Little Miss Lovesick

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Little Miss Lovesick Page 19

by Kitty Bucholtz


  “Uh, okay.”

  The phone went dead. I had a funny feeling I wouldn’t be seeing him any more.

  “Fine!” I said out loud to no one. “Who needs this bullshit anyway?”

  I got up and paced my apartment. This sucked! I picked up two truffles from the table as I paced that direction. I ate one whole as I walked down to my bedroom. Biting into the second one, I paced back to the living room. I tossed my cell phone on the couch and stood there chewing, staring sightlessly out the window. Finishing the second truffle, I fell back onto the couch. Put my feet up on my coffee table. Leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

  Now what?

  I did what came naturally. I picked up the phone again and hit “1.” Emily picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, what’s up?” She sounded like she was in the middle of a funny conversation. Her voice sounded like she was laughing.

  “Hey, I decided to go with Option C, as you suggested. I just called Matt and apologized. But I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other anymore.”

  “Oh, Syd, that’s too bad. Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to call you back later, okay?”

  Cry or get mad? Cry or get mad? I was really sick of both.

  I looked at The Plan. She was on the list. Maybe this was the time.

  “Listen, Emily, I don’t know what’s up, if you’ve got stuff going on that’s private or what.” As long as we’d been friends, we’d never had any secrets from each other, but I guess it could happen.

  She laughed quietly and whispered something to someone, then came back on the phone to interrupt me. “Nothing’s going on. Come on. If it were, I’d tell you eventually anyway. Lighten up.”

  Something was definitely going on.

  “Well, if you’re mad at me or found some new friends to hang out with or something, just let me know and I’ll stop calling you, okay?”

  “Syd, stop. That’s ridiculous. I’ve gotta get off the phone, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  The phone clicked.

  Cry or get mad? That was so stupid. Iam childish. What is wrong with me? I swear I haven’t been this awful my whole life. Have I? No, I distinctly remember being a mature, well-adjusted human being not that long ago.

  I lay down on the couch and hugged a pillow. I wasn’t sure if The Plan was going to work. The fact that I knew Emily was right, that Iwas being ridiculous, didn’t help. I felt absolutely miserable. Still. I thought working The Plan was supposed to make things better.

  I sat up and stared at the dining room table. I got up, grabbed the marker and put a big, black check mark next to Step Two and Step Six.

  Six. Sex. Well, that’s unfortunate. I should’ve made Matt Step Five. Now every time I look at the list—

  You know what? No. Sex is Matt’s problem, not mine. Not that I wouldn’t like to have some, too. But a person’s got to get their priorities straight. And right now, I want lasting love more than I want love for the moment.

  I sat tapping the marker against the paper.

  Maybe love for the moment would be better than no love at all, though.

  Hang tough!yelled Sergeant Pride.You can do this!

  “I can do this,” I muttered aloud.

  Grabbing the box of truffles, I went back and flopped on the couch. I hit the remote for the TV, opened the box, and began to trough-feed. If I was going to finish what I started, I’d need my strength.

  CHAPTER 23

  “OKAY, I’d like to see the houses in this order — the Maple Lane house, the Walnut Street house, and the Baker Street house.”

  I pulled out of GT’s driveway and onto the main road. No sign of Matt when I came in today. Fine by me. Hadn’t seen or heard from him all weekend. And a peaceful weekend it was.

  Liar, whispered Lovesick.

  “Why don’t we see the Baker Street house first?” I suggested, trying to ignore that particular Voice. “It’s closest. Otherwise, we’ll be driving around in circles.”

  GT patted my knee. “That’s no problem. This order works fine for me.”

  Now’s the time, urged a Voice.

  “GT, I think we need to establish some boundaries. I’m sure you don’t mean anything by it, especially after meeting your wife, but I’d be more comfortable without—” Should I just come out with it, or beat around the bush? “You know, you patting my knee, kissing my hand, that sort of thing.”

  I glanced over at GT who was looking at the printouts of the listings.

  “Aren’t there two houses on Baker Street you were going to show me?”

  I closed my eyes briefly, praying for the willpower tonotdrive him into the bay. No, then I’d lose my cool little Sportage. That would be a bummer. Ilove this car.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  GT absently patted my shoulder. “You’re tense. That always happens when you have a lover’s spat. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.”

  “What?!” I’m pretty sure at that volume and pitch, it’s considered screaming.

  He smiled with his pseudo-Southern charm. “Oh, Matt didn’t say anything. A gentleman wouldn’t, you know. But I could tell as soon as I saw you, both of you.”

  He rubbed his hand up and down my arm in a way that I might interpret as comforting —if he were my father!

  We were just coming up to a turnoff with a picnic area. I pulled in without slowing down. Gravel went flying and GT looked alarmed for the first time ever.

  I stopped the car and put it in park. Turning to face him, I ground out my words through clenched teeth, afraid I would be more — direct? honest? — than I should be with a client.

  “GT, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not mentioning this sooner, but your constant touching makes me uncomfortable. It’s unprofessional and I need you to stop it if we’re going to continue to work together.”

  “Well, if it bothers you to be touched, I’ll try to—”

  As if somehowI was the one with the problem. My left hand gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. “No, not try. It needs to stop. In a lot of companies, this would be a big problem.”

  I was not going to say the words “sexual harassment” because I truly believed he wasn’t trying to harass me. “But it’snot a problem. It’s a matter of respecting my personal boundaries. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “All right then, darlin’. If it’s that important to you.”

  His face hardened and his eyes lost their sparkle. He looked a little more Detroit Hard-Ass now and a little less Southern Gentleman. Still, it was now or never.

  “The other thing is, we need to sit down together and decide what it is you need versus what you want in a house—”

  “I’ve told you everything I need.” Detroit Hard-Ass tone. Definitely.

  “And I’ve told you that what you’ve listed is impossible. You can’t have a low-maintenance house with a one-acre lot covered in grass and shade trees, with a fountain in the front and a pool and spa in the back. All of those items require quite a bit of maintenance. That’s just one of the things I’ve been trying to discuss with you over the last few weeks.”

  “I would think with the commission and bonus I’m paying you, Miss Riley, that you’d be doing everything in your power to find me what I want.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “I only get paid, Mr. Turkelbain, if youactually buy a house. I have other clients who also count on me to help them buy or sell their homes. My boss is breathing down my neck because you ask for a huge amount of my time, but you don’t act interested in anything I show you. I’m trying to help you, but I need your cooperation.”

  “So you want to quit? Leave me in the lurch? That happened three times before I hired you!” GT shook his head, his hands gesturing in front of him, agitated. “I am having the hardest time—”

  “Nooo.” I took a deep breath. “GT, I’m not quitting. But we need to reorganize how we’re handling this.”

  It was like a ligh
t bulb went on in his head. “Reorganization? Of course,kaizen! I implemented the 7-S framework with my New York company and it’s had amazing results! I think the Gestalt theory will work best in this case. Have you considered using the Balanced Scorecard approach to your business? I think you’d be—”

  I had absolutely no clue what he was talking about. It was still English but…did he even hear what I said? When he was done spouting nonsense (at least it was nonsense to me), GT apologized and suggested I decide the route today since I knew the area best. Then he wanted to go back to his office and make a list of what conflicted with what on his other lists. We’d do better to work one day a week, he said, so he’d be focused on house-hunting when we were together. He promised to set aside Monday mornings if that would work for me.

  I nodded and stuttered, “Th-that sounds fine.” I don’t know what I said to turn things around but, for the first time, The Plan seemed to be working!

  I returned to my office in much better spirits. GT hadn’t liked any of today’s houses, but we both felt we’d made progress. Some of the buoyancy left my step, however, when I approached my desk. There sat another bouquet of flowers and another box of heaven — I mean, chocolates. I sighed and pulled my list out of my briefcase. Yesterday I crossed off Step Six, Matt, and Step Two, Emily. I took a pen and drew a line through Step Three, GT.

  I looked at Step One, Dirk, then back at the flowers on my desk. This bouquet had a few roses, a couple irises, and some others I wasn’t sure about. Very colorful. Fragrant. Beautiful.

  I opened the Godiva box. Truffles again. I’m sure I’d get sick of them eventually, but not yet. Thinking about this morning’s clothing change (stupid cotton, always shrinking), I wondered if Godiva, not Dirk, was my number one problem. I sucked in my stomach.

  Be a Nike and Just Do It, said a Voice.

  I inhaled the scent of the world’s most delicious chocolate and picked up the phone. Dialing Dirk’s home number was easy — I knew he wouldn’t be there. His voice mail picked up.

  “Hey! Dirk here! You know I’d love to talk to you, but I am unavailable at the moment. Leave your vitals after the beep and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.Ciao!”

  I rolled my eyes. What an idiot. Mr. Don Juan-a-be. I heard the beep and said, “Dirk, this is Sydney. Listen, there’s a new plan. You may not have noticed, but I amnotinterested in getting back together with you.So, no more flowers, no more chocolate—”

  I can’t believe you just said that, said a Voice.

  “—no more coming over to my office or my apartment. Nothing. Just erase me from your memory banks, okay? Thanks. Bye.”

  Hmm, a little harsh, maybe, but necessary.

  I leaned back in my chair and smiled. I am woman; hear me roar.

  I picked up my pen and crossed Step One off The Plan. This wassuch a good idea.

  CHAPTER 24

  THIS wassuch a bad idea. I got all excited about working The Plan — things seemed to be going smoothly with GT and Dirk earlier this week — that I didn’t even consider that any part of it might not work.

  “By the Bay Properties, this is Sydney.” God bless the person who invented hands-free earpieces, or I’d have such a crick in my neck.

  “Hey By the Bay Properties, whatcha doin’?” It was Emily.

  I stopped working. What a surprise. We hadn’t connected since the call where I implemented The Plan, Step Two. “Hey! You just caught me. I was walking out the door.”

  “I only have a minute. I just wanted to say hi and see how things are going.”

  Things are great. And awful. Does she really want to know or is this a guilt call? Why do I even think that? This is Emily.Emily.

  You wonder because you know something is wrong, said a Voice.

  “Things are great. I have another closing this week. That means margaritas after. You game?” This was the big test. Was she going to back out on me again?

  “What day?” Her voice sounded worried.

  “Friday.” One word, major attitude.

  Pause. “Uhh, Friday’s not going to work. How about Thursday? It’ll be a pre-closing celebration.” Her voice sounded hopeful, but there was no way I was letting her off that easily.

  “Pre-closing celebrations are only good for jinxing the actual closing.” I knew I sounded grumpy but I didn’t care. Emily knows these things are never really a done deal until the check is in the bank.

  “Well, I can’t, Syd. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I gotta go.”

  “Hey, come on, I can’t get together Friday night but let’s have lunch this week. Okay?”

  I stared hard at the phone. “How about now? I could be there about one.”

  “Today? Well, how about tomorrow or—”

  “Forget it. Call me when you have time.” I started to hang up. Today I chose anger over tears.

  “Sydney, wait! Don’t be mad.” Imploring voice. Almost worked on me.

  “I’m not mad. Just”—confused—“busy. I’ll talk to you later.” She said goodbye (reluctantly, I was happy to note) and hung up.

  Good. I hope she feels guilty. I sure don’t.

  Liar, whispered a Voice.

  Today might be a get madandcry day. What was I doing wrong? Why wasn’t this working? I thought about my stupid cell phone bill. When I got home last night, it was waiting for me. No problem. Except that my mobile-to-mobile usage was only783 minutes!That means Em’s talking to mehalf the amount of time she used to. That is definitely a problem.

  I need to add a Step 7 to The Plan —feel better! Why was everything upsetting me so much?

  Because it doesn’t seem like anyone cares—

  Shut up! yelled another Voice.That’s not true.

  But it feels true.

  As I sat there trying to breathe and think and not cry, the phone rang again. I gave two seconds’ serious consideration to flushing it down the toilet, then I answered.

  “Sydney! Hello, sweetie. It’s Patty. How are you?” Voted World’s Most Cheerful Person by, well,me.

  “Hey, Patty. I’m fine. How are you?” I tried to sound half as cheerful.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Apparently, I’m no good at half-cheerful. I should’ve gone for the full thing. I sighed into the phone.

  “A little of everything. Fighting with Emily and Matt and clients and…just one of those days.” Belatedly, I wondered if Matt had already given her his version of events.

  “You and Matt are fighting?” Definitely surprised. And interested. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

  I’m so contrary. If she’d tried to get me to talk, I would’ve clammed up. But since she was being so respectful of my privacy, I had the sudden urge to tell her everything.

  “No, it’s okay. Maybe you’re the exact right person to talk to since you know him.”

  My frustration must’ve been audible because she laughed. “I was calling to see if you wanted to go hiking with the group Sunday afternoon. But how about the two of us take a little walk Saturday morning?”

  Translating Patty’s use of the words “a little walk,” I knew it’d still be a hike, but at a slow enough pace to talk. Relief rushed through me. I hoped she could tell me what to do.

  She chuckled. “We’ll see,” she said. She told me to meet her at the Old Cannery Trailhead at seven o’clock. Then we hung up.

  The rest of the day went better. I bought a lovely blown glass vase for my client who was closing on Friday. While I was out, I checked my phone messages and found that someone had put in an offer on one of my listings. Yes!

  I called the client, Mr. Dahl, and gave him the offering price over the phone. He said he and his wife would get back to me by tomorrow, but he sounded happy. Cool.

  The next few days were crazy busy. By Friday I was juggling phone calls for the closing that afternoon, as well as calls from the Dahl’s and the realtor whose client wanted to buy the Dahl’s house. (Isn’t that funny? I’m selling
a Dahl house. Ha ha!)

  I was never so glad to see five-thirty arrive and happy homeowners depart. I wasexhausted. But hey, I’d sold another house. Margarita time!

  And no one to share it with.

  I tried to forget Emily and whatever was going on with her. I thought about calling Don and Bridgette, but they have a toddler and probably wouldn’t want to go out. Maybe Kerri? No, I talk a lot, but she talksa lot. More of a running monologue. Can’t take that tonight.

  Since I wasn’t in a hurry, I drove back to my office to drop off the closing paperwork. In fact, I decided when I walked in that I was leaving everything. Taking the weekend off. ’Cause I deserved it. Yeah.

  I walked through the deserted office to my desk and pulled the files out of my bag. I’ve got this great briefcase/bag that I bought at Wilson’s a couple years ago. It’s natural-colored leather, soft as butter — I know it’s cliché, but it’sso soft — with these great inside pockets that keep me organized. The strap is padded so well I can carry it around practically forever and it doesn’t hurt my shoulder. Anyway, I was unloading my stuff when—

  “Hey, Syd.”

  I jumped in the air and dropped a folder. “Holy crap!” The folder and its contents went skittering across my desk and spilled onto the floor.

  Trent tried to hide his chuckle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He came over and picked it all up. “Are you okay?”

  I closed my eyes and took a breath. “For crying out loud, Trent, you scared the crap out of me!” I looked at him, kindly trying not to laugh, and smacked him on the shoulder. That made us both laugh. Great stress reliever, laughter.

  Trent set the folder on my desk and leaned against a filing cabinet. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in Margaritaville?”

  Back to the stress again. “Yeah, yeah. Emily’s ‘busy’ tonight.” I did the air quotes with my fingers.

  “So?”

  I looked at him and frowned. “I’m not such a lush that I’m going to go out drinking by myself.”

  “Right. As if Emily is your only friend.” Trent crossed his arms and looked at me with a somewhat cross expression. “So you’re going to go home and drink by yourself.”

 

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