Out from Under You

by Sophie Swift

  The only thing that makes me feel better is the fact that Shane, Cynthia’s husband, seems equally as unhappy to be here as I am. He’s just less skilled at hiding it. Either that, or he simply doesn’t give a shit.

  Cynthia, like Alex, does most of the talking, while Shane downs glass after glass of high-priced Scotch. We share a few sympathetic glances across the table. Looks that say, “what are you gonna do, am I right?” But whenever I peer at him, I can’t help but notice a distinct melancholy in his eyes. A hollowness. Like someone carved all the light out of him with a spoon.

  It makes me think that his unhappiness goes a lot deeper than simply missing his favorite TV show tonight.

  “Shane,” Alex says, turning to him, “what is it that you do?”

  He takes a sip of his drink and mumbles something about being a lawyer.

  “Honey,” Cynthia admonishes him with a tight-lipped smile, “no one can understand you when you mumble.” She turns to Alex and translates. “He’s an entertainment lawyer.”

  “And I play bass in a band,” Shane adds.

  Cynthia rolls her eyes. “He’s just an entertainment lawyer. He hasn’t played with that band in over four months, and they’ve never booked a gig.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” Shane reminds her, an edge to his tone.

  “Am I wrong?” She glares at him, the winning grin still plastered on her face.

  Shane grumbles something unintelligible and returns to his drink.

  “Wait a minute,” Alex says excitedly, pointing at Cynthia. She’s either completely oblivious to the tension on the other side of the table, or she’s a master at knowing exactly when to change the subject. “We haven’t even talked about your new baby! How old is she now?”

  These two have a child together?

  Cynthia beams and tosses back the remainder of her Martini before shaking the empty lass in the direction of the waiter. “Eight weeks. What a delight! I hope you guys are planning to have kids. It’s such a rewarding experience.”

  I look to Shane for confirmation of that assessment, but his face is as blank as this white tablecloth.

  “Oh, we are,” Alex says, interlocking her fingers with mine.

  “You have an eight-week-old baby?” I ask. “How are you even able to go out?”

  Alex shoots me a look. Obviously this was the wrong question, and I find myself wondering if there’s such a thing as a right question if it’s coming out of my mouth.

  Cynthia leans across the table. “The secret is to hire a really great nanny. Ours is a godsend.”

  “Cynthia’s been back at work since the baby was two weeks old,” Alex explains and I detect a distinct pride in her voice. “Now that’s dedication.”

  My mouth drops open. “You left your two-week-old baby with a stranger?”

  Bam!

  A blinding pain shoots up my leg as Alex gives me another kick under the table. This time, I’m pretty sure she used her pointed heel.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  “Well, she’s not a stranger,” Cynthia replies, looking slightly insulted.

  “Of course not!” Alex defends, trying to cover for me. “I’m sure you interviewed and screened extensively. Just as I would.”

  Just as she would?

  We haven’t even finished planning the wedding and already Alex has made all the major decisions on childcare?

  I turn to her. “I don’t remember talking about nannies.”

  She narrows her eyes at me and speaks through gritted teeth. “Well, I’m not giving up my job, if that’s what you expect.”

  “No,” I start to argue, “I don’t expect that but—”

  “Then, there you have it,” Alex resolves.

  End of discussion.

  Cynthia smiles at Alex—her little protégée—and then glances impatiently around the restaurant. “Where the fuck is that waiter? My buzz is dying.”

  The night wears on as more drinks are consumed, more subjects are broached, and I start to feel like I’m in some kind of wind tunnel. Everything is rushing past me and I can’t slow it down. Everything is making noise and I can’t understand any of it.

  Who put the world on fast-forward?

  Who ripped the floor from under my feet?

  As I watch Cynthia prattle on and Shane suck down Scotch after Scotch, I have this sinking feeling that I’m looking into a mirror. A mirror that gives me a glimpse of my life…five years in the future. When those dead, hollow eyes are sunken into my face and those five Scotch glasses were emptied by me. When Alex and I sit at this same table, entertaining some rising young hotshot from the ad agency she runs while our twenty-something nanny kisses our kids goodnight.

  And then suddenly the walls are closing in on me and I can’t breathe.

  I can’t fucking breathe!

  Something inside of me is trying to claw its way out, ripping at my muscles, banging against my ribcage. The universe is on mute and all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart deep within my chest.

  Everything feels wrong. My skin is misshapen. My vision is blurry. I feel like I’m trapped inside a body that doesn’t fit, gazing out at the world, waiting for someone to notice that I don’t belong in here.

  God, I have to get out of this place.

  I’m going to drown in this restaurant. Suffocate on its bitter air. Choke on these fake smiles.

  Alex’s shrill laugh breaks through my sound bubble and sends my flying over the edge.

  I fling her hand from mine and launch out of my seat. Ignoring the calls and shouts from the table behind me, I sprint into the street. I stagger to the first trash can I see and I vomit up my high-end, overpriced dinner.

  “Where does this metal fishnet thingy go?”

  I look up from the dishes I’m wrapping in paper to see what Danika is holding and let out a laugh. “It’s a pasta strainer. And it goes in the sale box.”

  She tosses the utensil into an oversized box that’s labeled To Sell. It’s Sunday afternoon and tomorrow a restaurant auction house is coming to pick up all of the appliances, silverware, plates, glasses, and utensils—basically anything we don’t want to keep. It’s sad to watch everything my mother bought for this place get boxed up to be offloaded to the highest bidder. She hand-selected almost everything in here. Down to the tiny ramekins we put salad dressing in. I remember how excited she was every day leading up to the opening of this restaurant. She’d come home with cloth napkin samples, or cups and saucers, and show them off to the family, asking us to choose between two shades of burgundy that looked exactly the same.

  And now it’s all disintegrating before my eyes.

  But I know I made the right decision. This was my mother’s dream. My mother’s life. And it’s time I started living mine.

  My plan is to get the hell out of here. This town is strangling me. I have my eye on an adorable little cottage for rent outside of Portland. I hear the Pacific Northwest is teeming with writers and creative people. I will use the money from the sale of the restaurant to pay my rent and fund my lifestyle for the next year, in which time I am determined to finish my graphic novel. Maybe even take a few art classes at a local community college.

  You know, just get my fucking life back on track.

  “What about this?” Danika says, grunting. I finish wrapping up a salad plate and glance up to see her struggling to hoist a giant stock pot in the air. My blood congeals when I see it.

  It’s the pot Grayson used to make that amazing sauce.

  The sauce that led to everything—the food fight, the epic sex at table 9, my heart being smashed to pieces on the dirty concrete sidewalk of New York City.

  “Dani, I told you,” I snap, “all kitchen stuff goes in the sale box.”

  She bristles at my sharp tone. “Sorry, your highness. I just thought maybe you’d want to keep a few things for your new place.”

  “Not that,” I mutter, returning to my dishes.

  “Fine.” I hear a loud clank as the pot is deposit
ed into the box and the finality of the sound helps return my breathing to normal.

  “I can’t believe you’re moving all the way across the country,” Danika whines. “What am I going to do without you?”

  “You could come with me,” I suggest. “They do have children in Portland, you know? Children who need nannies.”

  I look up to see Danika frowning. “Yeah, but then I’d have to like buy all sorts of hippie clothes and peace-sign jewelry and shit. And my waistline just doesn’t look good in bohemian skirts.”

  I laugh and grab another salad plate, placing it in the center of my brown packing paper. “It’s not permanent,” I assure her. “I just need to get away for a while, work on my book, and then I’ll be back.”

  “You better be back,” she warns. “If I get a wedding invitation printed on dirty recycled paper, telling me that you’re marrying some guy who sells incense and bongs for a living, I will fly out there and murder you.”

  “Okay,” I agree, “no incense slash bong sellers. Deal.”

  “And the same goes for anyone who drives a car that runs on vegetable oil.”

  I shake my head and fold in the corners of the paper.

  The security door to the back beeps and I turn to see Blake standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  “Well, well,” I say teasingly, “if it isn’t the infamous Casanova. I haven’t seen you around here since you ditched the bar to hook up with my sister.”

  Blake’s eyes widen. “Alex told you?”

  “No. You were caught in the act.” I point to Danika who brandishes her phone toward him.

  He sighs. “I wasn’t my fault.”

  Danika and I share a look of disbelief. “Oh yeah,” I mock. “I’m sure she held a gun to your head.”

  “No, I mean, she called me. It was after Grayson went back to the city. I invited her over to my place and she whined about how he had lost interest in her. He didn’t like her body anymore. Some shit like that. I assured her she had a great body and then all of the sudden she was kissing me. I swear, she was the one who started it, I just…”

  I roll my eyes and look away. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Same old story. Alex is impossible to resist.”

  “Yeah, but then she stayed around,” Blake goes on. “Gave some bogus excuse to Grayson about a business trip and she got, like, way too bossy. She was trying to tell me what to wear to dinner and how I should order a salad instead of fries.” He snorts at the memory. “I did not sign up for that shit. I told her to just go back to the city.”

  So that’s why she came back early from her business trip. And probably why she was so desperate to take Grayson’s clothes off that night. The thought of Alex being rejected by someone makes me crack the tiniest smile. But I hide it before anyone else notices.

  “Which means,” Blake goes on, opening his arms out wide like he’s waiting for a hug, “I’m available, ladies.”

  I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

  He turns to Danika, eyebrows waggling. She shakes her head. “Uh, no.”

  Blake lowers his arms, looking dejected. “Well, at least let me help you pack everything up. That’s why I came by.”

  “Okay. You can start wrapping the bar glasses. There are boxes for them out in the dining room.”

  Blake jumps into a trot. “I’m on it.”

  My phone rings and I glance at the screen. It’s my sister calling for the fourth time in the last hour. I have no idea what she wants, but I do know that I’m in no mood to deal with her.

  “Alex again?” Danika asks, nudging her chin toward the phone.

  I nod, poising my finger over the Ignore button.

  “Maybe you should just answer it,” she suggests. “You know she’s not going to stop until you do. And it could be important.”

  “With Alex, everything is important. She gets a pimple and it’s a life-threatening emergency that she has to tell the world about.”

  Danika gives me an encouraging smile. “Just answer it. You’re going to have to face her eventually.”

  I sigh and press the green button, bringing the phone to my ear. I don’t even get a chance to say hello before Alex is blubbering in my ear.

  “Lia! Oh, thank God you picked up. I can’t…I don’t…”

  Her voice is broken and wobbly. It sounds like she’s crying. No, not just crying. Sobbing hysterically.

  My heart leaps into my throat and I suddenly feel guilty that I didn’t answer sooner. Did someone die? Is Dad hurt?

  “Alex,” I say urgently. “Calm down. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Grayson!” she bawls. “He…he…he called off the wedding!”

  Every cell in my body tingles and then goes completely numb. I drop the phone.

  “Lia?” I hear Alex’s pleading voice coming from the device lying on the floor.

  Danika hurries over and gives me a questioning look.

  I come out of my trance and scramble to get the phone back to my ear. “What?!” I ask, disbelief ringing in my ears.

  Alex gulps in a shuddered breath. “He said…he said he’s not happy. He doesn’t think we’ll ever be able to make each other happy. He says we’re just kidding ourselves trying to cling onto a life that doesn’t fit us anymore.” She breaks out into another sniveling round of sobs.

  “What’s going on?” Danika whispers.

  I cover the mouthpiece with my hand. “Grayson called off the wedding.”

  Danika’s eyes widen and she sinks to the floor, pressing her ear next to mine so she can listen.

  “Uh,” I stammer, but quickly realize that I have absolutely nothing to say. What am I supposed to tell her? That he’s right? That they make each other miserable? That everyone can see that but her?

  So I just stay quiet while Alex gets her weeping under control and keeps talking. “I’m in a cab now. I’m on my way up there.”

  I panic. “Here? You’re on your way here?”

  “Yes. I need your help. You know Grayson. Almost better than I do. We need to come up with a plan.”

  I frown into the phone. “A plan? We?”

  “Yeah,” she whimpers. “To get him back.”

  Danika pulls away and makes a sweeping “No Way” gesture with her arms.

  “Alex, I—” I begin to argue.

  But she ignores me, yammering on. “He’s totally lost it! He quit his job, too! He just called and left them a voicemail. A voicemail! Clearly these are not the actions of a sane person! He threw everything away, years of hard work, because he has some crazy idea that he wants to work in a restaurant. He wants to cook food for a living.” The disgust in her voice—even through her mess of tears—is not lost on me.

  “Lia, please. He’s having some kind of meltdown! You have to talk to him for me. Convince him that’s he crazy. That he’s just nervous about getting married. He’ll listen to you. He likes you.”

  My mouth has gone bone dry. I attempt to wet it with my tongue but it’s like rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together.

  “Lia?” my sister’s voice is so tattered and...

  Helpless.

  Now, there’s a word I never thought I’d use to describe the all-mighty Alex Smart.

  The mighty will fall.

  This is the part where I say yes. Where I tell her I’ll help her. Because she’s my sister and I love her and….

  And because that’s just what I do.

  I do what Alex tells me to do.

  I always have.

  She is the leader and I am the follower.

  She is the doer and I am the shadow.

  But I’m tired of being cast in darkness. I’m tired of getting shut out of the light. If I ever have a chance of living my own life, I have to get out from under Alex Smart.

  “Alex,” I whisper into the phone. My voice is so quiet I don’t even know if she can hear me. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry you have to go through this. But I just don’t know how I can help you.”

 
; “You can!” she insists. I knew she would never take no for answer. “You can talk to him. You can help me figure out a way to get through to him.”

  “No.” I shake my head, feeling a shiver of release at hearing the powerful word on my lips. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Alex.”

  With shaking hands, I press End.

  And that’s exactly what it feels like.

  The End.

  Of so many things.

  And the beginning. Of so many better ones.

  Danika wraps her arms around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “I’m so proud of you.”

  I offer her a meek smile, feeling elated and terrified and anxious all at the same time.

  Just then, Blake appears through the swinging door, giving our awkward floor-embrace a funny look. “Um, I hate to break up whatever this is.” He points back toward the dining room. “But there’s someone knocking on the front door.”

  I hastily wave him away. “Tell them we’re closed for good. There’s a freaking sign on the window.”

  “Actually,” Blake says, a curious lilt to his tone that makes me pull away from Danika and glance up. “I think you might want to let him in.”

  Lia’s face appears through the window of the restaurant, causing my lungs to momentarily forget how to breathe. Her face is clean of any make-up, her wavy hair is pulled back in a messy knot, and her jeans and plain blue T-shirt are refreshingly unflashy.

  She looks so beautiful. And so…

  Angry.

  Her stern expression and vacant stare says it all.

  She unlocks the door and I draw in a courageous breath and step into the restaurant.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, not a hint of emotion in her tone. She’s cold. Shut down.

  I don’t blame her.

  I’ve been a huge dick.

  I glance around the restaurant, which is currently in a state of disarray. Half-full boxes are everywhere and all the decorations have been torn down from the walls. Blake, the bartender who practically molested Lia on the dance floor, stands in front of the bar with his arms crossed. The sight of him, and the memory of his hands on her, make my blood boil.