by Kacey Shea
I hate breakfast.
I used to love it. Pancakes and sausage and everything in between. Why I didn’t think of this before I agreed to meet Jill and Alicia for brunch only reinforces my detachment from my thoughts, from life. But now it’s glaring as I study the menu amid the uncomfortable silence at our table.
“I’m starving! What are you ordering, Alicia?” Jill, the peacemaker, attempts a neutral topic of conversation. And I love her for it. Alicia blinks up from her menu while still chewing at her bottom lip. Her lock of usual color is bleached white. Strange. It’s always something vibrant and beautiful.
“Maybe pancakes?” Alicia answers timidly. I bite back the scoff that almost escapes my lips. She would. Well, fuck that.
“And you, Callie?” Jill asks.
“I’m ordering the steak.”
“Steak?” Jill’s eyes widen with surprise. Alicia’s gaze snaps to mine. It is ten o’clock in the morning, after all.
“Yep. Steak. Medium rare.”
“You never order steak.” Jill laughs.
“I’ve changed,” I say automatically, and it silences every bit of comfort at our table. We’re saved when the server comes by to collect our order. He’s clearly impressed at my ability to order raw cow at this hour, but once he leaves the silence at our table suffocates. I reach for my coffee but Alicia’s voice halts my movement.
“I’m sorry, Callie. I wish I could take it back but I can’t. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I made a mistake. I’m sorry I drank too much. I’m sorry I didn’t know what I was doing, because if I did, I never would have done it. You have to know that. You have to believe me. I’d never hurt you like that. And the fact that it is . . . it’s killing me.” Alicia sucks in a ragged breath as wetness gathers and begins to fall from her eyes. Her words, the depth and conviction that drips from them begs for forgiveness.
I want to believe her, I do. But I just don’t understand. How could she not know? I was there. I saw her. The vision of her lips locked with his, his hand up her shirt, their bodies grinding together, it’s too much and it flashes in my mind. I close my eyes and shake my head.
Exhale. Inhale.
“Explain it to me. How? I saw you two together. Damn it, Alicia! Do you know how fucked up that is? Not only to find my boyfriend with another woman, but that woman is my best friend. Or was. I trusted you. I loved you.” My words ooze disgust, and tears roll off my cheeks. I hate that I cry when I’m angry, but I can’t help it. When I get worked up like this it just happens.
“I’m sorry, Callie. When I think about what I did to you . . . You have to believe me. I would never knowingly do that. I don’t remember anything after Tiff joined our table. We were having a good time. You were at the bar ordering drinks. I was talking to Troy. And some guy named after a condiment. And then we were joking about condoms. We ordered a round of beers. Then I don’t remember anything else. I swear it, Callie. If Troy hadn’t told me what happened on the ride home, I would think you were all playing some sick fucked up joke. I’d never touch your man. You know me.”
But do I really? I thought I did. And Tiff was never at our table. “What about earlier that night when you volunteered to watch us . . . you know.”
Jill gasps. Okay, apparently Alicia never shared that information.
“That was harmless flirting. I knew you’d never agree. And I was right. Besides. I was really drunk. And when Chase asked if I’d watch you two, well, it sounded really hot. I remember that part of the night and I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings. I’m not like a voyeur or anything, but you know me. I’ll try anything once to see if I like it. And if you wanted me to, I would’ve watched. But that had nothing to do with what happened later.”
“Can I just say something?” Jill interjects. Alicia and I nod. As much as this hurts, I need these answers, need to ask these questions, because the stuff I’ve been wondering about, it’s been eating me up, too. More than I’d like to admit. But I’m glad Jill’s here. Her wisdom and reason far exceed my own.
“Alicia, babe, you know I love you like a sister.” Alicia nods and Jill’s expression grows serious as her voice drops low. “There’s nothing wrong with having a few drinks, with having a good time and letting loose at the end of the day. I partake in all of that. But lately, on this night especially, maybe did you take it a little too far?”
Alicia bristles with the accusation and wipes the tears from her face. “I don’t need an intervention. Is that what this is? I get enough shit from my family. I don’t need it from you, too.”
“No. That’s not what this is. I’m here for both of my best friends. I want you two to work through this. Because fuck, I can’t imagine a life where we don’t talk to each other. You both have been miserable this last month, and I have too! I’m the one who has to play both sides. I feel like a child caught in the midst of a nasty separation. And Alicia, I’m not saying no alcohol, but we’re not in college anymore. You can’t get shitfaced and not take responsibly for the problems that causes. Had you stopped drinking that night, or slowed down, you would have never kissed Chase. I know you wouldn’t have, and we would all still be friends.”
Alicia deflates at Jill’s words and slumps into her seat. “I know. You’re right, Jill.”
“And you.” Jill turns to me and I brace myself for what she’s about to relay. She’s not holding back. Not today. “Your boyfriend is an asshole.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I interrupt, and she nods.
“Had Alicia not gotten shitfaced at the bar, it could’ve been months, hell, years, before you discovered his playboy ways. Imagine how stupid you would have felt then. I know he broke your heart. I know you loved him. But he is a dick-faced loser. The worst kind of man. And maybe you should forgive your best friend for her blackout mistake because it exposed him for the person he truly is.” Jill’s all worked up and her chest heaves as she bangs the table with a closed fist. “That’s my two cents. I love you both. End rant.”
She’s right. And I never thought of it that way. I’ve been angry with Chase. I’ve been angry with Alicia. I’ve been hurt by them both. But what Jill says makes a whole hell of a lot of sense. And I’m tired of missing my best friends. I’ll never get over Chase. The hurt he caused, it’s a deep blade kind of cut. But I believe Alicia. And I want to forgive her. I want her back.
The server comes by with our food and his presence ceases the conversation. He sets down two stacks of pancakes and my mouth waters at the fluffy goodness. Then he sets down my steak. Fuck. I shudder and both my friends burst into laughter.
I glance across the table. “I forgive you, Alicia.”
“I’ll never do it again,” she whispers.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jill waves our server back over. “Can you please bring another stack of pancakes?” He nods and hurries off.
Jill takes my hand in her left, Alicia’s in her right. “Pancakes and best friends.” She laughs and earns a slight smile from each of us, then lifts her OJ in a toast. “All is right in the world again.”
I hate my life.
Hate is a really strong word and I don’t hate everything about my current situation. I like my job. And things are slowly on the mend with Alicia. Kiki is my saving grace, along with her kickass garden. But it’s been a long week. I’ve spent fourteen hours a day behind my laptop and my eyes burn from lack of sleep. No matter how hard I work during the daylight hours it all comes colliding back as soon as the sky illuminates with stars.
At night I always think of him.
I don’t want to though, and in the daytime I can pretend I’ve moved on. I can go about my routine and fill my mind with everything that is not Chase. But eventually evening comes and the sun sets, the house goes quiet, absent of conference calls on speaker phone and the clickity click of my fingers moving across the keyboard.
In the silence of my bed wrapped in soft sheets, my skin itches with the memory of his lips, moving with expert purpose to bring my body to a writhing me
ss, a peak of ecstasy, a place of love.
I miss him so fucking much. I hate myself most for that.
Questions and scenarios run through my mind no matter how hard I will them away. What if I’d been prettier, sexier, more entertaining, better at sex? More of someone else and less of myself? Just more.
Would it have been enough? To keep us together. To keep him satisfied? Would he have stayed in love?
The regrets and second guesses cut scars into my already tattered heart. I want to be enough. To believe I am. But I don’t. I was an idiot to believe I ever stood a chance with someone like Chase. Even if he’s an asshole. He’s a perfect one. And he was mine. I’d never felt more loved than in his arms.
Frustrated and tired of feeling less than perfect, I do the one thing that always seems to make me feel better. Throwing off the covers, I pad to my bathroom, flip on my stereo, and scroll through my phone to select the girl power playlist I created last week. It’s also known as my “Fuck you, Chase Matthews” mix, but either way, I always feel more empowered blasting it through the house.
My hips shake to the rock beats and I pull the small crate of vibrant colors from beneath the sink, along with the polish remover. I sit on the counter and swipe away the remaining midnight blue from my toes.
In this moment I miss being a little girl. My dad, very much a manly man, always painted my nails growing up. I didn’t have a mother, and he worried he would turn me into a tomboy with all the mechanic talk, so once a week he sat me on the bathroom counter and polished my toes. Of course, I became a tomboy regardless of his efforts, but one who loved having her toes done.
I pluck a bright pink from my collection, though at the moment it’d be more fitting to grab the gunmetal gray mirroring my cloudy, dark mood. But I refuse to use that color because it reminds me of Chase’s fucking Camaro.
After I finish the color I hop off the counter and wander into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of merlot. One becomes two. I think about a third, but I’m afraid it will rock my already unstable state of mind, so instead I put it away.
Knock, knock, knock. Bang, bang, bang.
The clamor of boisterous voices travels from my front door and I just know it’s Alicia and Jill. With my toes now dry I jog through the house, away from my sad thoughts, and open the door to my friends.
“Hey, sista from another mista.” Jill slurs and sways in the open door frame.
Alicia rolls her eyes apologetically. “For once, I’m not the lush.”
“What are you two doing here? Come inside.” I step back and allow them to pass.
“I picked this one up when she drunk dialed me from Benny’s.” Alicia points at Jill.
Jill straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “I have a fucking fabulous idea!”
“What’s that, Professor Cuervo?” I grin as Jill’s head bobs erratically. I’ve never seen her this way. Ever.
“An exorcism. Of all things fire fuckheads.”
Alicia giggles and I fight the urge to join in.
But Jill’s serious. “We need to get rid of the boys, every last memory. And what better way than to fucking burn them.”
“You want me to light my ex on fire? Because I’ll probably go to jail for that.” I laugh a little nervously.
“No! The evidence, please!” she shouts, her finger raised to the ceiling. Alicia rolls her eyes as Jill demands even louder, “I said, the evidence!”
Alicia loops a paper shopping bag on Jill’s outstretched arm. “She wants to have a bonfire and burn everything that reminds you of Chase and Cameron. You’re the only one with a yard so—”
“Damn it, Alicia, you stole my thunder. I had a big speech planned and everything!” She glares at Alicia and stumbles a bit as she crushes the bag and all of its contents to her chest. Jill glances skeptically in my direction. “Now she won’t wanna do it. She won’t agree. Callie, ever the safe and practical one.” She bows her head and heaves a sigh before attempting to focus her gaze back on me. “Callie, we need this. It’s for the best. We need to be done with these . . . assholes.”
“I don’t know . . .” I twist my hands together while I consider her proposition. She’s right, I do tend to play it safe. Fires are dangerous. And the men who fight them even more so. That I already know. Maybe Jill’s on to something. Maybe I need this.
“Oh, Callie.” Jill loops her free arm around my shoulder for balance. “Our dear, dear, dear friend.” She stumbles again, though we haven’t moved an inch.
“You really are drunk,” I observe. “Wait, why are we getting rid of Cameron? You don’t have to stop . . . whatever it was you were doing just because I’m not with Chase.” I’m surprised, only because they weren’t even serious. It seemed, anyway.
“Not true. Chicks before dicks. We have to stick together, Callie. Besides, that fuckboy was going nowhere. Our relationship was played out. All good things must come to an end. Even his fucking fabulous one eyed monster. Le sigh.”
At her words the tears that always seem to come at night well up in my eyes. I try to blink them back, to hold in my sob, but it’s no use.
“Ah, shit,” Jill curses, leaning into the wall.
“Callie, I’m so sorry. If you’re not up for this, we don’t have to. We didn’t mean to make you cry.” Alicia wraps me in a hug and I let the tears fall. I sniffle and pull back to meet my friends’ concerned gazes.
“No. It’s time. I need to move on from him. And you’re right. Let’s have a big fire. It’ll be perfect. I’ve been meaning to get rid of a few things I forgot to throw out the first night. I need this.”
“Let’s go build a fire then?” Alicia grins. Jill starts toward the back of my house.
“Get your shit, bitches, we’re gonna burn down the house!”
Alicia glances after Jill. “I’ll supervise since we don’t want to actually light your house on fire. Get the things you want to burn and meet us outside?”
“Okay. There’re a few dead branches near the property line. They’ll burn easier.”
“Awesome. See you outside.”
There’re only a few things left of Chase. I forgot to check the laundry basket on my night of kicking his things to the curb. By the time I realized I still had a pair of his underwear, a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt, and basketball shorts piled under seven days’ worth of laundry, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. Like some freak, I wrapped them, still dirty, in a plastic bag and stuck them in the back corner of my closet. I don’t really know why, other than they were all I had left of whatever it was we shared.
I pluck the bag from my room and scurry outside to check the status of the bonfire. Boisterous voices carry much louder than any flames, and under the pale moonlight I easily spot my friends at the edge of my yard.
I trot over to find Jill rubbing two sticks together with the hand eye coordination of a two-year-old. Scratch that. To compare her to a small child is much too generous. Besides, the swear words coming from her mouth make her more akin to a sailor.
“Need some help?” I ask.
“This should work! I fucking saw this shit on TV. Fuckers.” Jill continues her fruitless attempt at building a campfire.
Alicia drags over a few good scraps of wood and adds them to the pile.
“Maybe a lighter?” I suggest.
“Fuck! You’re brilliant!” Jill’s off the damp grass and racing to the house before either of us can stop her.
“She’s really worked up.” I rearrange the pile of wood so it might actually stay lit. I’m still uncomfortable with Alicia. We’re both trying, that much is clear, but I’m guarded, and she withholds her usual brashness.
“Yeah, not like our Jilly.” Alicia rubs her arms against the cool air and stands to watch me work. “I think she started to fall for more than just his dick size. That, and she broke things off with her not-so-secret office romance for him.”
“Really?” I stand and join Alicia in the arm rubbing. I’m in my usual jammies, an old c
ollege tee and sweats, but fall is upon us and goosebumps cover my flesh. I didn’t know Jill was seeing Cam exclusively. It’s surprising. She never said . . . and I’ve been a horrible friend, so caught up in my own problems I haven’t asked about her life. That needs to change. I lift my chin to find Jill staggering back to our makeshift fire pit with a lighter held high.
“And then!” she states with a theatric flair as she touches the lighter to the pile and clicks the switch. “There was fire!” All drama is lost as it takes four more clicks and the flame still doesn’t transfer. Alicia and I smother our giggles.
“Alicia, grab something dead.” I point in the direction of a nearby bush.
“Like my heart.” Jill hangs her head dejectedly.
“Come on. Don’t give up so easily. You’re a fighter, Jill.” I attempt to console her, only half-jokingly. She is the strong one, and even though I know her blood alcohol level has a lot to do with her melancholy, I don’t like to see her this way. “Maybe grab some paper from inside? Just nothing important. I keep the recycling under my sink. I think there’s some junk mail we can burn.”
My idea somehow inflames the zeal she needs to continue this laughable adventure and she takes off again for the house.
“All I could find were these.” Alicia drops a handful of dead leaves at my feet and we both squat down in companionable silence.
I take one of the larger leaves and hold the lighter to its brittle surface. I blow at it softly to feed the flame and Alicia shoves the rest of the leaves into the midst of our wood pile. I set the lit leaf into the circle and watch with satisfaction as the flames grow and lick at the wood.
“You did it!” Alicia’s face lights up and her jaw drops open.
We both stand as Jill comes racing back.
“You forget where the kitchen was?”
“No! Hadda pee. And then I got this fucking amazing idea! No shit. It was one of those moments where the lightbulb appears and you just know it’s divine intervention.”
“I don’t think that’s how divine—”