes and putting together your menus and being fabulous. Fabulous, fabulous.”
“It’s risky.”
“Well of course it is. That’s what is making it exciting.” His enthusiasm was contagious. “That’s what it is all about. You think Katie had no risk? And now look at her. Fabulous herself. The same can be for you, yeah, you know? You just need to believe you can do it, and then…do it.”
I rubbed at the back of my neck, feeling the exhaustion and strenuous work of the day start to set in. “You’re right.” I let out a deep sigh and shoved aside my last boxed batch of cookies. “You’re absolutely right. I’m going to actually work on this.”
Slowly I turned the conversation into a monologue, convincing myself, almost, of actually making that next small business start-up move. I had already set the wheels of change in motion in regards to Lara. Why couldn’t I do it with my career?
“I’m going to finally file the paperwork tonight,” I said. “Most of the documents are ready; I’ll complete them tonight. There’s a book I’ve had my eye on too; I’ll swing by and pick it up tonight.”
I popped a piece of a crumbled, rejected chocolate chip cookie into my mouth. “And I’m not going to wait by my phone for Lara to call,” I added for good measure, licking my chocolate-stained fingertips.
***
That evening after work I zipped on over to one of the many bookstores over on Broadway. I opted for Randy’s as its selection was a lot wider than some of its neighbors, and it had the best vegan chocolate and ginger muffins, not to mention out of this world coffee. Alright, nearly any bookstore or café or side-street vendor in Seattle had the best coffee, but Randy’s had books and coffee and a charm that I had enjoyed since freshman year. Filled with memories, it was a favorite hangout of ours, in particular Robin. Which is why it should have come as absolutely no surprise that I’d spot her there that night.
I was sitting at one of the small tables in the corner of the café section, sipping at a cup of coffee while looking through three different entrepreneurial books, one of which I was dead set on buying. I decided to give John a call while I flipped through the interesting reads, figuring I’d see if he had anything new to report about his upcoming London trip. I was very excited for him, and, I’ll admit, for me too. The idea had crossed my mind more than once (more than twice) that I could visit my big brother in Europe next summer. I could roam about London, see the English countryside, check out the sights in Scotland, even Ireland, and maybe even take the train to Paris!
I told John about Claire’s problem with Conner on the off chance he might have some words of wisdom. All I got back was a, “Why is she so hung up on getting married?” and a “Why the hell does Conner want to move to L.A.? Didn’t he move to Seattle to get away from that craziness?”
“What’s wrong with commitment, John?” I asked. “What’s with the whole anti-marriage thing?”
“I’m not anti-marriage,” he said. “I think if that’s something you want to do—something both people want to do—then go for it. I happen to think that it’s not the definitive move in a relationship.”
“Oh really? What is then?”
“I don’t think there is, or really should be. Moves are for games, not relationships. But what do I know? I can’t keep in a relationship longer than a day, huh?” He chuckled.
“Your love life is a funny one, John, that I won’t deny.” I closed one book and picked up the last of the three I had yet to breeze through. “I think when you meet the right person that sweeps you off your feet, and even the one who makes you cry your eyes out…that person who makes you feel unbelievable feelings…and that person feels the same for you…and, you know? The ‘real deal’ kind of thing; and you’ve been together for a reasonable amount of time…then it makes sense to tie the knot. You know Claire and Conner have been together since freshman year, right?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“That’s a long time. I just think…if you both know you want to be together forever, and you’ve been together for awhile…seven years…then, well, I don’t think marriage is necessarily taboo. But I told Claire that she shouldn’t press it to the point of no return. She needs to sit down and talk it out. Get serious with him.”
“And stop the nagging,” John added.
“John!”
“It’s true. Sophie, the last thing a guy wants to hear over and over and over is ‘when are you going to propose?’” John used his high feminine voice for the final touch; it always made me laugh.
“Shut up; you’re ridiculous,” I said.
At that moment, as I brought my coffee to my lips, I noticed a familiar face. Robin.
“John, I gotta go,” I whispered quickly, setting my coffee down and nearly spilling it. “Gotta go.”
“Bye, So—”
I clicked my cell phone off and knelt lower to my table, bringing my book upright to hide my face. I know I looked positively absurd.
I couldn’t believe it. Of all the bookstores in all the world, she had to walk into…
I peered over my book. My eyes followed her as she walked from the Philosophy book section to Hobbies. Her eyes roamed back and forth across the shelves.
How am I going to get out of this?
While Robin scanned the bookshelves and I cowered behind my book I started to reflect on a much happier time between the two of us, back to a time right there in Randy’s bookstore.
It was our senior year at U Dub and Robin had considered applying for the coveted junior cover artist position at Forster and Banks, a small local publishing firm in Seattle. She was hesitant about submitting her application and portfolio, and told me that her greatest reluctance to do so was because of her fear of being told that her work wasn’t up to snuff. Robin feared rejection and was never able to handle it very well. That’s probably why she busted her butt so hard at school to make an ‘A’ average throughout all four years, doing all she could to stave off any criticism or a “you can do better on the next exam” scribbled in the test margin.
And Robin’s art was the card she played closest to her chest. As a hobby she sketched, and sometimes even dallied with charcoals. For a career she had dreamed of being a graphic designer for authors, laying the tracks by studying the art form in college. She wanted to be the artist who would make that first impression of a writer’s work for readers. Sort of the artist for artists, she once told me.
Forster and Banks was a reputable firm, despite its size. The position provided only meager pay, but it was a great foot in the door for Robin. She had done plenty of cover art online, and was even offered graphic design services on a freelance basis. This position would be the big start she had earned, and the great vote of confidence that she needed.
Robin and I decided to go to Randy’s one evening to check out some books about creating shining resumes and polished portfolios, and to get a scrumptious pastry and caffeine fix.
Robin was enthusiastic and nervous all at the same time as she realized she was actually going to submit her resume. I promised I would help her in any way I could. And I’d also give my “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” to the pieces I thought she should include in her portfolio. I wanted Robin to snag this position. Not only would it mean that she’d land the job she dreamed of, but it’d mean that she wouldn’t have to seek work elsewhere and possibly leave Seattle and me and all the girls behind.
Senior year was a tough year because a lot of us were not sure where we’d land jobs. Only Emily was sure; she was certain she’d go on a several-year-long sabbatical around the globe.
Robin and I stayed at Randy’s until it closed that night. It was a fun and carefree time. I’ve always remembered it, even though there wasn’t anything particularly poignant about it. Aside from finding a few helpful books about resumes and portfolios and nailing interviews, nothing spectacular had
happened. Robin didn’t put together the best portfolio that night. I didn’t make error-free her resume. We didn’t even get to finish our second helping of scones. All the evening was was a simple, care-free moment shared between two dear friends. It was a moment of laughter, of chatter, of sharing a common bond.
I brought myself back to present-time and refocused on Robin, who had apparently found the book she was looking for and was heading to the cash register. Not sure if she was going to move to the café for a refreshment after her purchase, and not wanting to run the awkward risk of her seeing me, I quickly gathered my things. I managed to sneak out one of the doors before she finished checking out. Crisis averted.
***
The prospect of officially filing the paperwork to begin my own business was exciting, to put it mildly. It wasn’t like I was going to be throwing up a shop and quitting my job at Katie’s Kitchen in a few weeks, or even months. There was a lot of paperwork to get going to make everything legal, not to mention finding an affordable and functional space to set up shop. If I wanted to attract throngs of people to a small café / bakery start-up, I’d need a promising property that was affordable, easily accessible to people walking by—and frequently—and one that had that quaint charm I always dreamed of my shop having.
I always pictured hanging my sign up in the neighborhood of Capitol Hill. It was one of my many favorite areas of town with its inviting blend of unique art and commercialism. I loved its suave blend of edgy coolness, where poetry readings from nose-pierced modern hippies happened just a few doors down from trendy boutiques where satin-scarf-wearing ladies shopped for fine antiques. And then of course all of the existing organic grocers, lively pubs, retro coffee and record shops, and chic eateries made for one giant enclave of…foodie life. I knew the competition could be stiff over there, but I had to face it: setting up a café and bakery in Seattle was a risky and common project. Period. But I’d never know if I didn’t try, right?
When Girlfriends Break Hearts Page 16