Picking Up the Pieces (7 page)

             
“The shit that
I
pulled?” My voice was louder and strained as I tried to resist the urge to scream at her. “You’re fucking delusional, you know that? Everything that happened was shit
you
set in motion. He doesn’t want to talk to you because he isn't interested in associating with deceitful liars who fuck people over for the fun of it.” I knew that calling her a liar again would piss her off even more, but I didn’t care.

             
I waited for her to run away sobbing like a typical girl would have. But as she looked me up and down in disgust, I remembered why I had always been so drawn to Lily. She wasn’t like typical girls.

             
“I’m not the only one who fucks people over for fun, you selfish prick. You knew where we stood from day one. I lied to Adam; you’re right about that. So I deserve every hateful word he would ever hurl at me. Not that he ever would, because unlike you, he’s not a spoiled child. But, you?
You were complicit every second. I
never
lied to you. And you were a willing accomplice in Operation Fuck Over Adam. So don’t you dare sit there and act like you're better than me, you piece of shit, because you aren’t.”

I’m not sure how the tension in our postures, the clear agitation on our faces, or the venom in our voices could be in any way inviting to a stranger, but evidently it was because I suddenly felt a soft tap on my shoulder. I whirled around and saw a cute redhead
standing behind me.

“Excuse me,” the interloper purred.
“Could you get the bartender’s attention for me?”

“Sure thing, doll.”
I let one corner of my lip lift in a half smile. The girl no doubt thought that the smile was my way of flirting, and in a way, she was right. But it was mostly because I knew how badly it would hurt Lily to hear me call someone else doll. It may even kill her. And right then, that was what I needed. I needed her to hurt like I did. If I had been in my right mind, I may have noticed how acidic my tongue tasted as the word left my mouth. Even my body knew that term would only ever apply to one person. But I had left my right mind behind three insults ago and it wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

The bartender took the woman’s order and then walked away.
I kept my eyes on her seductively, luring her in for the kill.

“You look really familiar.
Have we met before?” she asked as she held the straw to her mouth.

I loved these coy games women played.
No doubt someone she was with had recognized me, and she had jumped at the chance to don her best fuck-me expression and hustle right on over here. And her timing couldn’t have been more impeccable.
I’d have to fuck her
extra
well for that.
“I don’t think so. But I’m glad we’re meeting now, doll. I’m Max.” As I held out my hand to her, I heard the stool on the other side of me push back.
I knew the second “doll” would get her.

“I’m certainly glad to see you haven’t changed, Max.
Now I don’t have to feel guilty for wishing that your sorry ass gets hit by a fucking train on the way home. And hopefully that bitch is with you when it happens.” Lily grabbed her purse and started toward the exit.

But the redhead wasn’t willing to let Lily’s comment slide
. “Guess some girls can’t handle it when something better comes along and takes a man’s attention.”

The anger immediately left me and was replaced by amusement as I watched Lily stop dead in her tracks and turn back toward us with menacing slowness.
My eyes darted between the two women.
Oh, this is going to be good.

I sat back a little so that I wasn’t in the direct line of fire.

“Better?
Really? Because desperate women who approach men instead of being approached are always the better option.” Lily was trying to remain cool, but I could see the tightness in her shoulders. She was ready to pounce on this chick.

"I’m clearly not so desperate that I’d waste time flirting with a guy who obviously isn't interested.” Apparently, the sexy stranger was ready to do some pouncing of her own.

“You have two seconds to get the hell out of here before I deflate those monstrosities on your chest and you're out five grand.”

I hadn’t had many opportunities to see sober Lily threat
ening physical harm to another female. It was fucking
hot
.

“Please, you ugly bitch.
Stop embarrassing yourself. It’s painfully obvious that
you’re
the one everyone wishes would leave.” The woman was obviously impressed with herself as a cruel smile lit up her face.

Even I was almost offended by her remark.
She was extremely attractive, but had nothing on my Lily.

“Max,” Lily growled at me.
“I am two seconds away from using a very unsavory term. So, if you don’t want a repeat of our nightclub experience last year, I suggest you get rid of this trash. Right. Now.”

And just like that, the memory
sprang to mind.
Some girl had insulted me and a drunken Lily had called her a sloppy cunt. It was priceless. And as I mentally replayed the vision of Lily, eyes wild, swinging her body around toward the offender, I couldn’t contain my laughter. It started as a smile, that quickly transformed into a chuckle, that then grew to a full on belly laugh. And as I erupted, Lily’s lips began to twitch until she was laughing right along with me.

I’m not sure when our visitor left.
It was too difficult to see with the tears clouding my vision. The only thing I could focus on was the sound of Lily’s laughter as she sat back down beside me.

Chapter 8: Lily

Surprisingly, I awoke refreshed and upbeat on Monday, and that almost
never
happens. In the morning, I took the time to brew some fresh coffee before I left for work, and I even managed to pack my lunch: tuna with a salad, apple, and a small bag of organic popcorn. I’d been making a conscious effort to eat healthier when I could because I didn’t want all my hours at CrossFit to go to waste.

The day moved quickly as I immersed myself in work, and the next two days were much the same.
The students I had this year seemed genuinely nice. They asked intelligent questions, offered to help put the laptops away properly, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the class. They made it a pleasure to come to work each day. But I hoped I hadn’t jumped the gun on my assessment of them. It was still only September. In years past, the beginning of the year had only been a honeymoon phase. Then October came. And with it, spawns of Satan. But I had high hopes for this year’s kids.

Unfortunately Trish wasn’t faring so well in her classes.
As her mentor, I had the responsibility of speaking informally with her on a regular basis to answer any questions she may have and to give her advice. But Wednesday afternoon was the first
formal
meeting of the year, when the mentors and mentees from all of the district’s schools got together to meet with the administration about any issues they were experiencing. The topic of the lesson was classroom management. Thankfully, though the meetings were monthly for the new teachers, mentors only had to attend once in September and once in May.

And two times was plenty.
Though new teachers—who were just getting acclimated to facilitating a classroom of students on their own—could benefit from such instruction, classroom management was not a topic that I felt I needed to work on. I never had a problem in that area, and after years of teaching, I didn’t think I would start now.

Trish, on the other hand, was a complete disaster.
Instead of telling me privately about the behavior issues she’d been having in class, she apparently thought that a group setting would be the most appropriate place to share her struggles. After Mr. Coulson, the Director of Curriculum and Instruction, played a video of a well-run classroom in California, Trish’s hand shot up. As she spoke, tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “My class doesn’t look like that,” she said.

“Well, what
does
it look like, Trish? Please, share with the group.”

No, Trish.
Please
don’t
share with the group.
I felt my eyes grow wide with embarrassment as I anticipated what she might say.

“I found out this morning that the kids who sit against the wall in my fifth period class have slowly been chipping away at the drywall behind my poster of Edgar Allan Poe,” she blurted out.
“They were all laughing today, and I saw them crowding around one spot, so I knew something was going on. When I managed to get them out of the way, I saw that they’d dug a hole through the wall. You can see through the other side into the stairwell.”

Even Mr. Coulson didn’t know how to respond to that.
And
he
had a comment for
everything
. Before she had spoken, there’d been no doubt in my mind that whatever Trish was about to say would be awful, but I had no idea that her kids had been reenacting
The
fucking
Shawshank Redemption.
I briefly wondered why I hadn’t seen Tim Robbins emerge from her classroom with pieces of drywall in the cuffs of his pants.

Over the course of the next few hours, we managed to talk Trish down from her proverbial ledge.
Though at least now if she got the urge to “jump,” she could just climb through the hole in her wall and throw herself down the stairs. I had to admit, the image made me laugh.

***

Somehow, even after the meeting, I still felt energetic enough to go to CrossFit before heading home. By the time I walked in the door, it was already after 8:15. I jumped when I heard Amanda scream. Not so much because of all of the yelling. I was used to her crazy behavior. I jumped because I hadn’t expected her to be home. She almost always got home after me.

I heard running water
, mixed with Amanda’s cursing, coming from the bathroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ouch! Jesus Christ!”

“Amanda, are you okay?” I knocked on the door, unsure of what could elicit such urgent screams.

“Uh, yeah. I just . . ." She sighed deeply before continuing. "I sprayed myself in the eye with sex toy cleaner.” She opened the door and thrust the bottle my way. “Can you read this? Should I call poison control or something?”

“You’re ridiculous.
Just keep splashing water on your eyes. It’ll come out. The stuff is made to go on things you put in your body. It’s not poisonous.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her. This kind of stuff always happened to Amanda. “How did you do that anyway?”

As she
flicked on the light and held up the vibrator she’d been clenching in her hand, I instantly became sorry I’d asked. “I was cleaning this in the dark. I couldn’t see which way the bottle was gonna spray. I just started pumping, and it sprayed in my eyes.” She pulled a hand towel off the rack and dabbed her face dry. “I didn’t even get to clean this yet,” she said as she ran the vibrator under the water and sprayed the cleaner cautiously toward it.

“Why does every conve
rsation I have with you revolve around sex?”

She shrugged.
“‘Cause I love sex. And when I can’t have it with someone else, I like to have it with myself. Speaking of . . . there seems to be a little more pep in your step the last few days,” she nearly sang. “Tell me about him.”

“Who?”

“What do you mean ‘who’? Whoever has you so happy. You’ve been walking around with a goofy smile since the weekend.”

“I have?”
My question was genuine.

“Yeah, you have.
Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“Um, no, not really.” I
hadn’t noticed I’d been
happier
. More energetic? Definitely. More upbeat? Maybe. But happier? That was an emotion I thought had left me months ago. I’d seen Max over the weekend, and it had gone well—once we’d gotten past our little spat in the beginning, that is. The rest of the night had gone better than I'd expected, full of easy conversation and light laughter. We had
fun
together. I kept waiting for the bomb to drop, but it never did. He even divulged his interest in the job prospect his agent had scored for him. Max Samson opened up to me, and the shock had nearly killed me on the spot. He’d texted Monday to thank me for meeting with him and told me he’d text me later this week. But we were still so far from what we were when we were at our best. And our “best” was never all that good to begin with. We had a long way to go. Maybe I was just happy we’d begun the journey.

“Oh, before I forget, do you wanna go play pool Saturday?
Steph and Danielle wanna go. We can drink and make stupid bets.”

Thank God for Amanda’s ADD.
If there was one thing she was good for, it was a random change in subject. “Sure, but I know better than to bet against
you
.”

***

Friday afternoon I got a text from Max:
Wanna meet up tomorrow night? A buddy of mine’s in a band and he’s playing at a bar in the city tomorrow. Could use a little company.

Remembering my plans for the pool hall with Amanda, I wrote back:
I might be able to go later. What time?

He doesn’t go on until 10:30 I think.

That could work. I can probably get there a little after that. Text me the address and the name of the place.
As I put my phone back into my desk, I wondered if it was really wise to begin an ongoing relationship with Max, even if it was just a friendship. It was one thing to discuss his career prospects. It was another to hang out with him for the fun of it. Was I just rationalizing it by telling myself that he needed a good friend? Someone who could get him through the mess he'd made of things? But, more importantly, was I really the person to help him do that?

***

Saturday morning I occupied myself with CrossFit and a pedicure. I tried not to think about seeing Max, but my effort had the opposite effect. We had felt so comfortable last time we’d seen each other. Well, we had
eventually.
Things weren't comfy initially. But I could only imagine that things between us would only get easier, especially since the complication of sex had been removed from the equation. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going down
that
road again.

             
I got ready for the night early, quickly deciding on snug white pants that stopped just above my ankles, small heels, and a light green top.
As always, Amanda was running late, still straightening her hair when I walked out of my room. She pulled herself away from the mirror to appraise my choice in attire.

             
“Who
are you all dressed up for, Lil? We’re just goin’ to the pool hall.”

             
Shit.
Had it been that obvious that I’d given more than my usual thought to my appearance? “Nobody,” I replied, hoping my quick response would cause her to drop it. “Can’t a girl just look nice?”

As her eyes moved down the length of my body, I was sure she didn’t believe me.“Nobody, my ass.
You look
hot.
”

 
“Do I?” I asked with a quick spin. Despite the fact that my appearance caused Amanda to question my intentions, it felt good to know that she thought I looked nice. She wasn’t one to dish out serious compliments often.

“Yeah, you totally do.
If I were a guy, I’d fuck you.”

Yup, that seems more on par for Amanda.
“Aww,” I replied in my best southern accent, “you really know how to make a girl feel special.”

But there was no evading Amanda when she wanted information.
Especially when it came to sex. “So is the new mystery man comin’ tonight or what? I’m dying to meet the guy who can put a smile like that on Lily Hamilton’s face. He must be
damn
good in bed.”

Shit.
Now
she thinks I’m happy because I’m sleeping with someone.
“No, I might go out with him afterward, though. And who said I was sleeping with him?”

“Who said you
weren’t
?”

I needed to dodge her questions.
And fast. “Let’s talk about who
you
may or may not be sleeping with, shall we? A certain Shane Reed will be there tonight, right?” Amanda definitely had a thing for our CrossFit coach, even if she wouldn’t admit it. And who could really blame her? He was blond, built like a fucking gladiator, and funny as hell. She’d been hanging out with him recently, and had invited him out that night so she could embarrass him in pool since
he’d done the same to her when they’d gone rock climbing last weekend. Shane was in for a real surprise. He had no idea Amanda could kick anyone’s ass in pool thanks to her grandfather's tutelage when she was young.

As I’d hoped, my plan worked like a charm.
Amanda averted her eyes back to the mirror as she denied my accusation with a laugh.

God, that was almost too easy.

***

Once at the pool hall, my suspicions were confirmed. It didn’t take long for Shane and Amanda to make a bet: one that resulted in them kissing, regardless of who won. I gave Amanda an I-told-you-so glance as she pretended to be grossed out by the thought of kissing Shane.

             
“Not a word,” she warned me.

             
The first game went as I’d anticipated. Amanda played the dumb blonde role perfectly, asking about how to hold the cue and missing easy shots. But I knew she’d take him in the second game since it was best out of three.

             
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been entertained by her performance. But I was distracted knowing that in a few hours I’d see Max. When I pulled my phone out of my purse to check the time, I was surprised to see a text from him. What did he have to say that couldn’t wait until later?

             
Any chance you can get here earlier?

             
Why? I thought your friend doesn’t play until later. I’m at the pool hall with Amanda. I’m her ride home.

             
Is there someone else who can take her home? I need you to get here. It’s kind of an emergency.

             
This was going to make me look like a horrible friend to Amanda, but Max sounded desperate. Well, as desperate as you could sound through text, and it worried me. When we’d first talked, I’d promised myself that I would make every effort to help him get his life back on track. If that meant leaving Amanda to flirt with Shane on her own for a bit, well that was a casualty of war. “I’m gonna get going,” I said reluctantly.