She’d been expecting a conversation rather than divorce papers. Too late for that now.
In absolute control, she stood up and straightened her shoulders, fixed her skirt, aligned her bracelet and watch, and noticed she managed to chip her semi-permanent nail polish during Frank’s speech. Quick look at Frank, quick look at Rogers, and she leaned over to shake the attorney’s hand.
Ever-so-cautious Rogers now looked puzzled, nevertheless, he managed to pull up a half-smile and shake hands with Emma, not really knowing how to react.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers, and thank you, Frank. Please rest assured, I am completely fine with your grounds and find them most eloquent. You shall have the papers signed within no time so you can pursue your search for somebody who ticks all boxes.”
Snap! Rogers made a mental note and leaned back in his leather chair. Attorneys were people too and despite Emma’s professional nature, sparks were bound to fly. They always did.
She anticipated the moment when out of courtesy, Frank would get up to escort her out. “Stay, Frank, it’s ok. But before I go, there’s one last thing!”
The only thing both men could look at were Emma’s ears, purple as out of a Sci-Fi movie. Neither of them was able to anticipate or follow how quickly she managed to take one of her shoes off and smack Frank’s head so loudly with it, you could almost see his brain swinging from one side to the other. Almost like she’d done this before, the shoe was back on in a second and she was walking out, blissfully sharing a smile with Annie even as she limped slightly from the broken heel on her right shoe.
She reached the elevator and started pressing the button anxiously, seconds dragging by as if slow motion had installed ever since leaving the office. Fucking inhaler was nowhere to be found, although she was literally up to her waist in her purse. People seemed to be passing her by like snails and her elbow suddenly felt itchy.
The elevator reached the fifth floor and, by the looks of it, the doors took ages to open. Ages. Oh, c’mon! she thought as she stepped through with burning ears and a pounding sound coming from her head. Inhale, exhale...
“Sam, where are you? I need help.” How she’d managed to dig out her phone and dial remained a mystery, almost like time had skipped that part. She’d propped her back against the elevator’s mirror and senselessly kept trying to steady herself under controlled breaths.
“I’m with Zoey at Cream Café, where we had breakfast two weeks ago! What’s wrong?” Sam knew Emma was not the woman to ask for help or find herself in a situation she couldn’t handle. This had to be big.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can!” Emma’s voice did not betray her state.
γ
Of all the pillars that held this Earth together, Emma was, in Sam’s eyes, the strongest, the image of logic and things well done. Emma, who managed to avoid drama and build a life that worked just by making the right choices at the right time. Even Sam had yet to master making the right choices, so when she came clean about her divorce, Sam felt the balance of the universe was off. How could Emma not have anticipated it? She’d always been three steps ahead of everyone else! And by all means that balance was off…either that or they were in the midst of the biggest breakup wave of the century.
The week wasn’t even over and on top of Sam and Emma getting dumped slash divorced, Zoey remembered Ben the janitor freshly divorcing his spouse and Christopher Grave breaking it off for the billionth time with none other than Anthony Bush, her first adult crush. Those two were probably going to go on and off like the Grand Slam anyway. The world was soon coming to a broken-hearted zombie apocalypse with the not-so-better halves roaming the Earth in search of the one meant to put an end to the misery, sales of self-help books going high, therapists’ agendas fully booked, and chick flicks gone out of the shelves of video rental stores—if there were any left post Netflix.
“Good afternoon, my name is Emma and I just made a complete ass of myself in front of Frank and our divorce attorney!” she announced as she walked in, heart still pounding in her chest, looking out of breath and, for the first time since hairspray was invented, her bun appeared not to have survived the shock. In all the years Sam had known Emma, never once was there a single hair out of place, a wrinkle on her skirt, and she had certainly never walked into a restaurant holding her shoes in her hands. The end of life as they knew it.
“What in the world did you do?!” It was simply unworldly for Sam to see Emma like this.
“I took off my right shoe in Rogers’ office and smacked Frank’s head.” she said, holding the evidence: her beautiful red shoe with the heel hanging by a thread. “This is not me, I am not this person! Can’t even remember what happened between leaving the office and getting here. I know I called you but it’s like having flashbacks of something that happened eons ago.”
Zoey bounced back from daydreaming, mouth open wide at the sight of Emma. Beautiful, tall Emma who looked disheveled from the inside out.
“I gotta hand it to you, for somebody who’s constantly playing by the books, you always manage to surprise me!” Sam broke into laughter, leaning over to hug her. Emma hated being on the receiving end of hugs, everyone knew that, yet somehow, at this very moment, all the planets had aligned to find her appreciative. She suddenly dropped the shoes and buried her head in Sam’s slick dark hair.
“Nose wipe?” Zoey pulled out a Kleenex. “Is it just me or does this brand sound exactly like what it’s for…clean your tears after your ex…Kleenex?”
“You’re the maddest monkey of them all.” Emma bent to give Zoey a kiss and slumped in the chair beside her.
“Looks like we all got the cold shoulder this week. James is gone too, with no explanation whatsoever. Not even a note or a text—he just cleared out the closet and left,” Sam filled her in. “I must have been the only one that got a proper and detailed explanation!” She pulled a resigned smile and made room for Emma’s giant bag and coat on the seat beside her.
“What did Carlos say?” Zoey still couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
“That we are amazing together, sex is amazing, everything’s off the charts, but he’s not in love with me. It’s like his feelings are there, everything’s fine but apparently, Spanish men don’t settle for fine, at least that’s what our chef, Miguel said when I spilled the beans at work. ‘Why settle for mediocre fine when you can have mind-blowing mariposas?!’ I wish I had your shoes and guts when I heard it all instead of slippers and heart in my pants!”
“Frank and I never had irrational, mind-blowing bullshit!” The music nearly stopped when Emma said the b-word, another surprise on her behalf. “Frank and I were soulmates, same goals—working our way up, building something comfy for both of us, and still managed to have our space. We didn’t always agree, but I always had his back, and he had mine, our weekends were great, even if we weren’t doing much…and communication was okay up until I got served divorce papers for not having children.” There, the cat was out of the bag.
“But was adoption an option, or insemination maybe?” Sam raised a curious eyebrow, knowing how Emma hated to justify her choices.
Indeed, she dreaded having to give the speech, and she’d done it too many times in recent years. It was almost like having to carry a shield against society’s standards. “The truth is…as selfish as it may sound, I simply don’t want to have children, and it’s never an easy thing to say, especially in front of his parents that served me ‘the purpose of getting married is to have children’ speech on our first family Christmas together. Everyone always expects it…but from the inside, from my perspective, I have no real need to have children, I do not feel the calling and I most definitely don’t see myself changing diapers and fitting my life around kids. And what hurts the most is the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on the purpose of my vagina.” Emma’s eyes fluttered shut under that heavy breath, half defeated, half angry.
For Zoey though, it made all the sense in the world. “When
you get married, I suppose you marry the person, not the womb. I mean, I’d like to have someone proposing because they’re in love with who I am and not the extras.”
“True, but what if they want the whole package, as in the wife and the family?” Sam on the other hand, never saw one without the other, and she was not one to follow her mother’s footsteps; when the time came, she’d have it all and give it all.
Emma’s coffee arrived without her having asked for it. Sam’s many talents included knowing exactly how to mouth “espresso” to the waitress without words. “I mean, from where I see it, the family is the person you commit to and build a future with, the core of your mental wellbeing, the one who gives meaning to your personal life…” Emma countered.
Zoey cradled her tall latte with both hands. It still felt warm. “You’re right, and that is your perspective, but the same problem seems to have two very different angles. It’s not about who’s right or wrong anymore, you’re both right, but it seems to me like you’re on two very different frequencies when it comes to building a future.”
Perspective—the one thing powerful enough to change an entire situation, the angle, the expectation, the right and wrong that seem to unbalance their own personal normality. Zoey wouldn’t have liked to be in Emma’s shoes, seeing how two people seemingly perfect for each other ended up getting a divorce only due to perspective.
Damn the moment we were made so different and yet so alike. How can you really expect to find a soulmate to tick each one of your boxes when it’s close to absurd thinking about a perfect match? Sam stirred her coffee like she was trying to find meaning in the process, focusing on the distant notion of what was right for her.
When she met Carlos, she was on top of the game, successful, busy, beautiful. The timing was right. She’d been single for so long, she just stopped thinking about it—until this charming Spaniard booked a table for one on Valentine’s Day.
Who would ever go out on a pity party on Valentine’s? she thought. Who would go through the trouble of booking a table for one in one of the most exclusive restaurants downtown only to be served a juicy steak and a heart-shaped pannacotta?! Who would request to see the manager because his steak wasn’t rare enough?!
“You got a Mr. Bitter, table two requesting to see you!” Giuseppe had told Sam with a grin, popping his head into the kitchen where she was checking the menu and chit-chatting with the staff almost one year ago on Valentine’s Day.
“Ahh…a V-Day pickle, my favorite! On it.” With her best greeting smile, she confidently walked out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. She’d done such a wonderful job decorating this year. Everything was exquisite, from menu to music to guests.
She threw a smile to Adele, her favorite British customer and walked past the dating bunch of some undersized and over-egoed boyband members plus girlfriends slash hookups all going through the horror that was Lady Puberty.
This was her turf—artists, businessmen…and the occasional rich prick who wanted to show off. Table two was in sight and she could see Mr. Rodriguez from behind. He’d booked a table for one by the window over two months ago.
Nicely done, so much trouble for someone dining alone on Valentine's Day. She laughed to herself, checking the details on her iPad.
“Good evening, Mr. Rodriguez. My name is Sam Messini, restaurant manager and at your service. What seems to be the trouble?”
Maybe it was her opulent high braid or skin-tight dress that made Carlos greet her by raising his eyebrows. He gave her a shameless scan wearing his best smile, and handed her the plate.
“Lovely meeting you, Miss Messini, finally. I’m afraid my steak is not what I would call rare. You see, in Spain, we have a different definition of rare.”
“Certainly. I’ll have a new one ready for you in no time.”
“In Spain, this would be medium rare. Rare is when I have blood sauce on my plate, not pink in the middle and no sauce. It’s healthier. I have never understood why here you insist on changing the basics of cooking.” A thick accent completed the foreign venture capitalist look Mr. Rodriguez was rocking that evening. From his olive complexion down to the very last note of his snobbish aftershave, Sam knew he’d be the evening’s pickiest customer.
“I can guarantee it’s not on purpose, I’m afraid it is only a cultural matter, but I’ll make sure your needs are met. Please accept our apologies and our complimentary bottle of the wine you are drinking. Your waitress will be here any second.” Her fingers ran quickly over the iPad.
“You don’t understand, it is not necessary that you give me wine in return. I am not upset, I simply want my steak rare.”
“The wine is on the house, Mr. Rodriguez….” For the love of Antonio Banderas!
“I don’t want more wine, it would be a shame wasting an entire bottle, since I’m fine with what I ordered. No need to buy me with drinks, the only way I’ll accept that is if you pull a chair and join me.”
“I am honored, but I must gracefully decline your very tempting invitation. I’m on the job and no drinking is allowed.”
“Okay. Take the plate and come back in ten minutes, then.”
What does he think, I’m his personal slave? Do I have no work to do aside from looking after his sorry ass on Valentine’s Day?! The nerve!
But work was work, and on the clock Sam was there ten minutes later to check on baby Rodriguez. The thought of him wearing a bib crossed her mind more than once.
“How is the steak, Mr. Rodriguez? Any improvement?”
“Flawless, thank you. And how are you this evening, Sam?”
“Delighted to meet your expectations, Mr. Rodriguez.” Why aren’t you a blast from the past?
“Oh, you didn’t meet my expectations quite yet,” The most shameless of grins crept up the corners of his lips. “We’ll have to see about that soon. Will I see you again in ten minutes?”
“I’m afraid they have requested my presence in the kitchen, but Laura will be happy to attend you from here on.” Arsewipe!
“With no disrespect to Laura, it’s your face I want to see in ten minutes.”
“Want” and “would like” were often the same for Spaniards, Sam remembered. At the beginning, Miguel, their chef, came across as rude, extravagant and having no notion of personal space. He got so close to speak to people that you could feel his breath on your face, all thanks to cultural differences. After nearly two years working by his side, Sam considered herself capable not to get lost in translation. Anymore.
“I understand. Nevertheless, the manager only has to attend you if you request to see them based on a complaint. I trust that everything is in order now?” Prick.
“Certainly.”
In exactly ten minutes, Giuseppe popped his head in the cellar looking for Sam. There she was, counting wine bottles, writing down orders, and poking at her extension of a personality…the iPad.
“Table two requests the manager, Sam, something about the size of the napkins…”
“Of all the goddamn schmucks!”
Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong interrupted Sam’s daydreaming and the thread of her thoughts tangled with the lyrics of “Cheek to cheek.” The distraction was a real blessing.
“Frigging perspective!” Zoey snapped. “The more we talk about it, the more lost I get! So this means you have to find someone with your same outlook on things to ensure everything goes right? Now how in the world do we do that?”
That’s what Emma found most endearing about Zoey, she jumped from lamb to wolf in a matter of seconds. “I would start by writing down key personality traits of mine,” Emma suggested, “what I look for in a partner, and what I expect for the future. Things would be so much easier if we just did the simple math.”
Sam resumed to giggling her way back into the conversation. “There’s that spontaneous Emma we all know and love. Alright, say we all go grabbing pens and paper, now where would we go with our full lists and endless expectations? The market, the theatre, dating
sites?” She fluttered her eyelashes tentatively.
“Speed dating.” Emma couldn’t say it fast enough and had everybody jaw-dropping in utter astonishment. It was like time froze, music stopped abruptly, Zoey dropped her spoon in slow motion, even the Earth stopped spinning for that split second.
Zoey cackled for the first time in what had seemed like a long time. “You, of all people, suggesting speed dating? What have I missed? Who is this wrinkled-skirt rebel with a broken heel?”
“Zoey’s right.” Sam’s eyes searched for the waitress. “I’ll have what she’s having!” She pointed at Emma’s coffee. Even not-so-easily-surprised Sam couldn’t make sense of what the stiff perfection going by the name of Emma just said.
“Aha! This is the element of surprise no one was waiting for; this is the new spontaneous Emma you will have to love. I will go speed dating and retaking my therapy sessions with Doctor Spencer. All in favor of going for it say ‘aye’ and grab a pen!”
“Aye! And I’m in for the therapy too.” Zoey suddenly felt bold. So what if this was rock bottom? There had to be someone else wearing mismatched socks and perhaps British for her out there, maybe that would be enough to spark James’s jealousy, at least. Peeping at her phone with the corner of her eye every two seconds, she still wanted hope. Letting go of that hope meant letting go of James, which was like letting go of air, toes letting go of nails, and fairly comparable to everyone letting go of electricity in our time. That bad.
But in the meantime, this would be a distraction. Purgatory. With drinks and meeting new people, more time to focus on lesson planning and craftwork, art galleries, miniature museums. Anything to keep the thoughts away from drowning the itsy bit of sanity left. She’d even settle for a state of temporary trance.
“I can’t believe this, but aye, we’re in! Let us grab them pens and make history happen before our cupcakes and coffees and broken hearts!” With her head hanging high and her heart in her pants, with sarcasm in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other, Sam couldn’t help thinking it’d been ages since she actually held a pen, it took her back. Speed dating. Desperate, horny, classless men eager to bang equally desperate, romance-seeking-in-the-wrong-place women. Pathetic, but quite possibly…fun!
Lost in Amber Page 3