“I wouldn’t dream of calling you, Andrew,” I say spitefully, beginning to step down the hallway. “Like you’d even pick up.”
“I’m serious, Jackie,” he calls after me. “Don’t do something stupid and hurt yourself.”
“Like you care!” I wave a hand loosely behind me and stomp off towards the elevator. And I don’t look back. I know he’s watching me, the door not clicking closed. He’s standing in the doorway and watching me walk off.
When the elevator arrives I step in and I still don’t look back. Sometimes a girl’s just got to let go and walk away without looking back. I gave it my best try, having a heart-to-heart with my husband, but I can’t monologue my way through it.
I press the button for the lobby and ignore the warm tears that begin to trickle down my cheeks, slowly at first, then gaining speed with each floor I pass. The ping-ping sound of my descent acts as a bell calling forth the tears, ringing loud and clear that I’m falling further and further away from a happily ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dr. Pierce hands me the tissue box, and I help myself to a handful. He’s just suggested right now, halfway through our session, that I spend the next few days recouping from the huge fight Andrew I and had last week—time spent only thinking about positive solutions to the state of my marriage. If that means talking to Andrew, fine, but only so long as I offer up constructive and positive words.
In my defense, I did go home the second night after the big blowout, thanks to Emily’s encouragement. She even walked me to my front door for moral support. She also offered to let me come back and stay at her place in the event Andrew and I were at each other’s throats again.
Thanks to months of Dr. Pierce’s advice, support from my girlfriends, and my gnawing conscience, I was able to return home to the scene of the crime just one night later. I love Andrew, no matter how much I feel like throwing in the towel. He’s my husband. Walking away isn’t going to be easy.
Unfortunately it didn’t even matter, really, that I went back home, hence my return to Emily’s shortly thereafter. When Andrew and I were in the same room, it was as if I wasn’t there…as if he wasn’t there. Andrew did his work, I read my magazines and watched television. Dinner was silent, there was the requisite kiss hello and goodnight, and a mumbled “I love you” from him, followed by a hollow shrug and lopsided grin from me, and, finally, the pill-enhanced sleep and the bone-chilling silence of the dark night. As if no big argument had ever happened, as if there was nothing to discuss. Just silence. Emptiness.
“An important note here, Jackie,” Dr. Pierce says with a furrowed brow. “Remember?”
“Yeah?” I use the last of the bundle of tissues to wipe at the corners of my eyes.
“You are not to spend any time complaining about Andrew, revisiting your fight, or touching upon any negative thoughts or doing anything—anything at all—that will cause negative emotions to surface. You must continue to stay positive. Can you agree to do that?”
“That’s, like, impossible!” I grouse.
“No, it’s not.”
“Whatever.” I scratch my head, then glance at my watch. “Fine. No negativity. I’ll try.”
“It’s for the best.”
“But I’m not going back home again. I like it at Em’s.”
“That’s fine for now. But stay positive.”
“All right. I’ll try.”
“Good.”
“With Em around that shouldn’t be a problem, actually.” I smirk.
“Excellent.” Dr. Pierce stands up and holds out his hand. “Then I wish you the best of luck, and I’ll see you next week. You can do this, Jackie.”
***
“You really should consider starting each day with yoga,” Emily says, undoing one of her fuzzy cornrowed braids. “Or some meditation.”
“Oh, no,” I moan, unwrapping a stick of gum. “Next you’ll suggest I go study Scientology.”
“No, don’t be silly.”
“Me? Yoga? Emily, you know I don’t like sweating outside of the sauna.” I jut out my chin and bottom lip. “And sex, I suppose.”
Emily laughs as she rubs free the base of her dissolved braid. She begins work on another. “You do check your horoscope each morning, right?”
“I may be blonde, and the bleach may have gotten to a few brain cells, but I’m not stupid. Obviously I check my horoscope when I get a chance.” Truth is, it’s been at least a week since I’ve checked the thing. I’m horribly overdue.
“Good,” she says matter-of-factly. “Now just relax, like Dr. Pierce said, and give yourself some reflection time and stay away from dark energy and vibes.”
“So I shouldn’t watch this film with its vampires and demons?” I wiggle my eyebrows seductively.
“Hell no,” she yelps. “It’s a girls’ night in. I’m kind of wondering why that movie isn’t already on.”
As is always the case, not ten minutes into the movie Em and I are chatting away, our voices drowning out whoever’s on screen. But I like it this way. It’s comfortable. It’s fun. And it sure as hell beats being back home with Andrew for another silent evening.
“And I can’t believe she found her so fast,” I say to Emily with a mouthful of greasy pizza.
“I can.” Emily smacks her lips after a long pull of her beer. “Capitol Hill’s an awesome place to work. It’s central, it’s hip, the place is flooded with cupcakeries and eateries, clubs, cafés… And tons of college kids looking for summer jobs live all over there. Sophie definitely wasn’t going to have trouble finding someone to man the station.”
“Well, I’m glad she did.” I wipe my fingers on a paper towel and take a slug of beer. “When’s the new girl start, anyway?”
Sophie’s hired a girl whom she calls “the perfect fit for The Cup and the Cake!” Her name’s Evelyn, and she’s going to be a junior at U Dub. She’s living in Seattle on her own over the summer for the first time, knocking some electives out in summer school. She’s had some stints at Starbucks but is looking for a full-time job this summer. Sophie says she’s really sweet and already a fan of the café. She’s the ideal candidate to have on board for the short-staffed summer, and she’ll certainly allow Sophie to get that much-needed time away in London and Paris in just one week! Oh, I’m so jealous of her upcoming trip!
“Evelyn’s already started training,” Emily says. “Training this week, starts next Monday.”
Emily’s new cell phone begins to ring loudly, evoking a shriek and a jump from her. “Oh no!” She waves her hands sporadically. “Help me, Jack.”
I erupt in laughter, watching Emily’s eyes grow round as her shiny new iPhone announces an incoming call.
“Em,” I say, exasperated. I wipe my hands on the paper towel and tell her to just pick it up and answer the call, like any phone.
“No.” She’s shaking her head. “I hate that thing. Just answer it for me.” She takes a large bite of pizza as the ringing continues.
“Em.” I cock my head sideways and smile. “It’s a phone, not a bomb.”
“No.” She points at her mouth and lazily shrugs. “Foo mouf, cad taaalk.”
I roll my eyes and answer, “Emily the Goofball’s phone.”
“She still too frightened by this piece of modern day technology?” Gatz’s cheerful voice replies.
“The girl has no problem going native and popping squats in the bush, elephants and lions ready to pounce,” I say, “but she can’t cope with having a cell phone that isn’t a twenty-year-old brick.”
Emily sticks out her tongue.
“Yeah,” I tell Gatz. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Sorry,” Emily says after I hang up. She wipes her lips clean. “I don’t know what Gatz was thinking getting me that thing. He knows me better than that.” She fixes her cell phone with a steely gaze. “What’d he want, anyway?”
I retrieve my phone from my clutch, and sure enough the sound has been deactivated and I notice I have two missed ca
lls and a text message, all from Lara.
“Lara’s been trying to get a hold of me,” I say, speed-dialing her number. “And she doesn’t have your new number yet—”
“And knew you’d be here, figured she’d call Gatz,” Emily finishes.
I nod as Lara’s voice comes onto the line. “Jackie!” she says, practically yelling.
“What?” I meet drama head-on with drama. “You okay? You meet a guy?”
“I love how that’s the first thing that pops into your head.” She laughs. “No, but maybe tonight. You never know.”
“What?” I tuck my fishnet-stocking clad legs into my chest. “You going out tonight? Oh! I want to go out! Em and I are staying in and watch—”
“No,” Lara interrupts, her voice filled with urgency. “I’ve only got a second, so hold it.”
“Yeah?”
“My boss is having me go in, last-minute, to some party, some function down at the Marriott.”
“Okay…” I give Emily a dumbfounded look, and she just chomps down on her slice of pizza.
“A function for Jennings & Voigt,” she says. “That’s where Andrew works, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. What on Earth are you guys doing having a party together?” I press the phone tighter to my ear.
“Apparently one of their subsidiaries is seeking new advertising representation, and we’re up for the bid.” Lara exhales loudly. “It’s a big one. We’re having a mix and mingle kind of thing. I don’t know too many details yet since I’ve just been thrown in last-minute since Jeff in New Accounts ate some bad seafood.”
I make a squished face in disgust.
“So anyway,” Lara blurts, “I’m out the door, but I just wanted to tell you that I’ll see Andrew tonight.”
“Makes one of us,” I say dryly, sipping at my beer.
“I wanted to let you know,” she draws out, “and, if you wanted me to go in and, I don’t know…help out with damage control or something? I don’t know.” She sounds both pressed for time and distraught. She clears her throat. “I don’t want to get in between you and Andrew or anything, but if I can help in any way—”
I make a gagging face to Emily, and she looks on, clueless.
“Jack?” Lara says.
“Lara, Dr. Pierce told me to stay away from negativity. All I can think of you doing is telling Andrew how upset I am with him and how help—”
Emily pats my shoulder and gives me that warning look of hers.
“Anyway,” I blurt out to Lara with a shake of the head. “Thanks but no thanks, girl.”
“Just trying to help.”
“So a party, huh?” I take a small bite of pizza.
“Nothing too exciting. Probably just a bunch of schmoozing and, hopefully, deal-making. It’s supposedly a really big deal. Practically the whole Jennings & Voigt firm will be there.”
“Probably that little skank, Nikki, too.” I can’t help myself, and Emily gives my shoulder a shove this time.
“Nikki’ll be there?” Lara sounds surprised.
“Maybe.” I look at Emily and decide to heed the advice of taking the positive path. “I don’t know, Lara, and quite frankly I don’t care. You have fun, and thanks for the offer to help.”
“No problem. Well, say hi to Em for me, and you girls have fun. So wish I could ditch this party and join you.”
Suddenly, I have a wonderful idea!
“Lara!” I shout. “Actually, you can do me a giant favor!” I toss the nibbled-on piece of pizza back into the box, and Emily scrunches her brow.
The instant I disconnect from the call Emily flips on the TV’s mute button and turns her full attention to me. “Spill it. What’s going on and, first, are you crazy? Asking Lara to spy on Andrew and Nikki?”
I give a devilish grin as I take a drink of beer.
“How exactly is this stint going to work if Andrew obviously knows Lara? Not exactly Mission: Impossible stuff, is it?”
“Emily,” I say with a slow wag of my head. “She’s not going to, like, actually spy-spy on Andrew. She’s just going to keep an eye, discretely, on how he and Nikki interact.”
“I don’t think this is part of your negativity abstinence plan, honey,” Emily says smartly.
“Oh, whatever. This is a favor from a friend.”
“Lara’s okay with this?” She looks slightly bewildered.
“She got cheated on by an asshole,” I say, deadpan. “Been there, done that. Obviously she’s okay with it.” I pull a Bic lighter and two hand-rolled cigarettes from my clutch and hold one out to Emily. She takes it and sticks it behind her ear as best she can given her thick plumes of freshly unbraided and crimped hair.
“So how exactly is this going to work?” Emily asks.
“Like,” I begin, “if Nikki’s all sweet on him, or if he’s gently touching her, the hand on the small of the back kind of thing?” Emily makes an aha expression. “Or, if they start banging it out in one of the hotel rooms or something,” I say much too easily. I jump up and gesture to the back patio. “Shall we?” I wave the lighter.
Emily follows me out back into the crisp, refreshing night air and, as best of friends, we spend hours relaxing on her ratty loungers under the stars, gossiping, laughing, smoking. I’m doing exactly as the doctor ordered; no negative energy or vibes can ruin this perfectly fine evening.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dr. Pierce had suggested it was time I go home. I’d spent ample time reflecting and being positive and sorting things out in my head, and now it was time to return to the scene of the crime. No more of this home one minute, out the next.
“Your absence is evolving into avoidance, Jackie,” he said during our session yesterday. He then droned on about how my trying to cope by “giving Andrew a taste of his own medicine,” as I put it, was yet another method of avoidance. “You can’t very well go on and bury your feelings, run from the pain, hoping it’ll disappear into thin air by magic.”
We’ll see about that.
See, I’ve taken the good doctor’s advice. I’ve gone home from time to time over the past two weeks, staying at Em’s only every other night or so. I’ve engaged in small talk with my husband. I’ve tried to pretend that everything’s all right and that mind-numbing small talk leading to rote sex on occasion is just the norm that has become my marriage.
Whenever Andrew and I do hint at getting down to a serious discussion, however, he brings up the damn boat and begins to shout about how he’s confused and doesn’t know what I want. I start to shout, then, and tell him that I’m confused and frustrated and alone and… Well, it’s the same thing, over and over again. It’s getting so old. I’ve pressed couple’s therapy, like Dr. Pierce suggested I offer, but that just leads to more shouting, even a broken picture frame in Andrew’s office. Another mishap the Kittredges will sweep under the rug…that Marta will be responsible for when taking out the day’s garbage.
At least I’ve been kept pretty preoccupied at Emily’s, which has helped keep my mind off my troubles at home. She’s only going to be around for a short while more before she and Gatz are off to Australia. I’m going to miss her terribly when she’s gone.
Actually, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Lara’s busy at work, more so now that she’s got this big deal with Jennings & Voigt. Evidently that went through, with flying colors. Lara was quick to share the good news via an ebullient text message, much in the same enthusiastic vein as when she’d texted me after the big corporate party to say that she definitely did not suspect Nikki or Andrew were having an affair. “It was strictly business at the party,” she told me that same night. “I honest to god do not think they’re having an affair.”
Affair or not, it doesn’t answer my marital woes.
Unfortunately, the hours upon hours of fun I’ve been able to have with Emily recently have gotten cut rather short. Sophie’s in London right now, soon to be in Paris, so that means Emily and Gatz are pulling lots of hours at The Cup and the Cake, still h
elping out newbie Evelyn, and Chad, whenever he’s around. Sometimes, when I’m super bored, I’ll drive over to Capitol Hill and hang out with them—pinch at some muffins, help mix something, or just sit around and page through a magazine while they go about their work.
Tonight, though, Emily promised me a night out. She and Gatz have been wanting to go dancing, but with all the extra work and late nights at the café they haven’t had a chance. She insisted I come along. Chad overheard our conversation during closing time, saying he’d be up for a night out, too. Then Evelyn piped in saying it sounded like fun. Eventually we found ourselves inviting as many of our friends as we could for a night on the town. And seeing how, whether Andrew and I are in a rut or not, I am his wife and privy to all things that come with that title, I sprang for a stretch limo and called dibs on ordering up the first round of drinks.
“Who’s up for shots now?” I scream over the bass-heavy music of the club. I climb atop the aluminum stool, holding firm the edge of the bar for support. I’ve had a couple of cocktails already, not counting the glass of bubbly on the ride over.
“I’ve got the day off tomorrow,” Chad shouts as he withdraws a tattered leather wallet from his back pocket. “You three,” he points at Emily, Gatz, and Evelyn, “are the poor suckers working on a Saturday.” Evelyn playfully nudges him in the shoulder before taking a petite pull of her cocktail, and he takes some cash from his wallet. “Order us up,” he says to me, passing the cash my way. “On me.”
“I’ll do shots!” Lara says loudly. “I’ve got nothin’ tomorrow.” I pass the money to the bartender and order up three shots of the special of the night, some neon-blue-colored thing I think contains vodka. Lara vibrantly adds, “‘Cept for a date.”
“Wha—” I gasp, the bartender yanking the bills from my grip.
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