“I’m not letting him get away.” She continues to drive her car like an arcade game, while I hang onto my seat belt likes it’s a fireman’s pole.
“He knows you saw him, and so does she,” I shout, but Brooke is not listening to me.
“Can you believe that little slut?” she asks. “Always pretending to be my friend. Unbelievable! I should have known,” she says as she punishes the wheel with a good whack then reaches for her phone. I prop myself up and text Adam.
Literally driving in circles chasing them.
I say.
OMG, can’t stand it!
He texts.
Life flashing before eyes.
I reply.
Just then Brooke makes one last desperate move and does a tire screeching u-turn as she’s dialing her phone. She tears around the corner and brings her car to a dead stop causing my phone and purse to hit the floor.
“You have some fucking nerve, you fat ass!” she screams into her phone and exits the car leaving the driver-side door open behind her.
Brooke is now standing in the middle of the street as Drew’s car comes hurling toward her, then stops a questionably safe distance away. It’s a stand-off. If only Clint Eastwood were here.
“Where are you and your piece of shit, lying slut-bag going to go now?” she wails into the phone with Drew on the other end. I seriously cannot believe he answered her call, and has stayed on the line.
On floor of car listening to her scream.
I update Adam
.
Where is she?
He asks.
Outside yelling at them.
I type.
I hope ur packing heat.
He says.
This is going to get ugly.
I text.
What are pimp and ho doing?
Adam wonders.
I can’t see, on floor of car!
I remind him.
“Get out of the Goddamn car!” I hear Brooke shout to Drew.
I inch my way back onto the seat and peer over at the drama. Brooke is screaming into the phone, which means this moron has yet to hang up on her, and she’s waving her arm for him to dare approach her without his vehicle. Hortencia is crouched down, much like me, yet still visible with her right hand covering most of her face and her elbow resting on the door. Neither of them looks as though they’re going to budge.
Brooke takes a step forward and repeats her request, “Get out of the car, you cowardly piece of shit!”
Rather than oblige her, Drew puts his car in gear and lunges forward just enough to catch Brooke off guard and instinctively make her jump to the side. Then he hits the pedal and speeds past her. Not one to be outdone, Brooke hurls her cell phone at his back windshield, hits her mark, and leaves a web of crackling glass in its wake.
“Yes!” I scream aloud from inside her car. I’m so proud of her right now I could cry.
I pry myself from the back seat and make my exit. Brooke’s attention is fixated on Drew’s car, which has now spun back around and is heading toward her. He comes to a stop and erupts from his vehicle screaming obscenities at her and pointing at his shattered windshield. My eyes go to Brooke, and her demeanor is unrecognizable to me. She is standing tall, arms crossed, with a fire in her eyes I never dreamed she’d be capable of lighting.
They continue arguing and screaming at each other while Hortencia sits in the battered car and I stand off to the side wishing I’d stayed in the back seat. Just then Hortencia leans over and lays on the horn of Drew’s car, causing all of us to jump and look in her direction. Drew decides to answer the page and storms back to his car, leaving Brooke standing there alone.
She and I watch Drew and Hortencia burn rubber onto the main road and out of sight. I take a few cautionary steps toward her.
“Brooke,” I start softly. “Are you okay? I don’t know what to say.”
“Me neither,” she says, staring in the direction where Drew just drove off.
“Both of them are disgusting,” I add.
“I know,” she says breathing heavily. “Aside from the obvious betrayal, it’s just, so humiliating.”
“I know it is.” I decide to agree. I want to tell her that she shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I realize that she must be mortified to have had this done to her. Not only by him, but with the same pathetic woman who threw her an equally pathetic bridal shower.
“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll jump in a cab back to the office?” I suggest.
She nods. “Okay, thanks.”
“I really wish there was something I could do to help,” I tell her.
She nods again and I give her a hug.
I walk away remembering I’d been hoping for a distraction from my own pitiful set of circumstances. Note to self: Be careful what you wish for.
I stopped by the bookstore after work last night to pick up some self-help books for Brooke. I really want to do something nice for her and I know she would never purchase something like this on her own. I found three that looked helpful: one on divorce, one on building self-esteem after a tragedy, and one on powerful women. Taking the time to focus on Brooke, and her problems with Drew, has proven to be a wonderful way to avoid my own. As I was perusing the book titles all I could think about was how she managed to reach deep within herself yesterday and face Drew head on without backing down. She should be really proud of herself, and I’m going to make sure I tell her that.
When I got home from the store last night, I realized I didn’t have any wrapping paper so I stacked all three books together in a nice pile and covered them in tin foil. The packaged trio actually looked all retro and shiny then, but this morning it’s a little more crinkled and stupid looking than I had hoped. Regardless of my lack of gift-wrapping skills, I’m certain she will appreciate the gesture.
Just as I’m waiting in my office lobby for the elevator, I bump into Adam and he starts telling me a story about how he and Dave went out to dinner last night and ran into Dave’s ex-boyfriend, Brian. He then proceeds to tell me that they got into a huge fight afterward because Adam was drunk and found out that the real reason Dave and Brian broke up is because Brian wanted to have a commitment ceremony and Dave wouldn’t. And even though Dave insisted it was because he didn’t love Brian, Adam decided it was because Dave was afraid of commitment. So apparently, poor Dave had been committed to the sofa.
“You’re a real shit. Dave is absolutely in love with you, and you know it. You can’t just get all pissy with him because you bump into his ex, that’s not fair to Dave. He would never treat you like that,” I say and squint to get a closer look at his face. “Are you wearing rouge?”
Adam rubs his cheeks and turns his back to me. “Oh, I’ll be looking to you for relationship advice,” he spews.
“And I’ll be looking for you to help get me from the elevator to my cube in record time before anyone sees me,” I say as the doors open on our floor.
“You can go public with your shame again today; Ryan’s not coming in.”
“What?!” I stomp my foot. “Where the hell is he today?”
“I’m sorry.” Adam pauses. “But didn’t you just ask me to assist you in avoiding him?” he questions me.
I stop walking, forcing him to do the same. “Yes, but just so I could get focused before I start patrolling the floor… Where the hell are they?!”
“Out in Oak Brook pitching McDonald’s.”
I exhale with a snort-like noise and walk slowly to my desk. Adam follows me, and watches as I remove Brooke’s present from the grocery bag I transported it in.
“What’s with the Easy-Bake Oven?” he asks with a look of disdain and points to my foil-wrapped gift for Brooke.
“Just leave me alone,” I say.
“Look, sad kitty, why don’t you try giving him a call or sending him a pathetic text or something? Let him know you’re thinking about those hunky biceps.”
“I did,” I confess. “Last night I broke down and texted him, but he didn’t text me back.”
“Maybe he didn’t get it,” Adam offers, knowing it’s not likely.
I shoot him a dirty look. “He got it.”
“Well what moronic sentiment did you text him?”
“Just, ‘hi… thinking about you… would love to talk… miss you.’ I think that was all. It was short and feeble.”
“Like you,” he jokes. “Well, I know he and Dave have been busy with today’s meeting and the trip tomorrow. Ryan’s a very focused guy and he’s probably just trying to concentrate on work right now.” Adam does his best to reassure me. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to submit a status report on your ‘
working things out’
progress,” he says with a smile.
I grab my calendar. “You have to find out if they’re coming in tomorrow,” I command of him. “This is crazy. I need to see him before they go to Vegas. Because if I don’t, it’s going to be another week before he gets back and I really don’t think you want to deal with me and my bruised ego under those circumstances.”
“I’ll find out.” He nods and then heads toward the reception area.
“Thank you!” I call after him and grab my pile of aluminum to bring to Brooke’s office. It’s about nine forty-five when I check the clock, but she’s nowhere to be found. I leave the books on her desk with a note and check with Carrie to see if Brooke has called in this morning.
“Good morning, Carrie,” I chirp with my best forced smile.
She nods.
“Have you heard from Brooke?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Can you let me know if she calls in for any reason? Or better yet, please put her through to me and let her know I need to speak with her.”
Carrie finally looks up and removes an ear bud from one side of her head. “What?” she asks.
My eyes widen. “Did you hear my first question?”
“No, sorry,” she mutters.
“But you nodded,” I tell her, amazed at her lack of consideration.
“Sorry, what’s up?”
“Please let me know if Brooke calls in.”
“Brooke’s not coming in today,” Carrie says and rolls her thumb over her iPod.
I have just about had it with Carrie. What is it with this girl? Why is everyone so careful with how they speak to her? No one ever wants to upset Carrie, like she’s going to order you the wrong size binder clips—God forbid! Sadly for her, this is not the week to mess with me.
“Carrie,” I say sternly, and mime pulling the plug out of her other ear so she has a visual aid of what I’m asking of her. “Get Brooke on the phone and put her through to my desk.”
She rolls her eyes. “If you want to give me her cell number I can…”
“Now!” I shout, cutting her off, then march away trying to imagine the look on her face.
My phone is ringing when I reach my desk. “Brooke?” I answer.
“Hi, Kat,” she says.
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m just really tired and I’m not coming in today. I talked to Dave, so if you need me for anything just call my house phone,” she says. “My cell phone took a beating yesterday.”
“Have you talked to Drew?” I ask.
“I had a locksmith come after you left, and I put a suitcase of clothes on the front patio for him. It was gone by this morning, so it looks like my marriage is over. I have no intention of trying to work things out with him.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m so proud of you. You did the right thing, Brooke, and don’t think for one second you didn’t,” I say.
“Thank you, I know. Like I said, I’m not looking back and I’m definitely not going to forgive him—not that he’s asking me to,” she comments. “I’m sorry you had to partake in the drama, but I do appreciate you being there. If I’d had to face him alone, I’m not sure I would have had the same strength.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say. “Are you sure you’re okay being alone today?”
“I’ll be fine, I just need a day or two to clean up my pride.” She lets out a small laugh. “When I called my mom last night she actually sounded happy for me—which made me all the more embarrassed for myself. But I’ll get through this.”
“I know you will. And I realize I’m no relationship guru, but if it’s any consolation… I have a feeling this may be the best thing that ever happened to you.” After the words came out of my mouth I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. Her pain is still pretty fresh and she might not be ready to view her husband’s infidelities as some sort of blessing quite yet. “I just mean that you deserve so much better and I’m sure that’s what your mom was thinking as well,” I quickly add.
“I know. Thanks, Kat.”
“All is well here at the office; don’t worry about a thing. In fact I haven’t even logged on to Facebook once this morning,” I assure her.
“And for that I am proud of
you
,” she plays along. “Okay, Kat, talk to you later.”
“Bye.” I hang up the phone and try to imagine what she’s going through. Even though Drew is a diseased ogre and completely awful for her, I know that the blow to her ego is probably harder. Losing her husband is one thing, but for someone like Brooke, the drain on her already low self-esteem can be devastating.
In hopes of helping her find someone who will give her the praise and appreciation that she deserves, I decide to spend the remainder of the day registering her on various dating websites under my email.
They’re not coming in today or tomorrow.
Adam texts me around four thirty.
Why??
I ask.
Dave is leaving tonight, Ryan in the morning.
He says.
UGH!!!!!!
I text back.
Call him then.
He replies.
He won’t even return my text.
I remind him.
Btw did you like the rouge?
He asks.
Enough with Adam, I pick up the phone and call Julie. There is no way I’m letting Ryan get on a plane and spend a week in Las Vegas without talking to him first. This is not like him to avoid me, even if he is horribly upset with me, which I don’t think is the case. He told me to take some time, but he didn’t say “lose my number” or anything. It just doesn’t seem like him. And besides, he knows that we’re bound to see each other on a daily basis. He can’t avoid me for too much longer.
“Hey there,” Julie answers my call. “I am so sorry, I meant to call you yesterday and see how things were going.”
“Ryan’s been out all week and I haven’t even been able to orchestrate a chance encounter,” I tell her.
“When’s he due back?”
“That’s the problem; he’s not. He’s going to Vegas with Dave tomorrow through Sunday. I’m a mess.”
“Then call him,” she says.
“And say what? I already sent him a text, and he didn’t respond.”
“Maybe he didn’t get it?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m sure he got it. Since when don’t people get their texts?”
“Then pick up the phone and call him like a big girl,” she says. “If he doesn’t answer, leave a message so he can hear the sincerity in your voice.”
“I’m nervous,” I confess. The truth is that I hate confrontation. One time in the third grade, one of my classmates was making fun of me on the playground. She said my jeans were too short and that I’d probably had the same pair since kindergarten, eliciting laughs from two other girls standing with her. Then she hiked her pants up and started dancing around me, which drew an even larger crowd. I burst into tears and ran inside. Later that day, my mother got a call from the girl’s mom saying that she would be bringing her daughter to our house so that she could apologize to me. I screamed with dread. That girl was the last person I wanted to see. I begged my mom to make the whole thing go away, but she said it was the right thing to do. I was nearly doubled over with nervous tension as I waited for them to arrive, and when they did, the girl wasn’t remotely remorseful. She was only apologizing because she had to. It was the right thing to do, and her mom was making her do it. She knew that, and I knew that. I remember staring at the floor through the entire twenty-second apology praying for it to end, and I don’t want Ryan to see me as that girl—apologizing only because she got caught.
“Kat, please, there’s nothing to be nervous about,” Julie says.
“It’s not the call that makes me nervous; it’s hearing him say something that I don’t want to hear. I hate groveling.”
“Well you’ll never know until you try,” she says, throwing a cliché my way. “Not that I support this, but you could just leave a message on his home phone since you know he’s out.”
“He doesn’t own a land line, but thank you for that. I know you’ve got my best interests at heart.”
“Always my darling. Now run along and patch things up; I gotta go,” she says and hangs up.
I grab my cell phone and head over to Adam’s desk for some moral support. If nothing else, he’ll be excited to be included on any level. I plop down in a chair across from him.
“I’m going to call Ryan now, or hopefully leave a heartwarming message-slash-plea asking him to see me tonight before he leaves,” I tell him. “And I came over here for your support, so you better produce.”
“Like an underwire bra, I am here for you,” he says and folds his hands in his lap giving my Blackberry and me his full attention.
“Here goes,” I announce and dial Ryan’s phone. “It’s ringing,” I whisper.
Adam gives me a thumbs-up.
“Hello?” A voice answers.
“Ryan?”
“No, it’s Dave.”
I give Adam a “what the hell” look and cover the phone so I can whisper-shout, “IT’S DAVE!?”
“Hey, Dave, it’s Kat,” I say. “Sorry, I thought I dialed Ryan’s number.”
“You did,” Dave informs me. “He left his phone in my car but I won’t see him until tomorrow in Vegas. I saw your name so I thought I’d pick up.”
“Oh, I see.”
“What’s going on?” Adam raises both hands looking for an explanation.