At six o’clock I walked over to Andie’s place two blocks away at Fillmore and Washington. I sat on the front step of her building and waited.
At six fifteen, I was cursing myself for not having brought something to read and for forgetting my phone.
To distract myself, I watched a woman in a tiny car unsuccessfully trying to parallel park across the street. It reminded me of my college days in Berkeley, when I had to master the art of squeezing into the teeniest of places or I never would have made it to class.
Thinking of college made me remember how I’d met Andie. It was our junior year, and McKenna and I were at a semiformal date party thrown by the SAE fraternity house. SAE stands for Sigma Alpha Epsilon, though I knew many a scorned sorority girl who called it Same Assholes Everywhere. Mackie and I were proud, anchor-wearing members of DG (Delta Gamma), and our pledge sister Whitney was dating an SAE named Bryan. For the record, Bryan was, and still, is a non-asshole. Thank God, because Whitney ended up marrying him.
Bryan set us up with two of his buddies, Marc (with a C, he pointed out) and Tyler. We met them at a pre-party at the SAE house, and while McKenna and I sipped wine coolers, they downed cheap scotch in plastic cups. We all thought we were so classy and mature. Ha. Then we were bussed en masse (again, so classy) to the venue for the evening. I briefly cringed as a vision of the strapless turquoise dress I wore flashed before my eyes. In addition to math, English, science, and history, I think that every teenage girl should be required to learn the immutable fact that no one looks good in strapless turquoise. No one.
Marc with a C was quite charming, especially to Waverly with a Buzz. We had a lot of fun together, so when he accidentally put his hand on my boob on the dance floor, I laughed it off. Later, when he was telling me about all the top law schools he’d been accepted to, he accidentally put his hand on my butt. Looking back, he was clearly an arrogant jackass. But he was also very good-looking, and he was paying a lot of attention to me. My youthful naiveté, blanketed in a blissful fog of alcohol, kept me from heeding the red flags everywhere. When the DJ played “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden, we made out like no one’s business. I felt so cool, because when you’re in college, making out on the dance floor is even more cool than drinking wine coolers.
I “fell asleep” on the bus on the way home, as did Marc with a C. I’d long lost McKenna and Tyler, whom I’d last seen swapping spit in a dark corner. When we pulled up in front of the SAE house, it was nearly two in the morning.
Marc nudged me awake.
“Waverly, we’re home,” he whispered.
“Dad?” I mumbled.
“What?”
OH MY GOD.
I sat up straight, pretending to be sober. “Um, we’re home?”
He put his arm around me and gently helped me from my seat, then led me out of the bus and toward the front door of the fraternity. The front lawn was filled with similar couples in a quiet, drunken stupor. It reminded me of the “Thriller” video.
“I should really go home,” I whispered. “It’s so late.” Even in my impaired state, I knew I shouldn’t go inside with him.
Suddenly Mr. Super Nice Guy was in the house. “Are you sure?” He smiled and put his hand on my cheek. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispered.
“I really should go.” Ms. Super Mature Girl also was in the house, and she was just saying no to, well, to going in the house.
He hugged me close, then leaned down and kissed my ear. “Just come with me and lie down for a while.”
I shook my head. “I really should go. But thanks so much. I had a lot of fun.”
“Are you sure?” He kept his arms around me.
I looked up at him.
He was so cute.
So, so cute.
I hesitated for just a moment.
And then Ms. Super Mature Girl threw in the towel.
“Okay.”
I only planned to make out with him, of course.
“Great.” He took my hand and led me inside. “My roommate’s out of town,” he whispered, squeezing my hand.
“Okay, cool.” I whispered back, following him in the shadows.
He pulled out his keys when we reached the end of his hall. Then he noticed that his door was ajar, and a light was on inside.
“What the…?”
“I thought your roommate was out of town,” I said.
“He is.”
He pushed the door open, and there was Andie, fully dressed and sitting on his bed, casually reading an Econ 150B textbook.
“Hi, asshole,” she said calmly. “Did you have fun tonight?”
I stood there with my mouth open. Marc with a C wore a similar expression.
“Andie, what are you doing here?”
“You’re an asshole,” she said again. She calmly closed her textbook, then stood up and stepped toward us, not looking at me.
Then she flat-out punched him in the face.
“Ow!” He put both hands on his cheek. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands.
Andie looked at me and smiled. “You can have him.” She left and shut the door behind her.
“What a bitch,” Marc said, still holding his face.
“I’m guessing that was your girlfriend?”
He shrugged. “Not officially.”
Not officially?
Suddenly I knew I had to get out of there. “I should go.” I turned toward the door.
“Hey now, don’t leave.” He reached for my hand.
I caught my breath. His touch was so warm on my skin.
“Please stay,” he whispered. “Don’t leave.”
I wanted to do the right thing, I really did. But I also wanted to make out with him.
He’s bad news, I thought. Nothing good can come out of this.
I closed my eyes for a moment, then pulled my hand away and opened the door.
“Bye, Marc.”
I shut the door behind me, navigated the dark hallway, and finally made it back outside.
When I reached the front lawn, Andie was almost to the sidewalk. I stopped in my tracks, mortified. The dim streetlights were all that illuminated the block. I hoped she hadn’t heard me.
But she had.
And she turned around.
Frick.
I stood there in my ugly turquoise dress, holding my purse along with my breath, wondering what she would do.
She looked at me for a moment, saying nothing.
I bit my lip.
And then I learned all I needed to know about Andrea Barnett.
She smiled.
She waved me over and introduced herself, and from then on we were friends.
I admired her for calling Marc out for lying (he’d told her he was sick and wasn’t going to the party), and she admired me for leaving his room after I found out he had a girlfriend, even though they hadn’t been “official.” We never talked to Marc with a C again, but I hear he’s balding with a paunch now.
At 6:32, I saw Andie walking up Fillmore Street. She was hand in hand with a tall, lanky blond with curly hair that fell just below his ears. I assumed he was Gaslamp Guy.
I stood up and wiped the dust off my jeans as they approached.
“Andie, hey.”
“Oh, hi.”
She turned to Gaslamp Guy. “This is Waverly.”
I held my hand out. “It’s nice to meet you, um…” I’d forgotten his name. Or had I ever learned it? Then I noticed how familiar he looked. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’re sort of in a hurry,” Andie said.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” I hoped she could see the pleading look in my eyes but also that Gaslamp Guy couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight.” The coldness in her reply was something I’d never heard from her before, and it scared me.
“What about tomorrow night? Pizza at Dino’s? Beers at the Kilkenny? You pick. It’s on me.”
She turn
ed to Gaslamp Guy. “Are we hanging out tomorrow?”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I have to go visit my uncle, remember?”
She looked back at me and sighed. “Okay then, fine. Tomorrow.”
“Kilkenny at seven?”
“Whatever.” She opened the front door of her building and went inside without making eye contact.
“Okay, see you then. It was nice to meet you…I’m sorry, what was your name again?” I couldn’t call him Gaslamp Guy to his face, at least not until I knew him better.
“CJ,” he said as the door shut behind them.
“Bye, CJ.”
I stared at a crack in the sidewalk. I had to get Andie to forgive me.
Then something hit me.
Suddenly I knew why Gaslamp Guy seemed so familiar.
He looked a LOT like the guy in the photo on Ivy’s desk. The photo of her boyfriend, Casey.
The next morning I went straight to the Sun office. I had to see that picture on Ivy’s desk. What I saw when I arrived, however, was not what I expected.
Her desk was bare. As was her cube, and three others around it.
I scanned the room, hoping to spot a familiar face to find out what was going on, but I didn’t recognize anyone.
Nick will know.
Then it occurred to me that I had no idea where his cube was. Or did he have an office? Maybe he was gone too?
I stopped a random girl walking by.
“Excuse me. Do you know what happened to Ivy Grant?”
“Ivy? I think she got laid off.”
“What? I thought that was over.”
Random Girl shrugged. “They’re calling it the same round, just additional notifications, whatever that means. The latest group found out yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh my God.” I stood there for a moment, and Random Girl disappeared down the hall before I could ask her about Nick.
I sat down at Ivy’s empty desk and ran my hand over the spot where the framed picture of her and her boyfriend had been displayed. So proudly displayed. Could Casey and CJ really be the same guy? I hoped I was wrong.
After a few moments, I stood up and asked the next person I saw about Nick. She pointed to a cube at the far end of the hall. I made my way past a sea of empty cubes and spotted him sitting at his desk, focused on his computer screen.
“Hey, Nick.”
“What’s up, Brysonator?” He was wearing a tan shirt that said, “Helen Mirren Is Hot.”
“Nice shirt. And did you just call me Brysonator?”
“Indeed I did. I watched a little Arnold on TV last night. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“What happened to Ivy?”
He slid a finger across his throat.
“I can’t believe she’s gone. What happened?”
He shrugged. “They came through here yesterday afternoon and brought the axe down, and bam she was gone. I told you, this place is falling apart.”
“That’s so sad. Ivy was really cool.”
His expression said, Are you that stupid?
“But you already knew that,” I added.
“Thanks for keeping up.”
“So where did she go?”
Again, he looked at me like I was an idiot. “Well, Sherlock, I’m thinking…home.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m not thinking clearly right now. But I’ll tell you why.” I lowered my voice. “I think Ivy’s boyfriend might be cheating on her…with a good friend of mine.”
“Talk to me.” He cupped both his ears.
I sat down at the chair next to his desk and leaned toward him. “My friend Andie, you know the one I, um, threw under the bus on The Today Show?”
He nodded.
“Well she met this guy a few weeks ago, and they’ve been hanging out a ton ever since.”
“Continue.”
“I finally met him briefly yesterday, and his face was super familiar. At first I couldn’t place it, but then I realized that he looked a lot like the guy in the picture on Ivy’s desk. Like a lot, a lot.”
Nick’s eyes lit up. “What’s his name?”
“CJ, but that could be his initials. Ivy’s boyfriend’s name is Casey, right?”
He nodded. “You really think it’s the same guy?”
“Maybe. Do you know Casey’s last name?”
“No idea.”
“Me neither.”
“So Ivy’s Mr. Perfect could be, in fact, a total douche bag,” he said.
“Could be.”
“Which would mean that Ivy isn’t my parallel universe girl. She could be headed for this universe right here.”
“Could be.”
He smiled. “I like it.”
“So what do I do?”
“You have to tell her.”
“Tell who? Andie or Ivy?”
“Both. If it’s the same guy, that is.”
I sighed. “I can’t believe this. Andie is really into him, and she’s never really into anyone.”
Nick didn’t say anything, but I could see the hope in his eyes.
“So how do I find out if it’s the same guy? Do you have Ivy’s phone number?”
He turned to face his computer and started typing. “I can probably get it out of the archived employee directory.” He pulled up her file, then wrote her name and number on a sticky note. “Here you go. But if anyone asks, you didn’t get this from me.”
I took the paper and put it in my pocket. “Thanks, Nick, I’ll look into this. But first, I have some serious damage control to do with Andie.” I stood up and started to leave.
“Bring hyacinths.”
I turned around. “What?”
“Hyacinths. They mean I’m sorry.”
“They do?”
“They do.”
“How do you know that?”
He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his hands behind his head. “I speak flower.”
“You speak flower?”
“Indeed. It’s just one of many things that make me an amazing boyfriend.”
I leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Ivy would be lucky to have you.”
“I know.”
When I got home I called the Atlanta Hawks hoping to track down Jake, but I was forced to leave a message with some perky yet entirely unhelpful assistant who had obviously never heard my name before. It clearly wasn’t my day for finding people I needed to speak with. I copied Eloise Zimmerman when I e-mailed my column to Ivy’s Sun account, just to make sure the file wouldn’t end up lost in cyberspace. I hadn’t heard anything from anyone about the latest layoffs, which made me wonder just how safe my freelance position really was. Or maybe that’s exactly what it meant? That my job was safe? No news is good news?
I had some time to kill before meeting Andie, so I decided to go for a run to clear my head. Once outside my apartment I turned left on Sacramento to run west through Pacific Heights, which led to Laurel Heights, then Presidio Heights as Sacramento turned into the quaint Lake Street, one of my favorite parts of the city. There was a little bit of an incline, and as my breath got deeper I began to think about what to say to Andie, and also what to say to Jake, if I could reach him. I’d never excelled in the conflict department, so to be faced with two problems at once was making my head spin. I wished I could talk to McKenna, but she was still out of town and out of cell phone range.
It was up to me to figure out what to do.
I kept my eyes glued to the sidewalk ahead of me and timed my steps to match the lines separating the cement squares. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back…step on a line, break your mother’s spine. Breathing heavily, I wondered how my life would have been different if I’d grown up with a mother. Would I be better at expressing my feelings? At dealing with conflict? My dad had done his best, but he was a quiet man. And as a result, sometimes I felt all alone in my head, trapped with my thoughts, not sure how to share them because I’d never really learned. I’d gotten much better over
the years with the help of Andie and McKenna, who I knew loved me and would always be there for me, but once in a while, even with them, I still froze up, relying on them to see what I was thinking through my actions…or my eyes. Sometimes, I just couldn’t put my thoughts into words. At least verbally. On paper I was much better because I had time to think about things, to edit and perfect my thoughts, but that approach doesn’t work in real-time conversations.
I blinked away a few tears. McKenna and Andie knew me well enough to see through the jokes and strong-girl façade, and I’d grown to rely on their ability to know when I was really hurting inside. Jake didn’t know me as well, and he clearly had no idea what I was thinking.
I’d pushed away the first guy I’d really cared about since Aaron, and I didn’t even know why.
Neither did he.
I turned right at Park Presidio, then looped up and around back along the green trails that run parallel to Lake Street, beginning the long, steep incline back to Pacific Heights. I passed by a small playground on my left and watched a young mother pushing her baby in a tiny swing. Nearby, another mother watched proudly as her toddler son barreled down a low plastic slide, plopping gently into a soft pile of sand.
My thoughts turned to McKenna and the baby growing inside of her. Would she be showing the next time I saw her? Even though I was sad things were going to change between us, I was excited because she was so excited. McKenna had always known she wanted to have kids, unlike me, who still had no idea, or Andie, who was dead set against it.
I looked ahead and soon reached the beginning of the steepest part of the hill, breathing heavier than I could ever remember at this point in the jog. I stopped for a moment and put my hands on my hips, looking up to the top. I wondered about what I would say to Andie tonight, hoping she’d forgive me for my latest Waverly moment. Then my thoughts turned to Jake. It was killing me that I hadn’t been able to explain myself to him.
“Waverly Bryson, it’s time to whip yourself into shape,” I said out loud. A postman standing on the corner turned his head and smiled. I wondered if he knew I was talking about more than my burning lungs and thighs.
I put my head down and started to climb.
A couple hours later I was sitting on a barstool at the Kilkenny Pub, a particular favorite of mine. It was a Friday evening and the place was getting more crowded by the minute, but longtime owner Jack O’Reilly, as always, took the time to say hello.
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