Breaking the Rules

by Cat Lavoie

  After work, I usually either head straight for the subway or turn left to go to the Pocheville Bakery.

  Today I turn right and start walking, weaving my way through the crowd of pedestrians who seem to know where they’re going.

  When Ollie and I were six years old, we pinky swore that we’d be best friends forever. We stood in front of my house, our pinkies intertwined, and we spit on the ground because Ollie said that would make it official and legal. How was I supposed to know that going to London for a promotion would break that bond? Or did it break when he slept with my sister and hid it from me while we were living under the same roof?

  My feet pound the pavement in rhythmic steps and I try to concentrate on the sound of the rubber soles hitting the ground rather than what’s going on in my head.

  My phone rings and I put it back in my bag when I see it’s Izzie. I’m busy. I’m walking. Twenty minutes later, it rings again and it’s Steffi. I’m busy. I’m walking.

  I consider answering when Tali calls for the fourth time but I just keep a steady pace. I don’t want to talk to anybody.

  For the next hour or so, I walk and ignore the quasi-constant ringing of my phone. It’s drowned out by the traffic anyway. When I stop to give my aching feet a break I realize that—even though I’ve been wandering around aimlessly—I know exactly where I am. I look up to the sky and recognize a building that Ollie lectured me on a few months ago when he was rehearsing a presentation for work.

  “This is the Condé Nast building,” a booming voice says and I almost jump out of my skin. I half expect Ollie to be standing right behind me, but all I see is a group of smiling tourists looking up to the sky like me. “This building is one of the best examples of green designs in the US of A,” the guide continues in an accent I try to place. Swedish, Finnish, Danish? “All of the office materials are made with biodegradable and non-toxic substances.” The group nods in approval and I can’t help being impressed myself. Ollie never told me that—or maybe he did and I just can’t remember. Either way, it’s impressive. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Kilborn offices were made out of asbestos and lead paint.

  My eyes fall on another member of the tour group, a little girl with bright red hair who can’t be much older than I was when my dad took me to New York City for the first time. I recognize the awe drawn all over her face as she looks up at the skyscrapers and all the flashing lights and squeezes her father’s hand so tight she must be stopping the circulation to his fingers. He points to something in the distance and her eyes become wide with excitement. I look too and see about fifteen yellow cabs stopped at an intersection.

  “Follow me, group,” the tour guide says, flipping through his guidebook. “We have so many more interesting things to see.”

  I never thought I’d be so tempted to join a walking tour of my own city. I want to follow them, but I decide that it’s time to hail one of those cabs and head home.

  When I open the door, Steffi rushes into my arms and almost knocks the wind out of me. “Where were you?” she asks, digging her nails into my shoulders. “Tali said you left the office more than an hour ago. We’ve been worried sick. I tried calling you but you never answered. You might as well have been dead in a ditch somewhere for all I know and...”

  I’m about to tell my pregnancy-hormone-riddled sister that, as far as I know, Manhattan doesn’t have any ditches but my nose catches the scent of something wafting in the air.

  “What’s that smell?” I ask Steffi.

  “Izzie’s cooking.”

  I drop my bag next to the door and head to the kitchen. Izzie doesn’t cook. Izzie orders from take-out menus. But there she is, standing over the stove cooking what seems to be an omelet.

  “It smells really good,” I say, looking over her shoulder.

  “It’s a frittata. I got the recipe in one of yours books over there. I figured I knew how to crack an egg.”

  I try to smile. Why is Izzie suddenly interested in cooking? I’m not going around town prosecuting criminals and overruling witnesses. Izzie stole my cookbooks and Steffi stole Ollie. Isn’t anything sacred anymore?

  “Is everything okay?” Izzie asks, adding green peppers to the pan. The pieces are so roughly chopped that they’ll never cook at the same time. The small pieces of pepper will be overcooked before the bigger pieces are tender. I decide not to tell her.

  “Yeah,” I say, helping Steffi set the table. “I’m fine.”

  There’s a question that’s been on my mind for most of the day. “Does Mom know? About Ollie being, you know...?” I ask Steffi between bites of frittata. Izzie drops her fork and looks at Steffi. I’m guessing she wants to know too.

  After a second, Steffi nods. “I told her a while back but I made her promise not to say a word.”

  “So what are you going to do? Where are you going to stay? What about your job?” I can tell Izzie has been storing these questions in her mind just waiting for a chance to fire them.

  “What am I going to do?” Steffi echoes, bringing her hand to her forehead. “I’m going to manage. I’m going to stay at Mom and Dad’s house until I can find a job and an apartment and get back on my feet.”

  Izzie nods. “What about San Francisco?”

  “I’m going to miss it,” Steffi says, smiling. “I’m not looking forward to the winter. But this is where I want my child to grow up.” She looks at Izzie and me. “With Auntie Roxy and Auntie Izzie. I’ve already called my boss to officially tell him I was quitting but he’d already figured it out when I stopped showing up for my shifts. And I spoke to Julia.” Steffi stares at Izzie and I feel a bit of tension in the air when she mentions The Informant. But Steffi keeps going. “She’s going to ship over some of my stuff and I’m leaving all the rest there. Anyway, I have no idea how, or if, I’ll ever fit into any of my old clothes again.”

  After that, we all become silent again and Steffi and Izzie finish up their meal. I pick at the rest of my cold frittata. It turned out pretty good even though it was made by someone who could burn water. But even if it magically transformed into the most delicious thing in the world—like wild mushroom risotto with truffle oil—I wouldn’t be into it. My mind is somewhere else right now and it’s taken my appetite with it.

  Steffi hasn’t told us if Ollie is coming home and I’m dying to know. I don’t want to ask because even though I try to convince myself that I’m asking for my future niece or nephew, I know I’m asking for me.

  Izzie clears her throat. “I have an announcement,” she declares. “I met with my boss this afternoon and I’ve agreed to see a counselor. I’m not too enthusiastic about that part, but Mr. Crook says that once I’ve had a few sessions he shouldn’t have trouble convincing the rest of the partners to let me come back.” Izzie is beaming. “I’m so tired of being on paid vacation.”

  I feel like throwing a fork at her but I restrain myself. As hard as I try, I can’t understand my sister’s willingness to get back to work. But then again, I’ve never been in love with my job like Izzie.

  “That’s great,” Steffi says, and I nod in agreement. “What about Gareth?” she asks.

  “He wants me to come home.”

  I look up at Izzie to see if that statement is going to be followed by something like “and I told him to go fuck himself,” but I can see all over her face that she wants to go home too. Chaser must be nothing but a distant memory.

  “That’s great, Izz,” Steffi says, kicking me under the table. “I’m really happy for you.”

  “Yeah, so am I.” I wish my voice sounded more sincere but it’s hard for me to relate to someone who has everything figured out, even if that person is my sister and I’m happy for her. Why can’t I shake the feeling that the roof could cave in on me at any second? I hate to stick out like a sore thumb when we’re obviously in the middle of sisterly bonding.

  “Excuse me,” I say, leaving the table, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. I avoid my sisters’ stares and head for the living room.


  I try to distract myself by channel surfing, but I can’t take my eyes off the laptop computer resting on the coffee table. I hear my sisters cleaning up the kitchen and I feel a twang of guilt for not helping them. I let go of the remote control and grab the computer. It only takes a few seconds to access my email.

  At first I don’t see it because it’s sandwiched between six emails from Emma, a few from Tali and some new messages from Greta. But then I notice an email sent earlier today with a subject line that says ‘I’m Sorry.’ I’ve opened many emails from Ollie over the years and I’ve always been excited to see what’s inside. But this time, my hand shakes as I click to open the message.

  Dear Roxy,

  I’m a coward. But I’m sure you know that by now.

  I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to apologize enough for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you this morning. I was a mess and I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing your voice. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about what happened with Steffi.

  Truth is, from the moment you told me Steffi was pregnant, I had a feeling the baby was mine. But I just waited for the call because I was too chicken to ask questions and get confirmation. You have every right to be mad at me. I’ve let a lot of people down. Rachel knows about Steffi. I admitted it to her right after it happened. This latest development has made it a lot harder for her but we’re working it out.

  She wants us to get married and build a life together here in London. But I want you to know that I will do everything I can for Steffi and the baby. I will not abandon my child. I’ve made sure Steffi knows that. And now you know it.

  But there’s something else I need to tell you. Roxy: it’s you I love. It’s always been you. You’re more than my best friend. You’re the most amazing person I know and I have been madly in love with you for as long as I can remember. But we’re on different paths right now. I have Rachel and you have Ethan. I think it’s for the best.

  And even though I’ve failed at being a friend and failed even more at being a boyfriend, I’m going to try to be a good father. But I think the best thing I can do for everyone right now is stay away.

  I’m sorry again. I’m sorry always.

  Love, Ollie.

  I want to hold them in, but I can’t stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks. Please come home, please come home, please come home. That’s all I want to write back, but I move the laptop out of the way before I can do something I’m going to regret. I take a deep breath but oxygen refuses to enter my lungs. I clutch the sides of the couch, gasping for air.

  “Roxy, are you okay?” Izzie asks, walking into the living room.

  “What’s wrong?” Steffi sits down next to me and rubs my back.

  I let out a breath that turns into a sob. “Ollie loves me,” I say in a voice I don’t recognize. It’s not a question. It’s not a statement. It’s a blow to the head.

  Steffi hugs me and her belly presses against mine. “I know. He told me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I saw a documentary on Spontaneous Human Combustion the other day and—even though most scientists agree that there is no such thing—I’ve been imagining myself engulfed in flames for the last half hour in the hopes that it is real and that it’ll accelerate the process. I’d have a better chance of concentrating if it wasn’t for Steffi hovering over me.

  “Get up, Rox. You have to get ready for your big presentation.”

  Yes. Lucas Williams is what I need right now. Like a bullet to the brain.

  I ignore Steffi and pull the comforter over my head. It’s so hot under the covers that I feel sweat trickling down my back but I don’t care. It’s safe under here and I don’t want to go anywhere. If only I could stop myself from thinking. That’s all I’ve been doing since last night. Thinking about how my supposed best friend has been lying to me for the last few months. Thinking about how he told me he loved me and I want to punch him in the face for it. Thinking about...

  “Roxy. We need to talk.” Steffi sits on the edge of the couch and pulls the comforter away from my face. Her eyes are serious and she suddenly looks much older. She puts her hand on her belly as she shifts around, trying to get comfortable. I sit up and give her more space.

  “Ollie was going through a really rough time at New Year’s,” she says, looking at me.

  “What happened at New Year’s?” I ask. I was still under the illusion that Ollie was my best friend back then. I would have known if something was bothering him.

  “You tell me. Did anything special happen around that time?”

  Even though everything is a bit foggy, I rack my brain. Apart from the regular New Year’s festivities, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to remember. I look around the living room and catch a glimpse of my engagement ring resting on the coffee table, screaming at me.

  “Ethan proposed at New Years,” I say.

  “Right.” Steffi looks at me as if I should be able to fill in the missing pieces of the story.

  I grab the ring and place it on my finger and try to remember why I took it off in the first place, my cheeks burning with guilt. Maybe I’ll be able to combust after all.

  Ollie was happy for me when I told him I was engaged. We celebrated. We hugged. We cried. Well, I cried. I knew Ethan wasn’t his favorite person in the world, but he seemed genuinely excited for me. Except for when he asked me if I was sure I wanted to marry Ethan, which turned out to be the first of many times he’d ask me that same question.

  “He was really upset you said yes to Ethan,” Steffi says, reading my mind. Her cheeks flush a bit and she turns her head away from me to stare at the wall where Izzie is standing. I’d almost forgotten she was there too. She’s never this quiet. Steffi clears her throat and continues, talking a mile a minute. “He was telling me how he hated to see you settle and how you deserved so much more and how he was angry that you didn’t see that.” She turns to me and looks me in the eyes, holding my gaze. “It was all a big mistake, Rox. It wasn’t supposed to happen. We were alone and we were drinking wine and he was sad about you and I was sad because Mattie and I had a fight before I left and then he told me he loved you and, well...”

  I can pretty much imagine the rest. I remember that afternoon now, and there’s something very strange about knowing that while I was strolling through Central Park with my parents and Ethan—leaving Steffi at home because she hadn’t packed anything except designer shoes that would get ruined in the snow—Ollie was declaring his love for me. To my sister. Which somehow led to them sleeping together.

  “I just want you to know that I don’t love Ollie,” Steffi says, shaking her head. “I mean, I love him like a brother.” She cringes and I can’t help but do the same. “You know what I mean. He really does love you.”

  I nod and try to make sense of everything, but I can’t think clearly. “I think I love him too.” The words slip out of my mouth and hang in the air for a while. “I think I love the sneaky, lying bastard,” I repeat, letting my head fall back on the pillow.

  “That’s great,” Steffi says, grinning from ear to ear. “This is like something out of a fairy tale.”

  I stare at her, wishing that I had the strength to lift my arms and shake her. “I don’t know what kind of fairy tales Mom was reading you, but he’s engaged and so am I. There’s also the fact that he’s in London and I’m here. Happily ever after doesn’t fit anywhere in this scenario. There’s no way that this could work out.” I shake my head. “It’s beyond crazy. It’s ridiculous, it’s stupid, and it’s...”

  “It’s meant to be,” Steffi says.

  I know it’s wrong to threaten a pregnant woman, but I just want to wipe that smug grin off her face. I think the universe has a pretty clear way of showing me that I’m not meant to be with Ollie and it’s swimming around in my sister’s belly right now, oblivious to the fact that it’s going to be born into a world of complications.

  I look up at Izzie with hope in my eyes. She’s the sensible sis
ter; she’ll tell me to get over myself and my silly little crush. I raise an eyebrow and wait.

  “Maybe you need some time to consider your options,” she says. I search for a hint of disapproval in her voice but find none. Why do you have to fail me now, Izzie?

  All of a sudden I have a raging headache, as if hammers are thumping on my temples from inside my head. Poor, sweet Ethan. He called last night to wish me luck for the presentation and he had to go ahead and be extra sweet and tell me how proud he was of me and how much he loved me and a whole lot of other stuff that made me nearly explode with guilt, even if Ollie is the one who started this whole touchy-feely crap. I shake my head.

  “You’re not calling off the wedding?” Steffi asks.

  I shake my head again, harder this time. “No. Ollie’s right. We both need to get on with our lives.”

  “But...”

  Izzie takes a step forward and helps Steffi off the couch. “Roxy needs to get ready for work. Let’s give her some space.” Even as Izzie is dragging her across the room, Steffi can’t take her eyes off me. It’s as if she’s pleading for me to do something I’m not ready to do.

  I’m not going to risk something that’s real for something that might be nothing. I’ve never been much of a gambler, and too many people are going to get hurt if I decide to roll the dice.

  My phone rings again and I reach out to see who it is. Tali. She’s been calling non-stop since last night. I know she wants to wish me good luck for the meeting and I love her for that, but I don’t really have the time to talk to anybody right now. I need to find some clean clothes so I can play the part of someone who looks professional, and I need to find some industrial-strength concealer for the bags under my eyes.

  “You can do this,” I tell myself in the mirror. “Just keep away from Lucas Williams and everything will be fine.”

  I smile but I’m not fooling anybody. Lucas Williams is the least of my problems.