“My idiot wife didn’t make it clear that she really, really meant that I shouldn’t tell him.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s all fine.”
The Marvin Gaye song started up again in Theo’s pants. He pulled his phone out and excused himself to his room.
Ethan didn’t wait for him to shut the door before saying: “His latest fangirl slash girl toy?”
Chloe smacked him across the bicep. “Do not call a woman that.”
“What? Fangirl? That’s what they are.”
I made another admirable attempt at conveying a lack of interest in my voice. “Is Carly someone new?”
“It’s always someone new.” Ethan waved his hand dismissively.
“Carly’s the tall blonde one from Germany?” I said. I had no idea if he was seeing a tall blonde woman from Germany, but I watched every episode of Veronica Mars and considered myself a top-notch amateur snoop.
“Nah, that was last year. This is the genius engineer from Tokyo. I think.”
“Ahh,” I said, quickly and quietly dying inside. “The pink hair.” Another guess. God, I was good.
Ethan looked surprised. “I thought it was purple. He shows you pictures?”
Chloe elbowed him in the ribs. “We have no idea what’s really going on with Theo. We’re re-watching Season One of True Detective. You want to come down and hang with us for a bit?”
“Damn I love that show. I do want to, but I’m pretty tired. I should probably go to bed.”
Chloe kept watching me, then looked to Theo’s bedroom door. “You want me to stay with you?”
Was she afraid I was going to hop into bed with Theo? As if.
“No, but thank you. I’m just gonna crash.”
She nodded. “Text if you need me.”
Ethan gently punched my shoulder, which is about as emotionally expressive as Ethan gets.
“Thanks, buddy,” I said.
When they were outside on the porch, Ethan’s hands were all over his wife, and I was sure they were going to go have intercourse while watching HBO. They were living the dream.
Meanwhile, I was living my tiny First World nightmare.
Theo started to walk out of his room, holding his phone and staring at it. Then he looked up and saw me standing alone, went back into his room, and returned without his phone. A nice gesture, but it wasn’t enough.
I started to head towards my room, without looking at him.
He cut me off at the pass.
“Hey. Grandma. That thing that almost happened there.”
“Don’t need to talk about it. Didn’t happen.” I tried to step around him but he blocked me with his aggravatingly tall and fit body.
“I know, we don’t have to talk about it again, but…Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay. You’re feeling vulnerable. You’re probably feeling insecure about your attractiveness right now, because of Andrew.”
Asshat. “Stop talking.” My whole body was heating up, and not in the good way.
“I’m just saying, it’s totally natural and normal for you to feel that way.”
“Uh huh. And you know this from your own experience as a woman who’s been in a long-term relationship that just ended because she found out her boyfriend had been cheating on her for years?”
“No.”
“Are you saying I was a shitty girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Because I didn’t see him enough after I moved here? Because I didn’t have enough long-distance sex with him?”
“It seemed to me like you had plenty of that—”
“Because I didn’t like to talk about our problems? Because I ignored our problems? Because I didn’t even admit that we had any problems? Because I just got used to having a long-distance boyfriend because it was so easy?”
He rested his hands on his hips and planted his feet on the floor, knowing that this was going to take a while and he was going to have to stand his ground. “Didn’t say that.”
“Are you saying I’m not good at relationships?”
“Nope.”
“You think I’m naive because it didn’t even occur to me that my long distance boyfriend would want to stick his dick in some strange when I wasn’t around—which was most of the time?”
“No—what?! No.” His expression told me was wondering when my body would start floating, head spinning and spewing pea soup vomit.
I myself had no idea who this demon was that was speaking through me all of a sudden, but I was powerless to stop it.
“Are you saying I should feel insecure about my attractiveness? That that’s probably why he cheated? Because I didn’t satisfy him? Because I didn’t give him enough blowjobs? Because I never let him do butt stuff? Because I got lazy and wore my pajamas to bed with him? Because I wouldn’t watch Japanese porn with him?”
“Yeah, let’s stop talking.”
“You think I married you because on some level I knew it would make it easier for me to get out of my relationship with him?”
“Gemma.”
“You think the reason Andrew didn’t ever once act jealous about you was because you gave him an excuse to not feel guilty about him fucking around?”
“Whoa.”
“Fuck you.”
“That was totally not what I was saying!”
“Fuck you anyway. Fuck all you guys! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckers!” I raised both my hands and flipped him the bird, while jumping up and down like a totally rational person who was doing an amazing job of handling her emotions.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and did a terrible job of not laughing at me. “Sure. Do you want to calm down and let me finish what I was saying?”
“No I don’t! You probably think I almost kissed you because you’re such hot shit well guess what—you’re right it had nothing to do with you—I probably would have tried to make out with a tree if that’s what was standing in front of me so just get over yourself!”
“Really, a tree?”
“Yeah! Or a lamp post!”
“What about a life-size cardboard cutout of Justin Bieber?”
I tried desperately not to laugh at that, but it was a losing battle. Stop it. Stop making me laugh when all I want to do right now is hate you.
“No. I am not a Belieber.”
He had once walked in on me while I was Swiffering and singing and dancing around to the Baby video. He will never let me forget it. I mean, I’ve got two ears, a mouth and two legs—what am I supposed to do—not sing and dance around to that video when it comes on?
Reason Number Five Thousand and Eight why we must be Just Friends: He knows me too well. How could anyone who knows me so well want to make out with me?
“I still don’t beliebe you. Listen, if you want to pick a fight with me instead of the guy who cheated on you for years, like I said, I’m here for you. I can take it.”
Reason Number Infinity why we’ll always be Just Friends: He knows me better than I know myself. It’s never a fair fight.
“But what I was going to say is that you have every right to feel vulnerable, because what he did was shitty and I’m sorry it happened, but I’m glad you broke up with him instead of just forgiving him because he doesn’t deserve you and if you do get back together with him I’m not going to be the guy who lets you do that—I will continue to tell you that he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I’m not going to get back together with him,” I offered, meekly.
“Good. I really hope you don’t. And the other thing I was going to say is that you have absolutely no reason to feel unattractive.” He held his arms close to his body, careful not to touch me or give me any reason to misinterpret his words or body language. “Whatever reason he had for fucking around, those were his reasons. You’re a fox, Gemma Kelly. You’re beautiful and you’re kind and you’re loyal and you’re smart and talented and funny and most of the time you’re really sane and sweet and there might not be a guy out there who deserves you, because
we’re all shitheads in some way or another, but there’s someone out there who’s better for you than Andrew, I know that.”
Someone. Out there. Not in here. Got it.
Reason Number Infinity Plus One.
“What should we watch five episodes of before you fall asleep on the sofa tonight?”
“Oh…I just want to eat cheese and donuts and watch HGTV until I lapse into a food coma.”
He scrunched up his face. He never wanted to watch HGTV with me. That was going on the list. My real husband would watch that shit with me.
“Fine. I’ll go change into my sweats and return a few emails—see you on the sofa in ten.” He turned to go to his room.
Hunh. He was willing to watch HGTV with me that night. That was exactly why I refused to torture myself by being in love with him—he was such a good friend that he would make it impossible for me to hate him for not being desperately in love with me.
“No, I…I’m gonna get in bed and watch on my iPad. In my room. By myself. Is that okay?”
He looked somewhere between mad and crestfallen. “Really? I mean. I came back from Palo Alto for you, Gem. You know what my schedule’s like right now.”
“I didn’t ask you to rearrange your schedule. I didn’t even tell you what was going on.” And I almost kissed you so obviously I need to pretend that you don’t exist.
“Right. Have a good night.”
He went into his bedroom and shut the door.
I stomped into mine and shut the door.
I collapsed onto my bed, pulled out my Just Friends journal and my pen and I wrote, with a shaky hand: Reason # 26 –These lust-fueled feelings for him are turning me into a cuckoo-bananas-crazy-monster. Must. Repress. More. Effectively. Immediately.
I was disappointed with myself for so many reasons that night, but chief among them was the fact that I was only able to consume four donuts and three slices of cheese. I paused the Fixer Upper episode that I’d already seen five times, and could hear an episode of Bob’s Burgers on in the living room. Theo was probably working on his laptop while sexting with Carly.
I should just let him do that.
But what if that’s not what he’s doing? What if he’s sad?
He did come back to be with me.
I couldn’t deny him that. I couldn’t deny him our friendship.
I was wearing my least sexy PJs and carrying the teddy bear when I tiptoed out and saw that Theo was sprawled out on the sofa, staring at the TV, holding onto a throw pillow and frowning. No laptop, no phone. Just him in his baggy sweat pants and tank top.
I will be enforcing a strict No Being In Love With My Best Friend Policy—starting tomorrow.
I lifted up his big feet and plopped down onto the end of the sofa, placing them on my lap.
He put the pillow that he was clutching behind his head.
I leaned back and let the familiar sweet hilarity that is Bob’s Burgers wash over me and lull me to sleep.
We didn’t say a word to each other. I fell asleep inside of half an hour. He was gone in the morning, and I woke up there on the sofa with a pillow under my head and a blanket over me and found a Post-it note on the coffee table that said: No more donuts for you, missy. xx
I ate the rest of the donuts.
4
Gemma
*One Year Later*
I loved Theo’s house. I loved everything and everyone in it. I loved the paint on the walls, the bamboo floors, the floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the back deck, I loved the big pots of bamboo that I planted along the edges of the deck and patio for privacy…I could go on and on. But it was the royal blue modern sofa that was here before I moved in that really did it for me. It was a stylish, bold statement, made by a young man who claimed to have no style or concept of good interior decorating. Which meant that he’s a natural. And that he took risks. I liked that.
After Theo had made his first million with the success of his Fitness Nerd app (“We do the math—you do the workout”), he had given me a ridiculously generous twenty thousand dollar budget to redecorate our floor of the house. I only ended up using about half of the budget, because I didn’t really want things to change. That almost never happened. I would walk into almost every room of any house or store or offices and nothing could stop me from mentally rearranging or replacing furniture or artwork or color schemes. Theo’s house had felt right the first time I set foot in it.
I do small interior decorating jobs and staging for real estate listings on the side when I’m not busy with film set jobs. As a home stager, I look at a space with a different set of eyes than I do as a set designer. For home staging your focus is on selling the house, which means de-cluttering, highlighting architectural elements if there are any, enhancing small spaces with bold pieces, defining the use of an area in a stylish and straightforward way while helping potential buyers to envision their own belongings in the rooms. As a set designer you read the script to get clues about the characters you’re creating spaces for, do research about the era in which the story is set, consult with the director and production designer and other departments about style and scale and budget. You’re selling an idea about the characters that use those spaces. I get obsessed with colors and minor details like postcards on bulletin boards, patterns on drapes that give a hint about subtext.
But I didn’t want or need to sell this space to interested parties, and I certainly didn’t want to convey subtext with rug patterns in a house that was already cluttered with my hidden emotions. So I did what any designer who’s a slave to Instagram would do—I had the walls painted a bright Benjamin Moore white, the kitchen cabinets painted a rich grey with lavender undertones, switched out all the lighting fixtures and hardware for high-end brushed gold, added some big beautiful statement plants, a gorgeous souk rug for the living room, Ikea sheepskin rugs for the backs of chairs, purchased a few big canvases from local artists and throw pillows for bold pops of magenta to echo the bougainvillea blossoms surrounding the house, and lemon yellow to match the potted lemon trees.
It looked good. I always got tons of compliments whenever I posted pics on Instagram, and more than a few free gifts from home décor vendors who follow me. Plus, there were tons of pretty things for me to look at when I was trying to avoid staring at my best friend’s bare torso.
I was feeling nostalgic.
I would miss this house.
The time had come for Chloe and Ethan to move out the next weekend, because they could finally afford to live in their own two-bedroom apartment mid-way between Santa Monica and Pasadena where they worked. I begged and pleaded with them to stay with us in their unit just a little while longer, at least until I’d moved out too, but Chloe had put up with her commute for too long. So Theo and I were throwing them a party on this, our last weekend together. I was dreading being alone with him, because there was a big conversation that we needed to have and I kept putting it off.
Theo had been spending so much time up in the Bay Area and Portland, and I’d been so busy on film and commercial sets the past few months that we’d barely seen each other. That was way up at the top of the Why We Need To Be Just Friends list—I was done with out-of-town boyfriends. It’s not that I didn’t trust Theo, even though I knew he had a bevy of Bay Area Babes who were always texting him when he was home. He’d always been discreet, and he never seemed to have dates when he was in L.A., but he didn’t hide his phone when he was around me, and I teased him mercilessly about what a manwhore he was, even though he refused to talk about those girls with me. Because that’s how it goes when you’re best friends with a guy.
I’d been in pre-production as set decorator on a low budget indie feature for the past four weeks. The pay wasn’t great, the script was okay, and it was contemporary so there wasn’t a lot of research involved, but I was working under a very talented production designer who I believed would be a great person to know, career-wise. Pre-production is the busiest time for me and for most of the crew in th
e art department. I had to book all of the larger props for the shoot, put together a breakdown of every type of prop we’d need, from newspapers to kittens, acquire furniture, clear copyrights for branded items, and keep track of every prop that’s allocated to each set. There was no room in the budget for an assistant set decorator on this film, so I was in charge of all of these duties in pre-production and then my team would dress the sets the day before shooting started. It was exhausting and exhilarating and I freaking loved it. While it was contemporary, the director wanted a Seventies thriller movie vibe, so the decor was spare and masculine and the color palette had a lot of beiges and browns, greys, navy blues and pops of fern green and mustard yellow. That vibe made me horny for some crazy reason. Oh wait I know the reason—it was because I hadn’t had sex in a year.
The crew always becomes my circle of friends for a couple of months for a film production, so I’m never lonely, but I had been missing Theo so much it pissed me off. I shouldn’t have been so attached to him at this point. I’d worked so hard at emotionally distancing myself from him that past year, but as soon as I got home the night before and saw him in the kitchen, I dropped my bags and ran to hug him. Five seconds into the hug, I remembered that I was supposed to be over him, so I wriggled free from his beautiful strong arms and fled to my room, claiming that I had to go straight to bed so I could get up early and start getting the house ready for the party. It was true, but it was a dick move on my part. It was only half his fault that there were cobwebs between my thighs and that I had to make myself fall out of love with him.
It was the weekend before I started on a twenty-one day production schedule, so I’d invited a few people from the crew to the party. It’s not a huge house, and we didn’t want it to turn into a rager, plus the party was for Chloe and Ethan, so I limited my invitations to three people. I invited Julia the prop master because we’d worked together before and I knew that she wouldn’t judge me in case I got drunk and made a fool of myself (which was unlikely) and I invited Jason the second assistant director, because Julia had a crush on him and I owed her a favor. And I invited Ben, the line producer, because he was a good guy who’d promised to introduce me to several set and production designers who could hire me in the future, and more importantly because I had quickly and carefully cultivated a crush on him in order to focus my sexual energy and affections away from Theo at that juncture.
Green: a friends to lovers romantic comedy Page 5