“What?!” Trey screeched. “I’m away from your e-mail for ten minutes. Maybe nine. How did that little bitch sneak in there?”
Trey calling Quinn a bitch made a flash of fury run through me. She was a bitch. A huge one. But only I got to say that, blood being thicker than water and all that.
Before I could respond, Trey looked at the plate on my desk and said, “Well, good Lord, early heart disease isn’t the answer to your problems.”
“Hey!” Diana interjected, popping her head back in, startling me. “Those are the appetizers.”
“The what?”
He gave me that look I knew all too well, the one that said, Do I intervene here or let it go? I gave him a look back that said to let it go.
“Okay,” he said. “Get dressed, do your girls’ night thing. I’m taking Diana out to dinner to formally educate her on the Gray Howard brand.”
I stifled a laugh. Having someone to do your dirty work was the ultimate charm of a charmed life.
An hour later, my four best friends were drinking wine and lounging in a circle of low-slung beach chairs on the little stretch of sand that separated my grassy front yard from the expansive sound beyond. The sunset was my favorite deep pink, but no one was watching it. All eyes were on me. I supposed that in the midst of a divorce and Ritz crackers, this shouldn’t have been a surprise. They hadn’t seen me since the summer before, so now was their chance to gauge how far off the deep end I had fallen.
“Do you absolutely hate Brooke?” Mary Ellen was asking, well into her first bottle of champagne. “I mean, I hated Sarah so much after Eddie left me for her.” Mary Ellen was a petite, pretty Florida transplant who literally wore only Lilly Pulitzer. She said the clothes fit her body and the prints fit her personality, so who could blame her?
“Of course I hate her,” I said. “And I hate being that woman. I want to be the ‘it was our marriage and he is the one to blame’ woman, but I can’t do it. I hate them almost equally. In fact, I might hate her even more, which is kind of unjustified.”
My I’m fine. It’s fine. Life moves on persona didn’t apply to my best friends. I think that goes without saying.
Megan nearly spit out her wine. “She stole your husband, Gray. What do you mean, unjustified?”
“You can’t ‘steal’ someone’s husband, really. Can you?” countered Addie. Everyone glared at her. She was the one in the group. You know, the one who likes to play devil’s advocate. You love her, but sometimes you just want to say: SHUT. UP.
Marcy picked up a jalapeño popper and, holding it up meaningfully, said, “Love bug, you need some serious sessions. I’m going to refer you to a colleague.”
“I don’t need sessions,” I said, laughing. “Diana and I had a bit of miscommunication about the appetizer situation.” I looked pointedly at Marcy, who looked like an absolute goddess in a flowy maxi dress cut almost to her belly button. She had the exact right willowy figure to pull it off. “I thought you were helping to steer her in the right direction.”
“Ohhhhh,” she said. “I see how you could have thought that. But, no. We were talking about her crazy ex-boyfriends.”
Megan sighed, “Oh, thank God.” An extraordinarily tall brunette, she had shocked us all by debuting her new hairstyle, the wavy curls that used to fall all the way down her back now chopped off close to her head. I honestly had not recognized her, but the look suited her. She added, “Don’t get me wrong. Pigs in a blanket are delicious and it’s great to get to eat them in public. It’s just not really typical of you.” She hiccupped, already on her third glass of wine. “I haven’t had carbs in, like, a decade.”
“I’ve been straight keto for six months now, but that Cheez Whiz and those Ritz crackers…” Addie said. Addie was the least appearance-oriented of us all, and certainly the most athletic. She was toned at any size, but she had complained for years about the weight she had gained when baby number three came two days before her fortieth birthday. She always looked great, and I was about to say so when Marcy asked: “When did we get too good for Cheez Whiz? I mean, really. Are we so fancy now that we can’t enjoy a good microwaved appetizer every now and then?”
“Why do we punish ourselves like this?” Mary Ellen groaned.
I shrugged. “I know nothing is supposed to taste as good as thin feels, but”—I held up a whing-ding—“this tastes damn good.”
My friends laughed, and Megan said, “Well, Gray, I guess even in the midst of the divorce carbs are magic. That’s something, right? So maybe it could always be worse?”
I nodded.
“Yeah,” Mary Ellen chimed in, raising her glass. “He could have left you for a dude.”
I gestured to her and made a face. “Yeah. Is that worse?” I asked. “When your husband leaves you for a man? Or is it worse when he leaves you for a woman?” Mary Ellen was probably the only person in the world who could answer both of those questions from firsthand experience.
Marcy burst out laughing, while saying, “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t be funny at all.”
Megan joined her laughter, and then, finally, Mary Ellen started laughing too.
Megan said, “How many people can honestly answer that?”
Mary Ellen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I mean, I know.” Then she raised her glass again. “Here’s hoping third time’s the charm.”
“Hear! Hear!” I said. We all laughed again, and I turned to Marcy. “So, my love, have you told the girls?”
They all leaned in a little, excited for whatever piece of gossip was getting ready to come their way.
“Let’s not make too big a thing of it,” Marcy said. “Who knows if it will even happen?”
“It won’t happen if you don’t put it out there,” Megan responded. She looked less ethereal with her cropped hair, but she still sounded it.
“Fine,” Marcy sighed. “I am officially husband hunting.”
Addie dropped her whing-ding. “Seriously? But you’re our cool single friend.”
“She’s not wrong,” I said. “I was kind of counting on you to be like my dating guru.”
“You all need to hush,” Mary Ellen chimed in. “If this is what will make Marcy happy, then we will be happy for her.”
“But only if it means a wedding planning commission for you,” Addie said with a totally straight face. More laughter as Mary Ellen threw a pig in a blanket at Addie. She missed, and we all squealed as an expectant seagull that had been waiting patiently on the end of the dock swooped down and carried it away.
When the laughter stopped, Megan turned to me and said, “So, seriously, a year in, does it feel different? I mean, can you move past it a little?” She paused, then whispered, “Do you miss your old life?”
I didn’t really want to talk about it, but if you don’t have friends to talk about this stuff with, to really bare your soul to, who do you have? “Well, y’all know I never wanted that monstrosity of a house anyway. Brooke and her twenty-eight-year-old cleavage can keep that.”
It was true. When my husband had finally started making money, it was like he couldn’t contain himself. He wanted the biggest house on the street, to take private jets on every vacation—while, of course, posting the photos, because how could you know something was good unless you could make your friends jealous? He wanted more and more and more, so I guess I should have seen it coming. Our pretty, normal-size home wasn’t enough. Two nice cars weren’t enough when you could have four. A big boat wasn’t enough when you could have a bigger one. And your loving wife wasn’t enough when you could have a younger one.
I hoped for Wagner’s sake, and, in truth, for Brooke’s, that a total life change would be enough for Greg to fill that giant hole that I couldn’t. My thoughts flashed to Brooke again, and I started to feel sad for her. She would get swept up in it all as girls do when they’re young. But in the end, she would forgo her own identity for that of a man who already had a past and a son—not to mention a poor track record with commitment.
Had I moved on? And then I said, “You know, I don’t miss him. I don’t even really miss the consistency of our life anymore. But until everything is settled, until our divorce is final, I think I will feel trapped by him.” I still couldn’t reconcile how someone you had loved so much could change so completely toward you so quickly. It took my breath away.
They all looked sympathetic. This wasn’t our first divorce in this group.
Addie said, “I just can’t believe he had the nerve to tell you he was leaving and then stay all those months like nothing had happened and then abandon you the day after your mom’s funeral.” She looked at me pointedly. “Gray, you win for worst divorce.”
Mary Ellen nodded in agreement.
“Yay,” I said with the least enthusiasm I could muster. They all laughed.
Those had been the worst six months of my life, but, in all honesty, having Greg stay, even under those horrible circumstances, was easier. I was with my mom as much as humanly possible, and I never had to worry about where Wagner would go or how to balance that. Looking back, it seems impossible, but in the moment, it felt necessary. I didn’t have time to analyze what was going on or what would come in the next phase. I could only think of how to get to the next day.
I took another sip of wine as Marcy, I think realizing I didn’t want to talk about this anymore as best friends do, said, “Speaking of winning… forget about the divorce. Tell them about the hottie.”
I raised my eyebrows and glared at her.
Mary Ellen said, “The hottie?”
“Well…”
“Come on,” Megan said. “I need details. Juicy, juicy details.”
I smiled demurely, ignoring the flip-flop in my stomach when I thought of Andrew. It was ridiculous. He was a child, for heaven’s sake. “Juicy is a wonderful, wonderful way to describe him.”
“A rebound fling is exactly what you need,” Marcy said.
“Marcy, I’m having one drink with him. I think rebound is a bit of an overstatement.”
“Who is it?” Addie asked.
“No one,” I said. “Just don’t worry about it.” Their fallen faces made me realize I had taken the fun down a notch, so I added, “Let’s just say he’s like one of those Abercrombie models—the ones we used to have taped up in our bedrooms when we were teenagers—come to life.” None of us had known each other back then, but we had discussed the Abercrombie phenomenon at length.
“I just want you to win your divorce,” Megan said.
I rolled my eyes. “You can’t win your divorce.”
“Oh, Greg is totally winning it right now.” Freaking Addie. “He’s prancing around town with the hot new fiancée.”
“No, no, no,” Mary Ellen said, “I totally disagree. I think Greg looks like an idiot and you look like you have some class.”
“Trust me,” Marcy said, “when word about Gray’s first date post-breakup gets out, she will officially be winning.”
Everyone laughed. I was eager to turn the conversation away from me, but Mary Ellen said, “By the way, Brad is furious about what Greg is trying to do to you with ClickMarket.”
Brad was Mary Ellen’s second ex-husband. Who’d left her. For Chad. “That’s nice,” I said.
“He and Chad want to help with the case in any way they can.”
Now, that was nice. Brad and Chad had started one of the most high-powered corporate law firms in the state. “I would love their advice,” I said. “I honestly don’t think he even wants the company. We all know he hates to work. So now I just have to figure out what he does want.”
Marcy stood up. “Just leave that part to me,” she said. “Figuring out what people want and how to fix it is what being a therapist is all about.”
“And I won’t have to pay you!” I said enthusiastically.
“Well…” she said.
I threw my pillow at her and we all laughed. Then I said, seriously, “I love you, Marce, but this is one time when you can’t really help me.”
But then I realized I was wrong. They had all helped me. Only a few hours ago, I’d felt like my life was spiraling, dark, and empty. All it took was a few drinks, a few whing-dings, and a few good friends to make me realize that, husband or no, ClickMarket or no, Diana was right: I still had everything I really needed.
diana: quick study
The dinner with Trey had been a godsend. Even if I ate something simple and precooked from the grocery store, it’d still cost me five bucks. He took me to a real fancy restaurant and ordered all these appetizers and I ordered a salad and sandwich that I thought would keep okay, and I filled up on appetizers and saved most of my own food to store in the cooler in the back of the Impala. Food would be hard to come by over the weekend when I wasn’t working, and the leftovers wouldn’t be great, but they would keep on ice until Saturday at least.
After a few days, it gets pretty hard to hide stuff—like that you’re living in your car. Lucky for me, I’d made friends with Billy down at the marina, and he let me shower there for free and didn’t say anything. I didn’t like to flatter myself, but I thought he might’ve had a crush on me. But maybe it was more that Billy knew what it was like to be down-and-out.
Trey did not. Trey wanted to talk to me about Gray’s “brand” and how we were all a part of that. My brand was trailer trash, and I wasn’t changing for nobody. I planned on telling Trey that right off, but then he ordered shrimp cocktail and calamari, and the butter was so good on the bread, and, well, I’ve got standards and I’ve got pride, but I’ve also got a good, heaping helping of common sense. Common sense says that you do whatever you can to keep the job where you get to eat most meals for free and make double what you’d get anywhere else. Although common sense also told me that I’d crossed a line with my new boss earlier. But I call them like I see them. And that girl was mad. The longer it took her to recognize that, the worse it would be for her.
I pushed that aside. “Trey, the men I know don’t sip champagne and ask if the calamari can be breaded in rice flour,” I teased.
Trey laughed. “The members of Gray’s team that I know don’t wear oversize T-shirts every single day,” he retorted.
Well, yeah, I did. I’ve got a lot of self-confidence, but I will admit I felt a little out of place traipsing into the fancy restaurant wearing my huge Aardvark Pest Control T-shirt. It was from Harry’s latest job that lasted about six weeks, controlling the roach population down here. People called them water bugs to sound fancy, like how people called these tiny hotel rooms condos. It might make you feel better, but it didn’t change what they were.
“I wear these T-shirts for a good reason,” I said.
Trey looked at me skeptically.
“They are a reminder. See, this one here is from Harry, who gambled away all my money. The one I wore yesterday, Bubba’s Lawn and Limb, that was from Calvin, who I walked in on sleeping with our neighbor’s twenty-year-old daughter. That NC State one was from Jimbo, who was real cute, but, damn, that man couldn’t hold his liquor.”
Trey was dying laughing. “So it’s like self-defense. You won’t make the same mistakes if you’re wearing their shirts?”
“Hasn’t worked out too well yet, though,” I said. “But you…” I pointed at Trey. “I think I see your game, and I think you’re pretty smart.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and took a sip of his champagne. “Go on.”
“I think you grew up good so you know about food and art and wine and stuff. And I think you’re a Yankee so you wear your pants too tight and you slick your hair back. Those things are real. But I think you wanted to be Gray Howard’s protégé, so you play up a few things like the fashion tips and the pop culture references so that you are her most favorite person to have around.” I took another sip of champagne, knowing I was going to sleep good tonight, even in my car.
I’d figured out that if I could manage to stay away from the cops and keep my expenses to the very bare minimum—phone, a little gas, and
a little food—for ten days, I could make enough to put down a deposit on a crappy apartment. The key was moving around a lot. One night I’d stay at the end of Gray’s street, one night the parking lot over by the beach bars, which are always full all night on account of all the drunk people. It was pretty safe there because if you didn’t stay too many nights in a row, nobody’d bother you—and if they did, you just pretended like you got drunk and passed out in your backseat. No harm, no foul. There was also this deserted place down by the old bridge, but I’ll be real: it creeped me the hell out.
The weekend would be harder on not spending money but easier on finding good places to park and sleep. Four days down, six to go. I’d done way worse things than this. Way worse. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Trey winked at me but didn’t acknowledge what I had said. “Gray has taken to you, Diana. There’s no doubt about that.” He paused. “Although I think you made her pretty mad tonight.”
I cringed. I hadn’t meant to, but I knew I had. I bit my lip, my heart pounding now. “Do you think she’s going to fire me?”
He shrugged. “Nah. She loves people who stand up to her. She respects them.” He gave me a pointed look. “But she loves them until she doesn’t. You get me?”
“Noted.”
Then, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable, he said, “We just need to teach you about what she likes. What she’s about. She can’t Instagram girls’ night photos of box wine. You know what I mean?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway, ready for this to be over. “Well, you’re the expert,” I said.
“Which makes me indispensable,” he added.
People underestimated this kid.
While we were finishing up, Robin texted to ask if I wanted to go out. I texted her back real quick: Dinner with the boss. Can’t come.
The last thing I needed was to spend twenty dollars on drinks. That’d set me back a whole extra day. But Robin wasn’t letting me off that easy.
Get your ass out here after.
Feels Like Falling Page 8