Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1)

by Juli Valenti

  Pulling hard on the door, I stared at the contents at my disposal. As echoes of ‘are you watching a movie in there’ played through my mind, I took in the week-old takeout containers, the pound of salami, two pounds of provolone cheese – TWO POUNDS – and pack of hot dogs. Snatching the salami off the shelf, I grabbed a bottle of water and perched on a barstool at the counter, not bothering to look for bread. There probably was none.

  As I ate the sliced meat I thought about my life and my choices, my mistakes, and what I wanted for the future. Pulling my cell from my back pocket I flipped to the messages. As I started text messaging Elle, my mind drifted briefly back to my refrigerator. I almost dropped the phone as I realized I’d still forgotten milk. Damn it.

  Warily glancing at the clock, I pressed the send button, waiting rather impatiently for the little progress bar to move and show sent.

  *Me: Hey lovely, you awake still?*

  Almost immediately, my phone pinged a response back:

  *Elle: Yep. What’s up, Doll?*

  *Me: I think I need a getaway…to get away…*

  *Elle: Yeah? What are you thinking? You gonna take your loser boyfriend?*

  *Me: Not sure where yet…and no 2 Chris. I think I want to go alone.*

  There was a long pause as I watched the little “…” appear, stating that she was typing. I was almost cringing, like I was asking my mom for permission to go or something. Thing was, if Elle didn’t think it was a good idea, there was a slight chance I wouldn’t do it. I trusted her implicitly and she was generally the more level headed of the two of us. Praying silently that she would tell me it was a good idea, I rolled another piece of lunch meat and jammed the whole thing in my mouth.

  *Elle: I think it could be a good idea. Maybe you could clear your head some… yay for not taking the loser. You’re too good for him, but I’ve said that b4. Do you know when?*

  I sighed in relief at her approval, while also shaking my head. Yes, she’d told me many times before that she didn’t think Chris was good for me. This wasn’t new news. Hell, even I knew he wasn’t good for me. He was actually driving me crazy. I still had dozens of unread text messages and unheard voicemail messages on my phone just waiting for me.

  *Me: No… but soon. A week, maybe? Long enough 2 give my boss time to cover for me. I have the time off.*

  *Elle: Not like it matters if they fire you.*

  *Me: Don’t start woman. *

  *Elle: Okay okay! #justsaying*

  I could almost see my friend holding her hands up, as if to keep me from going back down that road. It was another thing that we talked about often. Truth be told, I really didn’t need my job. The thing was that I wanted it. Remember when I said that Chris had a trust fund and was loaded? Yeah, well, when my father passed away, he left his estate entirely to me. He’d been successful in the farming industry (yes, farming) and had stocks in just about everything. I didn’t touch the money often, much to Elle’s dismay. She could never understand why I worked instead of living off his money. My reason?

  My father always worked. He was the one who was up before the sun, doing all that needed to be done. Even later in life, when he’d long since traded his work gloves and coveralls for slacks and a button down. He was the first in the office in the mornings and the last to leave at night. He’d always tell me, “Ry, to live fully, you must work wholly. Money doesn’t grow on trees and success isn’t a random shrub that blooms.”

  He’d been gone almost ten years, and still I followed his example. Of course, when he passed and I was younger, I didn’t really understand what he’d meant. At nineteen, all I’d known was that his words had been important to him, and he had been important to me. So, I’d kept the job I’d worked part time in college, even deciding to stay afterward.

  Now, at twenty-eight, I knew what his words meant. In order to do what you want, when you want, you have to work hard. Money is earned, rarely given, never grown, and everything takes it. Elle’s one of the few who still doesn’t get it. She was already set before she got married, moneywise – her family was independently wealthy … well, wealthy for being wealthy anyway. Nick was military, not that it mattered; money between them was never a problem. Luckily though, she rarely ever truly pushed me on the issue.

  Elle and I had agreed to disagree a long time ago. She understood that I wanted to work, even if not why. I knew she thought I was being foolish about it, not living off money that was mine. Actually, the real argument about my money and working usually came from Chris. Apparently, any princess of his should never work, and live his life. Not. Happening. Buddy. I actually like working, if I’m honest. Talking to people, using my brain … It works for me.

  Luckily most of the other men I’d ever dated never had any idea about the money I had waiting for me in the bank. It wasn’t any of their business what my bottom dollar was … Besides, half the time I didn’t know. I hadn’t touched it since it’d been transferred to me after my father’s funeral. They’d tried to set it up where some would automatically transfer to my account monthly like an allowance, but I’d kiboshed that. No. I would work and it would be kept as a safety net. So it sat pretty for times like now, when I wanted – no, needed – to get away.

  The chime of my phone shook me out of my musings.

  *Elle: You can stay at Central Park, if you want. No one is there now*

  ‘Central Park’ meant her flat right off of Central Park in New York City. Her parents bought it for her when she turned eighteen and we went to college at NYU. Sure, it was a bit away, walking distance, about six miles from campus, but Elle had wanted the view. What Elle wanted, Elle got. We’d stayed there for the entire four years before moving to Atlanta. I wish I could say we had a good reason for picking Georgia, but, well, we didn’t. We’d simply closed our eyes and pointed on a map, and that’s what we got.

  Elle usually rented it out to other college students during the year, so I was surprised to hear that no one was there. I hadn’t even thought about New York. Ah, how I missed the Big Apple. When we’d arrived, two girls fresh from the country of Missouri, it’d been overwhelming, at least for me. Elle had gone often with her parents. Now, though, I loved it. The sounds, the traffic, the weather, the food – nothing was better than the aliveness of that city.

  My thoughts going to the idea of endless delivery food options, my mouth watered. I sighed as I looked down at the cold salami on the counter. Was this what I was reduced to?

  *Me: You sure?*

  I laughed at myself for that text message. Of course she didn’t mind, she’d already offered … and my friend was not one to offer unless she meant it. Ever.

  *Elle: Duh. Still have your key?*

  *Me: Yep*

  *Elle: There you go then. Keep me updated. Girls just fell asleep, better sleep while I can*

  A quiver of excitement started in my belly as my plans became more solid. Even through the fog of sickness, and a little heartbreak, I knew this was the right thing for me to do right now. Get away from this place, clear my head, and come back stronger and more kick ass than before. All that was left now was getting the plane ticket, telling my boss, breaking up with Chris, and packing.

  Easy, right?

  Chapter Four

  “No, Chris, I don’t want you to come over to talk about this,” I snapped into the phone, frustrated. I’d been trying to break up with the guy for over two hours now, and I wasn’t any closer now than I was when I started the conversation. You would’ve thought calling someone and saying I want to break up was enough to do the job … but with him? Apparently not.

  “Ryen, come on, you don’t really want to end things. I totally see a future between us…”

  “Yes I do, and no, no future.”

  “But, I love you. You’re Rinoa to my Squall.” His voice was pleading, almost begging me to stay with him despite his use of video game analogies.

  “Chris, I will not say this again. I. Want. To. Break. Up.” I’d officially lost my patience. Ho
w could a grown man beg and plead like this? At least he was right; even I knew enough of Final Fantasy to know that he, like Squall, had the emotional depth of a fingernail. I also didn’t appreciate being related to a girl who never shut the hell up.

  “But –”

  “No. No more buts, Chris. I mean it. You’re going to find a girl someday who is completely content playing video games all day, eating pizza for every meal, and wants to have Halo marathons with you. But that girl just is. Not. Me.” My voice rose with every word and I had to take a deep breath before continuing. “Have you ever really looked at me? I like fashion and ballet, opera and the other arts too. I like concerts and going out to eat. I enjoy working and talking to real people not on a headset during an ‘intense battle.’ I’m sorry, Chris, just … no.”

  Silence met the end of my rant and for a moment I thought maybe he’d hung up on me. Sure, that could’ve been a good thing, but then I’d worry he was going to show up at my house and play a boombox loudly outside my window or something. I needed him to understand.

  Sure, I probably should’ve waited until I saw him again to break up with him in person, but that seemed like a long time. Hell, from the time I’d decided to actually break up with him last night until this morning was a long time … He was lucky I waited this long. I’m pretty sure I broke up with him about twenty different times in my dreams, each a different and more creative way. A part of me was even a little sad I didn’t get to do some of the elaborate plans my brain was craving.

  “I’m sorry,” Chris’ voice came over the line, startling me. Hearing him made me feel a little bad, but not bad enough. Yes, he sounded hurt, but there was no doubt in my mind I was making the right choice.

  I opened my mouth to speak, if for no other reason than to break the silence that was mounting again, but Chris cut me off.

  “I accept your decision, even if I want to fight for you. I will keep my diggity and that will be that.”

  “You mean your dignity?” I corrected without thinking. Damn it, Ryen, shut up! I scolded myself.

  “Couldn’t even let me keep it, could you? Whatever. I’ll see you round, Ry. Happy hunting for what makes you happy.”

  With that, the phone went dead. Breathing deep, I reclined back on the couch, staring at my cell phone. I’d stayed home today from work again, having called my boss and told her while I was feeling better I wasn’t feeling great just yet. It was the truth. It’s the reason I had the sudden absurd urge to cry … really. Ugh, what was wrong with me.

  Shaking off the odd feelings surging through me, I pulled my laptop onto my lap and reclined back, happy to prop my feet up. I felt like I’d run a marathon, and I had a feeling I’d been moving too much, testing the limits of the Nyquil I was drinking from a shot glass. If you’ve never kept a bottle of cough syrup next to you like it was vodka, you’ve never been as close to death as I was the past two days.

  Comfortable, I opened the computer and brought up flight options as well as weather forecasts for the next few weeks in the city. I had a bunch of options, all for about the same pricing, and I was pleased to see that it was supposed to be pretty nice, as far as I could tell. Obviously, weather prediction was about as reliable as solving algebra by chewing gum, but I wasn’t going to let that bring me down. Choosing a flight for next Saturday, a week from tomorrow, I smiled and bounced a little in my seat. I couldn’t help being excited.

  I had no real plans further than leaving Atlanta next week and getting to New York City. Time frame hadn’t even occurred to me, which was also why I’d bought only a one-way ticket. That way, I could just come back when I felt like it, instead of being confined by deadlines. My boss probably wouldn’t like it … but oh well. If she chose to fire me, I’d be sad – I really liked the girls I work with – but I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could always find a new job.

  And again that feeling like I was going to cry. Sniffling a little, I snatched the glass off the side table and shot back the foul-tasting syrup, immediately feeling better. See, definitely the cold. Turning on the TV, I spent the rest of the day watching bad daytime soap operas and surfing the Internet. It was relaxing and, as long as I didn’t move too quickly, I could almost pretend that I was already in New York, waiting for night so I could go out. Granted, I was grateful I wouldn’t have to get dressed, completely content in my boy shorts and tank top, and brushing my hair sounded like more work than I wanted to do, but still.

  I woke up groggy and slightly confused, still on the couch with infomercials demanding that I call and buy the products they were selling. Squinting, I realized they were trying to make me choose between being fit and not being fit with their thigh squeezer thing.

  “I’ll pass,” I told the guy selling it, appalled by his declarations that only women who used it had tight thighs.

  Bringing up the menu guide to see the time, I was surprised to see it was six o’clock in the morning. Time certainly flies when you’re having fun … or staying up late to watch an all-night marathon of Lost. I fell asleep somewhere between ‘not Penny’s boat’ and Jack demanding to Kate that they go back. Surprisingly though, despite having a repeated urge to press the button in my dreams, I was actually well-rested. I knew I bought this couch for a reason.

  Stretching, I stood, checking my phone, which was now dead. Oh well. As I made my way through the house to put it on the charger I decided that I should get what I needed done today, so I wouldn’t have to do it closer to my trip.

  “Shopping!” I squealed to myself, slightly ashamed that I’d made such a sound to begin with. My head didn’t swim when I’d danced a little jig, and my lungs didn’t feel like they would explode. Score one for the remarkable healing ability of over-the-counter medication.

  Almost skipping to my closet, I pulled out my clothes for the day before slipping into the bathroom and starting the shower. Steam billowed out from behind the curtain and I stepped in, letting the hot water wash away the sickness residue I was sure still remained on my skin. It felt divine as it cascaded over me, massaging my muscles. I felt human, and it was a beautiful feeling.

  Invigorated, clean, and smelling like strawberries and cream, I stepped from the shower, immediately cursing the arctic air that assaulted me. I could never seem to remember to raise the air. One day, I’d just bite the bullet and get heat lights installed like a normal person … or, well, a normal hotel.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I chanted, frantically dragging the towel over my skin. I couldn’t stop grumbling as I made quick work of pulling my underthings on. Towel drying my hair first, I snatched the hair dryer off the counter and reveled in the blessed heat when I turned it on. As always though, the longer I used it, the warmer I got. It didn’t take long before my face was flushed, I was sweating, and surprisingly light-headed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I despaired, now feeling like I needed to shower again. Not. Happening. It wasn’t hard to see the never-ending loop pattern I could get myself stuck in. Shower, freeze, blow dry, die of heat stroke. Sighing, I pulled on the jeans and black tank top I’d chosen and ran the flat iron down the length of my hair. Once it was shiny and I was somewhat appeased, I slapped some mascara and lip gloss on, ready to go.

  Checking my phone, pleased to find it charged, I decided to text Elle.

  *Me: Think you can get away from the minions?*

  I cringed as I pressed send and realized it was only seven. Crap, I didn’t want to wake her. She’d told me a couple weeks ago that the girls were going through a ‘I-climb-out-of-my-crib-and-try-to-lay-on-your-face’ stage. Because of it, she wasn’t sleeping, spending most of her time dozing and plopping them back into their jails … err … cribs.

  A minute and twenty-eight seconds later, not like I was counting, my phone pinged, Elle’s name lighting the display.

  *Elle: Hello? Who are you and where is my best friend?! Do you know what time it is?*

  *Me: Um… 7ish?*

  *Elle: My BFF doesn’t sim
ply get up at 7AM on a Saturday.*

  *Me: Yeahhh… I got Lost*

  *Elle: ?*

  *Me: Marathon, never mind, woke up on the couch. Can you get away?*

  *Elle: Maybe, why?*

  *Me: Shopping… mani/pedi – my treat?*

  *Elle: I’ll check if Nick will watch the girls. Sec.*

  I fidgeted as I waited, almost wanting to hold my breath. Normally I didn’t mind shopping alone, but knowing I would be in the big city, alone, for a while, I wanted some good, old-fashioned bestie time.

  Looking for something to do, other than staring at the phone screen, I busied myself with brewing some coffee. The bag was cold from the freezer and I sighed happily as the smell of the beans drifted up. Ahhh, heaven. I wasn’t a coffee-shop kid, but I loved a nice cup in the mornings. Today felt a lot like seeing an old friend. It had been two days since I’d had any and I hadn’t realized how badly I missed it. Just as I added a touch of peppermint mocha creamer, my favorite, the ping of a message startled me.

  *Elle: We are golden.*

  *Me: Squeeee! When do you turn into a pumpkin?*

  *Elle: Ha! Not Cinderella today. No ‘curfew’. Pick up?*

  I was nodding and grinning like a fool at the phone, despite the fact she couldn’t see me. A day with Elle and no time constraints? Score! That never happened. She must’ve promised Nick something good … or way worth it. Even I had to admit my friend did good – she managed to snag one of the only decent guys left in the world. Plus, a great father.

  *Me: Definitely. Be there in thirty.*

  *Elle: Can’t wait!*

  All but springing around, I quickly slipped on my gladiator sandals, not caring if it was cold out … not that I checked. Sweater, purse, and keys, and I was heading out the door.