Here I Go Again: A Novel (30 page)

I can’t help grinning over how much better it got for him.

After some clicking I find a Contact Me! box on his design Web site and I input the following:

Robert ,

You probably don’t remember me.

Actually, I’m sure you do. I’m writing to tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened to you twenty-one years ago. You had your ass handed to you that day because of me.

The whole truth is, you made a better Madonna than Madge herself and I was jealous of the reaction you caused when everyone thought you were some new, hot girl. Granted, the boys are the ones who attacked you, but it was me who incited them.

I did the equivalent of shouting “fire” in a crowded theater.

The guys were appropriately punished by being kicked off the team, but I wasn’t and now I have to live with what they did to you, knowing there’re no amends I can make that would be commensurate. I am truly and profoundly sorry.

Wishing you the best,
Lissy Ryder

You know what?

Catharsis is better than carbs.

I send similar e-mails/Facebook messages to Meredith, Kimmy, April, Steve, Jeremy, and even Tammy. I tell Meredith how much I regret not respecting her unique taste and honed palate. I explain to Kimmy that my ends didn’t justify my means. April is briefed on exactly why my insensitivity was so out of line, and I compliment Jeremy for being unapologetically smart, even when people like me tried to drag him down. I tell Tammy how contrite I am for making her big day all about me. As for Steve, I praise him for the strength of his convictions. I tell him how much I admire his not compromising because of what some arbitrary asshole like me deemed cool, especially when I wasn’t even honest about my taste. How dared I mock
him
for digging Gershwin over Pearl Jam?

In each note, I’m forthcoming about my culpability. I don’t ask for forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. Even though my bad deeds helped spur their success, I don’t exactly merit a trophy for being my unpleasant self from the get-go.

(By the way? Ten bucks every single e-mail recipient thinks I’m in AA now, working through the steps.)

The next letters are the ones that especially count.

To Brooks I write:

Dear Brooks,

Despite my best efforts, I can’t change the past, and if I told you I tried, you’d believe I was crazy.

My behavior at the reunion was inappropriate and my performance in high school was unconscionable. I realize I’m in no position to ask you for a favor, but if I were, I’d implore you to keep recounting tales of my abhorrent behavior. Your words will have an impact on the younger generation and they’ll be less likely to abuse their peers like I abused you.

I wish you nothing but the best, as that’s what you’ve always deserved.

Lissy Ryder

Before I contact Duke, I take a quick peek at his Facebook page, but it’s locked down, at least to me. I could easily hack into his account if I wanted to see it—he’s been using the password “lionpride” now for years. However, his profile photo tells me everything I need to know; it’s a shot of him and Elyse at the reunion. He’s busting some goofy boy-band dance move, and she has such a smitten expression on her face that I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment just looking at it.

Dear Martin,

I’ve finally come to realize that you’ve always deserved better. I’m sorry it took me so long. I promise you won’t hear from my attorney again, save to agree to all your requests.

I wish you and Elyse every happiness.

All the best,
Lissy

I struggle for the right words to say to Amy Childs for a long time. I decide simplicity is best.

Amy,

I’ve blown any chance to apologize to you, so I won’t insult you by trying. Instead, let me say this—living well is the best revenge, so I hope that you’re able to exact that revenge every single day.

Namaste,
Lissy Ryder

Finally, it’s time to write the one letter that counts more than any of them.

Dear Nicole,

Thirty years ago I tried to buy your affection with Good Humor bars. That was probably my last selfless act, and even then I might doubt my motives. Since that time, I’ve never lived up to the promise of what I should be as a friend.

I don’t deserve to have someone as kind and pure and good as you in my life, but if you’d consider giving me another shot, I promise to show you everything I’ve learned in the last month about truly—and for the first time—putting someone else’s needs above my own.

Please allow me to be your second.

Liss

Before I can even finish my next Google search, I receive a note back from Nicole.

Liss,

I’m sorry. I just can’t.

Nic

Somehow, this feels even worse than having to break Brian’s heart.

The old Lissy would have gone to her house bearing gifts and demanding that she allow me back into her life. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d do my usual bulldozing act where no one else’s feelings or wants took precedence over mine. But at this point I realize that I love Nicole enough to respect her wishes.

If and when she ever comes around, I’ll be waiting for her.

I’m so thrown by Nicole’s note that I almost forget what I’d been doing, which was searching for current news on Brian. The last time I pulled up only his professional credentials, but now I’m very interested in his personal life.

I scroll through pages and pages of press releases and company profiles. Looks like his IPO is progressing, which is wonderful for him, but how is he outside of work? Who are his friends? What does he do to relax? Is he even able to have any fun, given the intensity of what’s about to happen professionally?

I still can’t find any obvious telling information about him, save for a sterile bio on NoCoup.com’s Web site, where it states that he “likes music.” What
kind
of music? Good music or Kelly Clarkson music?

I can’t find a thing about him on Facebook, possibly because there are too damn many Brian Murphys in the United States. However, I do find a Twitter feed titled NoCoupComPrez, so I click over there.

I start at the bottom and work my way up so I can read his story chronologically. His early messages are pretty generic, regarding whatever the daily offer is, whether it’s 50 percent off a night at the Brew & View in Lakeview or a discount blowout at the Ruby Room in Wicker Park. Everything seems so professional that I’m convinced he’s using an outside publicist. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Yet what catches my attention is the spate of replies he’s been sending out over the past few weeks.

@AddyMcAdams—Thanks! So happy!

@RolfGustavson—Agreed! Very exciting times, my friend.

Aw, he has a friend. It’s not like he never had them before, but that makes me happy to know there’s someone out there pulling for him.

@Yello_submachine—I can’t believe it either. Finally, right?

@iamcoltonbolton—Twelve years, but who’s counting?

Is that how long he’s been trying to take this thing public? That makes total sense. That’d put his start date right around the dot-com crash. He probably had a devil of a time trying to round up venture capital back then. I’m so proud that he finally got it together. He deserves this. He deserves to be happy.

@cest-parfait-okay—You deserve to be happy!

See? C’est Parfait Okay feels me.

@DokkenStillRocken—We wish you could have made it, too.

@red-man-walking—Mazel back at you! Thanks so much for your generous gift—note and stories to follow!

Um . . . made it to what? Gift for what?

@FIJIGardenOasis—Oh, we’ll be back, bank on it.

We?

And what’s the Fiji Garden Oasis? I open another window and input that search criteria.

I’m taken to a page that looks like someone pulled it right out of a screen saver. I’m talking little huts with thatched roofs underneath the bluest sky I’ve ever seen. Although the cabins appear primitive at first, each open-air unit comes with a minikitchen and top-of-the-line Grohe bathroom fittings. The private bungalows are built out on docks that jut over crystal-clear blue water and they all have small, private pools.

“The Fiji Garden Oasis Resort offers five-star lodging and amenities on one of Fiji’s most pristine beaches.”

A slide show of stunning scenery begins to cycle as a narrator begins his pitch.

“Built on the site of a former pineapple plantation . . .”

But I’m not really listening, because I’m trying really hard to convince myself that this was the site of a corporate retreat. Because why else would Brian go to a vacation in paradise?