"It was good," I lie.
I'm on my bed with my legs crossed, pretending to be exploring an app on my iPhone. I don't want to look at her. Maybe she'll believe me and let me be.
She doesn't.
"Come on, Ellie, you have to want to be okay. You're telling me even Jack's beautiful eyes didn't get you out of your Mike-coma for one second?"
What beautiful eyes?
I look up at her frowning, because I truly have no idea what she's talking about.
"OMG, Ellie! You didn't notice his eyes?" she's practically shouting at me.
"No," I reply sulking and perplexed.
"You were sitting across from him all night. You mean to tell me you didn't look at him once?" she's exasperated, throwing her hands up in the air.
"Sorry. I didn't notice his eyes. I didn't notice the decorations on the walls. I didn't notice the waitress. I didn't notice if we sat at a table or a booth. I didn't notice the time we left. I didn't notice anything. I was there, but I wasn't. I'm sorry," I cover my face with my hands, so she won't see me tear up like a sullen child.
"Ellie, I…I'm sorry. I just wanted you to get out, join civilization again and maybe forget about Mike for one second," she tries to console me.
"No, I'm sorry. You're right," I reassure her, take a deep breath and wipe the few tears that escaped my eyes.
I may not care that Jack, Sam or the world thinks I'm a mess, but I have to try harder. I'm doing the best I can. But I'm like an addict, stuck in a toxic merry-go-round, where the memories of Mike are holding me prisoner.
No. I'm holding myself prisoner. I've chained myself to the flashbacks of Mike kissing me, holding me, touching me. I've trapped myself in a warped world of self-pity and grief.
Marie is just trying to help me see the light. She's always been there for me. She invited me to live with her, when I told her I wanted to move to LA. Her parents own this house, so I don't have to worry about the high cost of living in the area. Everything was going as planned, until Mike decided otherwise. For my own sake, I have to let him go!
"Why are you asking me about Jack's eyes anyway?" I say with a coy smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"Muñeca, please, you have to look next time. I guarantee it's worth it," she winks at me.
Next time? Who said there'll be a next time?
"He's one of Mike's best friends," I respond, wondering why Jack's eyes are even a topic of conversation.
"I know. I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just saying he has nice eyes," she stands to leave. "Sleep well, Ellie," she blows me a kiss and walks out.
"You too, Marie, I love you," I shout back.
CHAPTER 7
I'VE THOUGHT A LOT about that night at the Irish pub. I felt so lost, even in the presence of friends. It's a shame that I can't enjoy a night out, or genuinely smile, and have a conversation with friends. It's sad that I put myself in that position and continue to succumb to self-inflicted pain.
Poor Jack. He was the third wheel that day, because I wasn't really there. I made the worst impression anyone can make, and yet, I never felt any judgment or even contempt from him.
I wonder what's behind those beautiful eyes…
Though admittedly, I only think they're beautiful because Marie says so. I have to remember to look at them, if I ever see him again.
I've promised myself to be present from now on with Jack or with anyone I meet. Mike is still on my mind, though not as intensely as before, and that's an improvement. I've come to terms with the fact that he didn't love me.
Damn, it hurts to admit it, but it's the truth.
The day will come when his name means nothing to me. I swear it will.
As I let him go, I'm regaining my self-confidence and becoming the determined Ellie I once was. I'm starting to take my life back, and it's about damn time.
I can't do anything about the pathetic state of my love life, but I can work on my career. I'm determined to succeed on that front. I'm occupying my days and nights bringing my career plans to fruition. That's a better use of my time than letting my hours be consumed by thoughts of my broken heart.
My part time job at RedBrick Records, an established indie label located in Santa Monica, has been a godsend. Rob hooked me up soon after I arrived in LA. He knows Dan Thomas, the VP of Marketing, and got wind there was a coordinator position available. His friendship with Dan got me in the door for an interview, but I earned the job.
The best part is that the label's offices are only a few blocks from Marie's job. She drops me off in the morning, since I don't have my own car yet, and I take public transportation back.
As a marketing coordinator, I'm assisting Dan and learning the business. He's very young, maybe 10 years older than me, sharp, knowledgeable, and demanding but fair.
I love the fast pace, the deadlines, and the high energy of this job. The office is full of young people, who like me, are fighting to make their way in this cutthroat and competitive business of entertainment.
I've even made new friends. It's great to have people to banter with, to share water cooler stories about artists, and just have a good laugh.
This job, together with a freelance gig for a local music magazine back home in Chicago, are keeping me somewhat solvent at the moment. But I have to find a full-time job soon, because the bills are adding up, and my current salary won't cut it for long.
Dan is constantly praising my dedication and hard work. He's mentioned he'd like to promote me to a full time position when one becomes available. But he's also made it quite clear that it's unlikely to happen any time soon, because record labels are somewhat struggling at the moment. I'm hopeful the opportunity opens up, but I can't sit around waiting.
With that in mind, I've been spending all my off time searching full-time opportunities online. I've sent at least twenty resumes to entertainment and music magazines, radio stations, concert promoters, and other music related agencies.
And maybe, just maybe, my hard work has paid off.
Of all the resumes I've sent thus far, I'm most excited about an editor opportunity at an entertainment magazine. This is where my college internships and freelance work have come in handy, because I've landed an interview.
The location on the original job post said LA/NY. I don't know what that means exactly, but I'm looking forward to finding out, when I meet with them.
●●●
My days have morphed into a tedious routine of waking up, coffee, work, lunch, home, sending resumes, dinner, catch up with Marie, sleep.
Though catch up time with Marie is less of a catch up and more of a, "How are you today, Ellie? Are you feeling better today, Ellie? Have you managed not to cry today, Ellie?" kind of deal.
I've tried to assure her that crying is no longer on the menu, but I can't hide the nostalgia that assaults me from time to time. I am making progress though, reminding myself I have the answers to my distress.
I'm walking out of my office, saying goodbye to Lola, the receptionist, when I hear my iPhone ping.
It's probably Marie.
This morning she mentioned she might leave work early and suggested another catch up. I hope this time it includes wine, because it's Friday, and I'm done putting up with her interrogations about my mood, if I'm sober.
Marie: Muñe what's up for tonight?
Ellie: Thought you wanted to do girls' night
Marie: For sure! Heading home early. Drinks, dinner, boys (friends)?
Ellie: Drinks and dinner yes! Boys no
Marie: … I'll bring the food you get the wine
Ellie: Done!
●●●
I'm softly singing along to Gwen Stefani's kick ass tune, "Used to Love You," that's playing on my iPhone, while setting up the coffee table in the living room for our catch up dinner.
"How apt," observes Marie.
She's looking at me with a cautious smile, hoping I'm not going to cry my way through the ro
asted chicken. I smile back embarrassed at my unintentional musings and tendency to sing, when I think no one is listening. That song just gets to me. Lately, every song gets to me.
"I'm not going to begin sobbing, if that's what you mean. Don't worry," I roll my eyes, laugh, and sit on the floor.
I am doing better, I am trying harder, and I am succeeding at tolerating the memories of my old life. I can't say the sun is fully shining for me just yet, because that's going to take time, but things are looking up.
"Just making sure or I will be forced to replace your music list with mine, and you know me, it's bump-and-grind all the way," she teases and begins twerking right in front of my face.
I let out a huge laugh, the first loud, stomping-feet laugh I've had in months. I'm clutching my aching stomach, unable to stop laughing, and trying to push her behind away from me.
Her grinding and lewd faces only make me laugh harder, so much so I begin snorting, as tears start rolling down my face.
She stops immediately.
"No, no, don't cry," she begs softly.
"They're happy tears, silly," I slap her invading hands away. "You look like a cartoon when you twerk. How do you even get so low?" I gabble between laughing sobs.
"Low center of gravity, baby," she laughs with me, assured I am actually enjoying myself.
Her huge, radiant smile reminds me of all the love in my life. She loves me, she's my best friend. Rob loves me too. My parents and sisters love me. I am a likeable, loveable person. I'm sure eventually another guy will love me, and I will love him. I have to remember that, and stay in that frame of mind, as I move forward with my life.
We're sitting on the floor, our legs crossed under the coffee table, and I refill our wine glasses. We are already on our second bottle and picking at leftovers.
"Watch out, I'm about to pop these babies open," Marie unbuttons her jeans and lets out a big burp.
"Oops, sorry," she peels her eyes at me, laughing at her unladylike behavior.
We've eaten way too much, and my stomach has expanded at least three inches.
Sheesh, I'm glad I'm wearing leggings.
CHAPTER 8
"SO, TELL ME HOW you're doing," Marie begins the after dinner interrogation.
Oh no, not more of this.
I have to make it clear to her that I am better.
Not only am I done with the, "How are you today, Ellie?" cross-examinations, but I also need her to stop worrying so much. My problems aren't hers, and she shouldn't have to take them on or walk on eggshells around me.
"Can I say something, just to put your mind at ease?"
"Shoot," she replies.
"Let me start by saying I appreciate you so much. You've taken care of me so well, Marie. You've protected me, even from myself, and I'm forever grateful. I know I've made it hard for you, and that you've somehow taken on my problems as your own. Please don't do that anymore. I assure you that I'm better."
"But I worry," she interrupts me. "I see how sad you still are sometimes, and the light in your eyes is gone."
"I know, but that's just going to take time. You have to concede that I'm doing so much better than I was even a month ago. I'm really trying for my sake, and even for yours. It may look like I'm taking baby steps, but they're important steps, because what I went through with Mike devastated me. I'm putting the pieces of my life back together, and I'm using glue, fucking Krazy Glue. I swear! I promise I'll be more than okay once I'm all back together. I know you'll be there for me if I stumble, and you have no idea how much knowing that helps in my recovery. I know you'll drag me out of bed by my hair, if I dare go back to pitying myself," I giggle, eyeing her.
She moves her head from side to side, twisting her mouth in the same direction, brooding over my last comment, and asserting that's exactly what she'll do if I regress. Her comical face makes me giggle more.
"I may stumble again," I continue, "but I promise I'll immediately get up, dust myself off, and keep going. I'm meeting new people, making new friends, and going out. That's a huge improvement from where I was. Now I just want us to get back to our usual fun-loving selves, because that will help me a lot more than discussing how I'm feeling every time we have dinner. I swear you'll be the first to know when I'm feeling like crap. You will also be the first to know when I'm feeling better. And I am, so there. Now you know," I look at her with hopeful eyes, praying she understands I'm okay.
I want to be as good of a friend to her as she's been to me. I must make a conscious effort to watch my demeanor around her and not worry her with nonsense feelings that only I can change.
"See, that's the Ellie Valencia I know and love," she grins, happy to see me much more sure of myself.
"I do see that you're doing better, Ellie, and I'm glad," she begins. "Don't worry about me, please. I'm not taking on your problems, not at all. I'm your friend, your sister, and that's what family does. It's my job to be there for you, because you have been there for me too. Remember in 2nd grade when I was devastated because my crush, Charlie Ferrer, pulled my hair and yelled at me during recess, in front of the entire class, to stop looking at him? You pushed him so hard he fell to the ground. Then you fisted your hand at him and said, 'You think you're a man, don't you? You're a little boy, and if you yell at her or pull her hair again, I'll stomp on you!'"
We both blurt out a laugh remembering my first fight to defend Marie. Little Charlie left her alone, and she stopped looking at him.
"That's what you do. You're there for me too. How many of my sob stories have you heard? Going through high school in LA without you was tough. How many times did you talk me off the ledge, when some guy broke my teen heart? How many hours did you stay on the phone with me? Tons!" she gives me a funny pout.
"You wanted to jump on a plane when mom had that car accident, even after we knew she was okay and just had a broken arm. I wouldn't let you, so you stayed on the phone with me for hours, because I couldn't sleep from the anxiety. When I needed help with my college applications, you walked me through the process step by step. Any time I need advice, help, or comfort you drop everything to be there for me. I'm returning the favor, Ellie. You're very independent, and you like to do things on your own. I get that. But you can lean on me too. You're not going to break me, you're not imposing, and I can handle everything that comes our way. I can't push Mike to the ground and stomp him," she grins and fists her hand. "So taking care of you is the next best thing."
She's right, that's what friends do.
Mike leaving me increased my anxiety and fear of depending too much on other people. I have to realize that sometimes I do need help, sometimes I do need a shoulder to cry on, sometimes I can let people in, certainly Marie.
"Now that we got that straight," she says, "more wine?"
"Oh, hell yes!" I exclaim excitedly, happy to spend time with her now that we've both said our piece, and her interrogations are finally over.
"We have another bottle, and it's not going to go to waste," I smile at her. "I promise the light in my eyes is just behind a thin veil that will be completely gone soon. I'm working on it. Cross my heart. Now, show me how to twerk!"
She pops to her feet laughing and drags me with her.
CHAPTER 9
"HEY PRINCESS, WAKE UP!" Marie shouts, as she walks into my bedroom scratching her butt.
I open one eye to look at her and immediately burst into laughter.
She looks like a disheveled clown.
Her makeup is smudged all over her face, and her hair is a tornado of thick, dark locks scattered across the top of her head.
Ahh! I grab my throbbing head.
Ay, ay, ay those three bottles of wine last night might not have been our brightest idea.
"Whatcha laughing at, princess? You look no better than me," she laughs with me.
"Why are you up?" I giggle, still holding my aching head.
"Well, besides the fact that it's one in the afte
rnoon," she mocks.
"Shut up!"
"Yep," she gives me an exaggerated nod, before walking out of my room.
"Sam texted. He wants to hit Busby's tonight," she shouts over her shoulder.
"Okay!"
She peeks into my room, "You said yes? Yay!" She smiles and taps the door in excitement.
"No, I said okay. What do I have to do with you going out with Sam? You said nothing about me coming along," I scoot out of bed.
I'm looking in the mirror, trying to wrangle in my long hair with a hair tie, and wiping my face with a wet towelette to remove yesterday's makeup.
"The invite is for both of us," she explains.
I doubt that very much, but I don't want to argue. I've been in really good spirits, as life and work are looking up, and hope is blooming.
"Mhm, show me the text," I challenge, teasing her.
Her eyes pop open, and she knows she's been caught.
I laugh at her.
"Weirdo! I know what you're up to, but I'm game. What time is he coming by?"
She giggles and returns to her room. "Eight," she shouts. "Jack's coming too. He'll meet us there."
Third wheel averted. Thank you, Jack!
●●●
Busby's is already pretty crowded. Sam leads the way with Marie. They're holding hands and are very much into each other. I follow them to a bar table with high chairs.
"Jack should be here soon," Sam says. "He's coming straight from work, so he may not look his best. Please forgive him." He directs that last comment at me.
I shrug.
Why should I care what Jack looks like?
I ignore his remark.
"Beer, wine?" he asks.
Marie opts for a beer.
"Water with lemon for me," I respond.
He heads to the bar to get our drinks.
Marie pulls me in and whispers, "Sam looks really good tonight, doesn't he?"
I smile and nod yes.
The Thing About Love... (The Thing About... #1) Page 3