What a Girl Needs, page 5
It wasn’t terrible being single. In fact, I wish I’d taken more advantage of it and truly relished the time with myself. I’m not that bad. So why do only the hard memories come bubbling up to the surface from my subconscious? I had value when I was single. Isn’t that what being married taught me?
Kevin’s assistant answers and tells me he’s in surgery. Typical.
“Would you tell Kevin that I arrived safely in California when he’s finished?” I ask her.
“Of course, Ashley. Have a great time! Bring home some sunshine—without this awful humidity, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.” It’s terrible that I’m upset Kevin’s in surgery because I can’t whine to him about Brea tossing me out of her car like the morning newspaper. Sometimes, whining is my favorite sport, which probably doesn’t make me the most pleasant person to be around. I toss my phone into my Burberry bag (a leftover from my working days) and try to figure out what’s missing from the sorry, lonesome concrete stoop.
The Fourth of July decorations aren’t up, for one thing. Kay’s more accurate than the Mayan calendar, which I’m sure isn’t saying much now that their calendar did not end in our destruction. The point is the same. Kay’s fastidious about flying the individual flags of celebration. She’s so obsessed in fact, that she usually sucks the fun out of any holiday. The porch is bare and I have to check the house numbers to ensure I’m in the right spot. I am; so I stand up and press the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approach.
I’m completely caught off-guard when Matt Callaway opens the door, in nothing more than khaki shorts, a tool belt and his bare chest. Um, yuck. He’s a hulking figure who is still handsome despite rapidly passing middle age and having the personality of the smarmiest pyramid salesman. Silicon Valley ages a person. The hours are brutal—but then again, Matt could be looking at me and thinking Philly and joblessness ages a person. Matt possesses a dark, full head of hair graying at the temples and a wicked sense of mischief that I never could understand. He and Kay were dating at my wedding, but that was years ago, and I assumed he’d faded away like the brown from his head. The only thing Matt had ever been consistent at was dating inappropriate women. Kay did not fall under that heading.
“Matt?”
His gaze travels up and down my person critically before he speaks. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Nope. It’s today.”
We stare at each other awkwardly and it’s clear neither one of us wants to make small talk. We’re both authentic enough to know we needn’t pretend we like one another.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Aren’t you still practicing patent law? Or is this your shot at being a Chippendale dancer?”
“Very funny. Still the same ol’ charming Ashley, I see.” He stands in the doorway preventing my entrance. “I’m helping out Kay with some handyman work in the backyard.”
“Why?” I clear my throat. “I mean, when did you suddenly become handy?”
“I’m that kind of man and I’ve always been handy, not that you ever bothered to notice.”
“I noticed you were dating a large cache of my friends back in the day. I guess I missed the part about you being handy.” I was too busy noticing you being a jerk. I inhale and try to reset my attitude. Anyone can change. I would hope I’ve evolved since we last met.
“You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” he repeats.
“Nope. Pretty sure it’s today. I know because the plane wouldn’t have let me board if I had the wrong date on the ticket.” I stare around him, into the backyard and notice a mess of boards in the backyard blocking the doorway. “What kind of handiwork are you doing? Kay approved that mess?”
“Just little stuff. She had a fan out in the bathroom and I’m building a pergola in the back. She’d like to host more barbecues, and it gets hot back there without a cover.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re building a pergola? Is the patent business that slow?”
“No, why? You looking for a job? My office could use someone. When my partner found out you were coming, he was ecstatic. We’ve found this new niche, and we’re on fire. Where are you working?”
My heart flames with excitement at his words and I forget all about the pergola. I want to ask him everything about business, but my pride prevents me from saying a word. “I’m not really looking for anything,” I lie. My words surprise even me. Pride’s an ugly trait.
“Too bad. The patent business is fast and furious with all the software and social media sites popping up right and left. It’s like another Dot Com bubble for us patent attorneys. I can’t believe you’re not in on it. There are these trolls buying up patents left and right, then they sue small start-ups for patent infringement and put these companies right out of business.”
“No kidding? That’s new. They’re buying the patents?”
“Which, as you know, means they can put them into use that day. They buy them, start litigation and the battle for intellectual property is on.”
My teeth clench at the injustice and I want to jump out of my skin with questions, but I put my game face on. “What’s the patent office doing about it?”
“Nothing yet.” Matt adjusts his tool belt then steps out onto the porch, like I’m a Jehovah’s Witness and he’s trying to keep me out of Kay’s house. “You know how well they understand the technology. It will take them time to catch up.”
I ball my hands into small, tight fists. His words bring everything out in me that made me want to be a patent attorney. The rights. The doing battle for inventors and creators. I’m practically foaming at the mouth to get in on it, but I know if I’m overeager, Matt will drop the subject like yesterday’s news. “Have you been to court with any of them yet?”
“It takes less than an hour of the judge’s time for these morons to get shut down.” He steps back and opens the door wide enough for me to step over the threshold. “So what are you working on now?” He glances at my suitcase. “Besides your shoe collection, I mean.”
“Oh, you know.”
“You shouldn’t have sold your share of this house to Seth.” Matt shakes his head. “You burned the ships. Lot of people make that mistake, and then there’s no getting back into Bay Area real estate.”
“I did burn the ships.”
“You’re not the kind of woman who just becomes a housewife. Hadn’t you noticed that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not a criticism. It’s just you don’t bake or cook, you’re sloppier than me from what I remember, and Kay mothered you when you lived here. All I am saying is if I were going to recommend a patent attorney, you’d top my list. But a housewife? We can’t just change who we are by moving.”
“How is that not a criticism?”
“Maybe it is, but my motive is pure.”
I cross my arms. “I doubt that. Let’s not forget you are a lawyer.”
“As are you, Ashley. You always seem to attribute every piece of ugliness about the law to me, without taking any credit for it being your own profession.”
My eyes scan the room behind him, and the loss of this house looms large for me. Matt’s tossed-aside T-shirt and flip-flops are strewn across Kay’s pristine floor and it seems I’ve been replaced.
Matt goes on, “My brain is in constant motion. That’s why I love the busy work around Kay’s place. It gives my brain time to ruminate on how to beat these monsters at their own game. You need that downtime, you know? To strategize.”
I sigh. He may as well have said he’s getting free Prada with each paycheck. “The timing’s all wrong for me. I’ve been out of the game too long.”
Admittedly, I want him to say it’s not true. But looking to Matt Callaway for comfort is the first sign I’ve completely lost my mind.
I should mention that Matt and I have a dark history. He hurt Kay once. And let’s just say she’s more forgiving than I am. If I had my way, he’d never darken her doorway again. Kay thought they were a couple back when, but he began dating my sister-in-law Emily while she was here for my wedding.
I never forgave him for making Kay look like a fool, not that I was his biggest fan in the first place. It didn’t help that Matt’s ancient next to Emily. She’s just twenty-nine now, and Matt’s rapidly flirting with fifty. The fact that he’s still in Kay’s universe doesn’t add up. It’s hard to meet people in the Valley, so I chalk it up to Kay’s insane level of patience for people. Maybe she’s just throwing him a bone as a friend. But it doesn’t add up.
Kay’s so…practical. Matt is smooth. Smarmy even. He’s a patent attorney, what else does she need to know? Didn’t she have enough of that with me?
“I’ve got to get to the office,” Matt tells me, as he lifts my suitcase into the foyer.
Wow. Chivalry. Go figure.
“Come on in and get settled. Kay’s got you in your old room, I suppose.” He smirks at me. “Just don’t get too comfortable in there. It’s my office when there are no guests here.”
“Your office? You have an office, not to mention a house. What gives?”
“Just don’t get too comfortable, all I’m saying.”
“You’re just going to leave that mess?” I stare out the back door at the stacks of two-by-fours.
He follows my gaze. “Does it bother you?” He sneers. “Isn’t that rich?”
“Maybe,” I tell him. He bothers me. “What kind of patent attorney gets to be home in the middle of the afternoon these days? Did Silicon Valley go on hiatus?”
“The kind of patent attorney that’s sought-after and whose services are in demand.” He tucks his chin and stares at me with a wicked eyebrow raised. “You, if you were around to get in on the action. I haven’t seen your name on any tech patents since you left.”
He may as well have struck me. “Below the belt.”
“Maybe, but it was your choice to follow the good doctor and not think about yourself. Very self-sacrificing and noble, I’ll admit, but not very bright.” He lifts his shirt off the hardwood floor and puts it on over his tool belt. He buttons a few buttons and flicks the cuff on the long sleeve. “I make my own rules now. My own schedule.” He cocks one eyebrow, yanks open the front door fully and passes me with a swift breeze. “Think about what I said.”
The door slams behind him, and I’m left wondering how Matt always seems to get the better of me.
Kay’s living room is still much the same. The hardwood floors shines like a Minwax commercial. The house has always looked staged—as though a realtor placed furniture in all the right places to make it appear lived in—but never really had the feeling of warmth or home.
The small bungalow is decorated sparsely with only black, white and beige in a neutral palette that lacks personality and any hint of excitement. Walking through the house, I peek into Kay’s master bedroom. It’s spotless as usual and this gives me peace. Something is as it should be. She has the same bedspread as when I left (who can live that long with the same bedspread? Doesn’t she get bored?)
In my old bedroom I’m flooded by desperate memories. How many restless nights were spent in this room, pining over elusive men and reasons I thought I’d never get married? Most notably, Seth Greenwood. I feel the aura of sadness in the room, like the imprint of that obsessive, hopeful single girl is still here. I’m almost glad no one is renting the room, lest they pick up on the pathetic, husband-hungry air. Seth didn’t want me. Why didn’t I get it? Why did I think I could make him love me? Looking back on my younger self really makes me wonder how I had the brain cell count to get through law school.
The minuscule corner shower, the only one in the house, is flanked on one side by the toilet, and the sink on the other. It’s a bathroom of togetherness. These 40’s bungalows were made for business. You weren’t supposed to be spending all morning on your beauty regiment. And the builders made sure that you wouldn’t. It was a male conspiracy, I’m certain of it.
In the mirrored medicine cabinet, I find an old box of “Scarlet Copper” hair color that I decided I’d try on one particularly desperate night when I thought maybe red hair would make me irresistible. Its $3.99 clearance price tag makes me laugh—who was I? Kay probably couldn’t bear to throw it away at that price, so she left it in case I returned for it.
I always thought that a new hair color would define me, make people take notice of me. It dawns on me that maybe that’s what is missing from my life. No one notices me anymore. I’ve become invisible.
I need to go back to Philly with a plan. I need to prove to Kevin that he didn’t make a mistake in marrying me, and I will find something to do with my days.
I lift the box and stare into the mirror at my dark brown, boring hair. I study the box for a few seconds and check my watch. “Why not?” I ask my reflection. “If I happen to get a job interview while I’m here, they’re more likely to remember a redhead.”
Chapter 5
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My hair is red. Not highlights of copper mahogany as the box promised, but Ronald McDonald red with undertones of my dark color. It’s not even. So it’s kind of like a tie-dye summer camp experience gone wrong with various shades of brown, fuchsia and garnet. I shake my head. Maybe a bit of salmon pink, too, if I’m honest.
It’s the house. I thought it was me, but clearly, this house brings out the stupid in me—because what sane, thinking person would dye their hair without testing the color, right before a dinner with their ex-boyfriend and his spritely, perfect wife? It’s not like I want to impress Seth or Arin, but I seriously don’t want to give him a sense of relief for dodging a bullet, either. No one wants to send their ex into a happy dance over the way they’ve let themselves go, am I right?
I wrap a towel around my head and emerge from the bathroom just in time to hear the front door unlatch. “Kay?” I grasp the towel and wonder if it’s possible to make a beanie look fashionable in the middle of the California summer.
Kay is at the front door, bogged down by several bags of groceries. She keeps them snug to her chest—and her mouth drops open. “Seriously, what did you do to your hair? I mean, Ashley, it’s so awesome to see you. You look great!”
Kay’s like the strictest mother on the block. She notices everything.
I yank the towel off for her full reaction, and Kay gasps. It’s obviously bad, as Kay is not a drama queen like myself.
“I found an old box of color,” I explain. “I thought it might be a nice change and maybe light a new passion in me.”
“It lit something, but I’m not sure it’s passion.” She wrestles with the groceries, uncertain if she should hug me or show some sign of warmth.
I pat my head. “I needed a change. That’s why I’m here to begin with.” I straighten my shoulders and try to own it. “I can fix it when I get home.” I move toward her and give her a one-armed hug so as not to make her too uncomfortable.
She bristles at my touch. “Have you had your eyes checked lately? It’s really bright, Ashley.” Then, she sets the bags down and swallows me in an awkward, engineer hug. “I so missed your crazy self! If by ‘nice change’ you were meaning an ode to clowns…did you by chance arrive in a tiny car with lots of others?” She looks outside.
“It can’t be that bad?” I feel my hair, and it’s a wee bit crispy. The way you’d like your chicken, not your hair.
“It’s much worse than you think it is, but I never was a fan of hair color that doesn’t exist in the real world. Well, this planet anyway.”
“Is this your way of telling me how much you love me?”
“If the lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you could apply at the local tattoo parlor in Philadelphia.”
I sigh. “I got sucked into this 48 Hours on the OWN channel and had to find out who killed the woman and I kind of forgot to set the timer for my hair.”
Kay gives me a look of pity. “Well, if you had to know who killed her…”
“I don’t have time to fix it, do I?”
Kay shakes her head. “You should stick to your bad reality shows. This is proof. It’s God’s way of telling you that you don’t have the attention span for serious television.”
Kay made a funny.
“I thought maybe I was more adventurous when I was single and living here. I thought it was time to take a risk. Then, maybe I wouldn’t feel as invisible in Philly.”
“Oh, you are definitely not invisible. Cal-trans wants to hire your head for their ‘Men Working’ road sign.”
“Rude! When did you get such an attitude?”
She ignores my question. “The dinner guests will be here soon. I’m making a fresh shrimp salad, so preparation won’t take long. I’m assuming you don’t have any hair dye to fix this disaster anyway?” Kay bites her bottom lip for a second as she contemplates my current disaster. “That might take a professional.”
I grin sheepishly. She knows me too well. “Do you have a summer hat I can borrow?”
“A summer hat?” Kay laughs. “Have we met? You’ve seen my closet, and even if I did have a summer hat—it’s not going to fix that. I could see it through the towel. You know what it reminds me of?”
“Dare I ask?”
“When you’re a little kid and you mix all the ice cream flavors together and then it ceases to be appetizing. It’s like a lump of brown with swirls of color in odd places?”
“I get it,” I snap. “It’s awful. Could you just – not? I need a break, Kay. I came here for a respite, and I really need one. I need to understand that I’m not the biggest loser on the planet. Just for today, all right?”
Kay’s expression softens and she picks up the grocery bags. “Come help me put the bags away. People will be too happy to see you to notice your hair anyway. One crisis at a time.”
Kay’s an engineer and has the typical engineering personality with a side of obsessive-compulsive disorder. So I’m certain she’s exaggerating about my hair. At least, that’s what I’m going with to get through the next few hours where I get to play third wheel to my ex-boyfriend Seth and his wife Arin—again.
