Fun Together, page 27
“It’s just hard.” He sighs and it’s weighted. “When things don’t go the way you think they’ll go.”
I sit down next to him. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“Are you two . . . together now?”
“That’s another part of my fuck up.”
“How so?”
“We don’t have to talk about that. If it’s weird.”
“It’s absolutely weird, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I could see how you two would be good together.”
I feel a shred of hope, like this is his way of saying he would be okay with Faye and I being together. It’s a hope I’m terrified to have, because having his blessing means nothing if Faye herself doesn’t want to be with me.
“Too bad I scared her away.”
“What do you mean?”
“She overheard you and I talking about her after the party.”
Andrew grimaces. “Oh no.”
“And then I told her I was falling in love with her.”
“That was quite the speech you gave, looking deep into her eyes the whole time.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let me guess. That didn’t go over well?”
“I basically called her a liar and told her that I couldn’t be her friend anymore.” I can’t stand even thinking of that day and how shattered her face looked when I said this to her. “I think I just got scared of losing her and overcompensated by just . . . telling her every feeling I have.”
“Faye likes time to process. Hope might not be lost yet. She looks at you—” he picks at his cuticles. “In a way she never looked at me.”
My chest tightens. If he saw this too, that means I wasn’t imagining it, the softening of her gaze when she looks at me.
“I really am sorry.”
“I know. And by the looks of you right now, I think you’ve suffered enough as punishment.”
I look down at myself, at the ketchup-stained shirt I haven’t changed in days. I need to shave. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. “I look like shit, huh?”
“Take a shower. Eat a good meal. Go for a run. It’ll be okay.”
I chuckle at his pragmatic approach to solving heartbreak. Looking up at the clear night sky, I feel emotional, and grateful for the people in my life. “Hey, I never got a chance to ask, why did you come back early?”
“Let’s just say Amsterdam wasn’t for me.”
“You mean the city or the girl?”
“Both, I guess.”
I think about the selfie Faye showed me, of Andrew and Emma smiling at the camera. “You seemed to be having fun. What went wrong?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I give him time. “Can I tell you something and you swear to God you won’t laugh?”
“Um . . . sure?”
He exhales heavily. “I think I’m bad at sex.”
I can’t help it, but I do bark out a laugh because it’s such an unexpected thing for him to say.
He gives me a look like, You said you wouldn’t laugh.
I try to ignore the specter of Faye in the corner of this conversation, considering what she told me about her lack of—
Yeah, not going to go there. “Why do you think that?”
“Because Emma told me.”
“Wow.”
He lays his head back. “Yeah.”
“What did she say exactly? Maybe this is just some kind of misunderstanding.”
“We had just . . . you know . . .”
“Had sex?”
“Yeah. And before I even had a chance to put my boxers back on, she’s telling me that we got that out of our systems, and she doesn’t think we’re compatible.”
“Okay, but not compatible doesn’t mean you’re bad at sex.”
He shakes his head. “There’s more. I asked her what she meant by that since we have so much in common. And she said, ‘Andrew, you fuck me like you’re rushing through your to-do list.’”
“Oh no, you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“That’s brutal, but don’t read too much into it. And hey, some people might be into that. A man who knows how to get things done with efficiency.”
He snorts. “It’s hard not to read into it, though.” That would be a blow to the best of us, but someone like Andrew who hates being bad at something was probably on the way back from the Netherlands, reading She Comes First on the plane.
“Look on the bright side. You won’t have to have a long-distance relationship.”
He scoffs. “I think I might put a pause on any kind of relationship for a bit.” He stands up and brushes off the back of his pants and ending the conversation. “I really do hope things work out with you and Faye.”
43
Faye
I need to get out of this apartment.
I’ve holed myself up inside, using up two weeks of my well-earned PTO hours. Instead of the usual comfort I feel at being in the safety of my own space, I feel like I need to claw my way out of my enclosure.
I’m aimlessly scrolling on my phone and see a post from a local movie theater that they’re showing a screening of Death Becomes Her for a Meryl Streep Appreciation Week.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I splash some cold water on my face and slide on my scuffed-up pair of Birkenstocks. I don’t bother changing out of my sweatpants and baggy T-shirt, because there’s no way I’ll get out of this apartment if I have to wear real pants.
As I drive to the theater, I have a torturous, but hopeful thought. Maybe tonight the fates will intervene with my current heartbreak problem. If Eli and I are meant to be together then he’ll be at this movie tonight, too. He’ll be walking down the street and stop at the theater to see the movie’s name written on the marquee, and he’ll think, Faye probably likes this movie. I should go see it. Then, I’ll walk up the sidewalk and see him standing there, waiting in line to buy his ticket. Like the final scene of a film, he’ll turn and see me coming and we’ll both break out into a run as we sprint to meet each other.
But life isn’t a movie and when I arrive at the theater, there are a few people standing outside, but none of them are Eli.
I buy my ticket, a large Diet Coke, and a pack of Skittles before heading inside to find a seat. It’s more crowded than I anticipated, but I’m able to grab a spot in the back row. The movie starts, and I welcome the couple of hours of distraction it provides. I should look on the bright side—maybe I ruined the one chance I’d ever have to be happy with someone, but at least I didn’t drink an elixir that promises eternal youth, only to find that it will eventually make my body melt away like a wax figure in the noonday sun.
The movie ends and I fall in line with the crowd as we head out.
“Everyone gets what they deserve in the end, huh?” It’s the woman standing behind me and as I turn around, I’m shocked at who it is.
“Alexis?”
I barely recognize her in the dark theater, but she looks like she’s been through it. Smudged mascara, hair that hasn’t been brushed in a few days, and an unmistakable bad aura surrounding her. She’s probably thinking the same thing about me right now.
She gestures for me to keep walking because I had stopped in the middle of the aisle. “Do you want to get a beer?” she asks.
“Um, sure?”
We walk to a bar next door, and it’s swarming with college students since it’s a Thursday night. There is a group of girls in front of us getting their IDs checked by the bouncer. They’re bouncy and giggly, excited for what the night might bring.
We get to the front and I start to dig in my purse for my ID.
“Don’t worry about it,” the bouncer says. “You ladies go ahead in.”
Alexis looks at me and shrugs before stepping inside.
“Should we go somewhere else?” I yell over the sound of cheers for the girl currently flopping around like a ragdoll on the mechanical bull in the back corner.
“Nah, come on.”
We take a couple of seats at the bar, and she orders us the Thirsty Thursday special, a shot of fireball and a lukewarm Coors Light.
“You look as bad as I feel,” she says.
I throw the shot back. “I was thinking the same thing about you.” I never speak to her with this level of candor, but how else should you talk to the boss you’re about to get drunk with?
“What’s this mystery illness that’s been keeping you out of work for the last two weeks?” She doesn’t ask this in her usual cool tone, but I almost detect a hint of worry in her question.
“Oh, the worst kind,” I say, tapping my palm against my heart. “I think I’m lovesick.”
“Yeah, me too,” she says, clinking her beer can against mine.
“I think I might be unable to accept love.”
She nods. “I think I might be getting a divorce.”
“Alexis, I’m so sorry.”
She brushes that off and shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I’m just really going to miss him.”
“You don’t think you and Brian could work it out?”
“Brian? No, I’m going to miss Conrad.”
She’s lost me on this one, and I think I’ve misheard her over the screaming girls. “Conrad? The massage guy?”
“I’m leaving Brian.” She sighs wistfully. “But Conrad doesn’t believe in monogamy. Which is sad, because the man had a way with his hands.”
I look down into my can of beer. “Yeah, he seemed . . . talented.”
She cackles and I jump in my seat. “Will you be back to work on Monday?”
I wasn’t expecting that change of subject, but welcome it wholeheartedly over any more talk of her failed marriage or Conrad’s magical hands. “Sorry, have things been chaotic without me? I’ll be sure to catch up on everythin—”
She stops me with a hand over my forearm. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”
I don’t know if I can take any more of this woman’s secrets. I take a sip of my drink.
“It’s all fake, you know,” she says.
“What is?”
She sits up and fixes her hair, bringing the Alexis I know back into focus. It’s almost eerie how quickly she can go from the woman I’ve been talking to tonight to the woman I’ve been borderline fearful of for the last five years.
“So why do you do it?” I ask.
“Because I thought I had to. But none of it matters. They’re all a bunch of fucking leeches.”
I don’t disagree. “Is your advice that I need to fake it, too?”
“Hell no. I’m telling you to get out while you still can.”
I laugh. “I applied to another job in the company,” I confess.
“I know you did. And I’m sorry they didn’t offer it to you.”
“You are? Why?”
“Because I’ve been selfishly hoping that you’d never stop working for me. Which is exactly why you should stop working for me.”
“That job wasn’t right for me, anyway. I knew it but had a hard time admitting it.”
She stands up. “How about this? On Monday, we’ll talk. About career stuff.” She sways and grabs the back of her stool to balance. “I’m calling an Uber.” She slaps a hundred dollar bill on the bar, and with a wave she’s gone before I even register that our conversation ended.
I sit at the bar for a few minutes, reeling over tonight’s events and revelations. Turns out Alexis is a real person who makes mistakes, too. She’s still kind of aloof and odd, but she seems eager to help me, in her own way.
Maybe the fates intervened tonight after all.
44
Faye
The next morning, I’m up bright and early, painting my living room.
I decided on a sage-green color. Or at least it looked sage green in the store. I run the roller over the wall and it’s coming across a little more . . . neon than I wanted.
Too late to turn back now.
This is my latest attempt at busying myself so I don’t have to think about anything else, only home projects. If I come up with enough tasks to complete, I won’t have to face any of my problems. Very healthy.
A knock at the door interrupts me. I look through the peephole and rip the door open so fast I almost remove the years of paint that have been painted over the hinges.
Rett is here, and I know things will be okay.
Her eyes land on the scene behind me. Sheets and blankets acting as drop cloths tossed over everything. The chair I’ve been using as a ladder, laying sideways on the ground. Takeout containers littering the floor.
Then she looks at me, and her eyes go wide at the sight of what might be the world’s worst case of breakup bangs to ever be seen.
“Oh no,” she says, pulling me into the second hug she’s ever given me. The first was right after I gave the engagement ring back to Andrew. Two Rett hugs in a single year. I must really look awful.
“Are they that bad?” I ask, reaching up to press them down on my forehead.
The concern on her face turns to determination as she guides me toward the bathroom. “Come on.”
I sit on top of the toilet while she attempts to fix the mess I’ve made of my hair. I’m so grateful for Rett in this moment—for her steadfast friendship and unwavering support. I feel tears start to well up in my eyes, thinking of what it’s going to take to fix the mess I’ve made of my whole life.
“Don’t cry. They’re really not that bad.” She steps back to view her progress. “You have the perfect facial structure to pull off a short bang.”
I sniffle. “I just don’t know what I would do without you.”
She starts snipping again. “Good thing you won’t ever have to find that out. Now, what do you think?” She places her arms on my shoulders and leads me to stand in front of the mirror. They’re a little short for my liking, but they definitely look better. Plus, it’s just hair. It will grow. “Thank you so much,” I say, tears starting up again.
“Have you talked to Eli?” she asks our reflections.
Just hearing his name hurts, like shards of glass piercing through all of my vital organs. I’ve picked up my phone to call him every single night since the party, but haven’t been able to follow through. Something else has been nagging me too, as I’ve replayed that fight I overheard between Eli and Andrew.
I wasn’t dragging my feet. . .
I was trying to be who she wanted . . . I loved her.
“I think I need to talk to Andrew first.” If I had resolved things with Andrew and really told him all my fears and feelings, so much of this would have never happened. Talking to him feels like the first step in getting the closure we never had. Then, I can move forward with making things right with Eli.
She looks at me, green eyes approving. “I think you’re right.”
“Although, who knows if he’d want to see me. You should have seen his face that night. He was . . . distraught.”
“I think you should try.”
I take a deep breath as I pull up our text thread. The last time we texted was about the suitcase. That feels like ages ago—so much has transpired since then.
I type out the text before I have time to second guess or overanalyze it.
Faye: Would you like to go for a walk with me?
We used to go on walks together all the time, at local trails or parks. Plus, if we’re outside and moving, maybe it’ll give our conversation some room to breathe. “There,” I say, putting my phone in my back pocket.
He texts back almost immediately, though.
Andrew: I would like that.
Some of the tightness in my chest loosens. We decide to meet later this afternoon at Dix Park. “He said he’ll meet me.”
“I’m sure he wants to talk to you, too.” Rett steers me out of the bathroom. “Now that your bangs aren’t looking like Weird Barbie anymore, let’s finish painting your key lime pie living room.”
“I’m kind of surprised you agreed to see me.”
My voice cracks on the last few words, and I really don’t want to cry in front of him right now. He shouldn’t have to be the one to comfort me. I thought I was done crying but seeing him has brought on the waterworks again.
“I’m glad you texted me,” he says, silently passing me a tissue without drawing attention to it. He has bad allergies and never goes without a pocket full of Kleenex this time of year. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”
“I’m so sorry. For everything,” I say.
He puts his hands in his pockets and pays close attention to our steps as we walk. “I’m sorry for anything you might have heard the other night. I was having a rough day.”
“Please, you don’t have to apologize to me for that. I didn’t mean for anything to happen how it did.”
He half smiles. “That’s almost exactly what Eli said to me.”
“So, you’ve talked to him?”
“Yeah, we’re okay now.”
“You and Eli are . . . good?”
“Yes,” he confirms before concern creases his brow. “Are you . . . good?”
The tears start rolling again before I can stop them. “I hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
He places a hand lightly on my back. “Faye, it’s okay.”
“I ruin everything. I messed up. He was so—” I stop, realizing how inappropriate this is, even in my current emotional state. “I kept you from being happy. I’m keeping myself from being happy.”
We stop at bench, and he gestures for me to have a seat. “What do you mean you kept me from being happy?”
“Well, we were together for so long and so wrong for each other.”
He looks down the path, gathering his thoughts before he responds. “The reasons we didn’t work out aren’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“But I’m losing everyone now. I’m losing him. I lost you.”
“You haven’t lost me.” He holds his arms out to the side. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“He told me he loved me.” I take a shuddering breath. “He told me he loved me and all I said back was ‘I can’t.’’
