Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TONI
I collapse on my new bed and exhale.
“God, moving is tiring,” I say.
“You haven’t even moved. I have,” Max says. She pirouettes and plops down beside me.
We stare up at the ceiling of what used to be Max’s bedroom but is now mine, and study the crack in the ceiling.
“Should I worry about that?” I ask.
“Landlord says nope, so you probably should,” Max says.
“Good thing I’m on the top floor.”
“Yeah, you won’t say that when you’re hauling groceries up three flights of stairs.”
After Christmas, Max had made good on her promise to find a new place and sub-lease this apartment to me. She left most of the furniture, which had been handed down to her from the previous tenant, and decorated her new place to fit her style, which is mostly black Ikea furniture with clean lines and matching Billy bookshelves along the walls that she’s eager to fill with books. We both wanted new couches and went shopping together, splurging on super plush ones that you could waste away an evening marathoning a nature documentary (me) or reading horror novels and paranormal romance (Max).
It’s the perfect set-up. I love the neighborhood and the rent is affordable enough (though not cheap) that I don’t feel like I am wasting money while traveling around the world for my job.
Max looks at me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. Great.”
“How are you really doing?”
I sigh and groan. “I’m tired and I have to put the fucking sheets on before I can go to bed.”
“Come on. I’ll help.” Max gets up and holds out her hands to me. I take them and she drags me up off my new mattress. She gets the sheets out of the trunk against the wall and throws a fitted sheet at me. I look at it. Powder blue.
“Are these the?—”
“Yes.”
I go to the trunk and get another set of sheets.
“Well, that’s a better answer to my question,” Max says drily.
I don’t say anything, because what is there to say? It’s been over two months since Audrey Adams broke my heart, and it still feels like there is an open, festering wound in my chest. But I’m not going to tell Max that. Or anyone. I’m sure everyone is as tired of hearing me talk about my heartbreak as I am of talking about it.
Valentine’s Day was particularly brutal, which is why I made sure to be as far away from Denver and the Fourteener Sports office as possible. New Zealand is beautiful in February, by the way.
We are putting on the pillowcases when I ask, “How was the opening last night?”
“Good. Glad you didn’t go, though.”
“Why?”
“Audrey and Willa were there.”
“Oh.” I feel sick to my stomach with longing at the mere sound of her name. I am so pathetic.
I toss both pillows against the headboard and Max throws the down duvet over the top of the bed.
“How did she look?” I say. “Audrey.”
Max puts her hands on her hips and cocks one out to the side, her signature stance, and blows her heavy bangs out of her eyes. She needs a trim.
“Come on,” I say.
She knows what I’m talking about without asking and follows me into the bathroom. She sits on the side of the tub while I get everything ready: a towel on her lap, a bath mat below her feet, a spray bottle, two pairs of scissors, and a comb.
I spray her bangs with water, comb them down, then start to trim. I’ve been cutting Max’s bangs for as long as we can remember. The first time they were a little crooked, but not by much. It took her parents a week to realize her bangs had been cut, and not by Max’s mom. I’d watched Linda do it enough that I figured how hard could it be. Turns out, it wasn’t that hard, and I’ve been doing it ever since. We were five.
“Well?” I say, concentrating on getting a straight line.
“No way I’m talking about her when you have a sharp object in your hand.”
“I’m fine,” I say. I comb her bangs, pull them through my fingers, and snip off the ends. “Besides, you would look totally badass in an eyepatch. Your business would go through the roof. Butch Bartender’s New Eyepatch Brings All the Babes to the Bar. News at Six.”
“Excuse me, I’m not butch, I’m soft butch, and I would totally rock an eyepatch. But I’ve recently been told I have eyes that will haunt women’s souls so I’d kinda like to keep them.”
I chuckle. “That’s pretty over the top.”
“It’s borderline cheesy but who the fuck cares when it’s being delivered by a woman with that voice and that body and all the skills.”
I stop cutting. “Was this last night?” I ask.
“Until mid-morning, yes.”
“Christ on a cracker, Max. Why are you here helping me make my bed on your day off?”
“Because I said I’d be here.” Her expression softens. “I want to be here.”
I smile. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to do anything drastic.”
Max’s head jerks back. “Swear to God, that thought never crossed my mind.”
“Good. We’re done.” I put up the scissors while Max tries to clean up the hair without getting it all over the floor. “Don’t worry. I got a hand-held vacuum.”
“Oh, OK.” Max flicks the towel and little bits of black hair float down to the floor like the saddest confetti party you’ve ever seen.
“Well, I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Payback for getting laid in my bed.”
“I washed the sheets,” I say. I click off the bathroom light and we amble into the living room. Max plops down on my couch, which is exactly like her couch. I go into the kitchen to get us a drink. “Come on. How was Audrey?”
“I didn’t talk to her, but she looked good. Maybe a little pale.” I hand Max a beer. She takes a drink. “But that’s probably because I gave her the best friend death stare.”
“Max.”
“I’ll give her credit, she never moved. Just sat right there in my line of sight and took it.”
“Took it as in she was uncomfortable and thought she deserved it? Or took it as in you’re not going to beat me, bitch, bring it on?”
Max’s beer stops right before it gets to her lips. She drops it down and rests it on her thigh. “I have no idea which answer you want.”
“Um, the truth?”
Max finally takes the drink, swallows, then says, “You know, a little bit of both, but more of the second. That’s when Shae showed up.”
“What? What happened?”
“Not a thing. They talked, Shae went to hang out with her minions, Audrey left the bar, and I met a gorgeous redhead.” The last little bit elicits a huge grin.
This is the only firsthand information I’ve gotten from anyone about Audrey since Christmas and I am desperate for more. What was she wearing? Was her hair still short or had it gotten longer? What did she smell like?
OK, that last one is admittedly weird. I can’t ask any of the questions, unless I want to be outed as a liar about how great I am.
My doorbell rings, startling us both.
“Expecting someone?” Max says.
“Only you.”
The moment before I open the door a small hope that it’s Audrey flits through my heart. I try not to show my disappointment when Greta stands in the hall, a smile on her face, and an enormous plant in her arms.
“Happy housewarming.”
My sister is here. Bringing me a plant. Smiling at me. Honestly, it’s better than if it was Audrey.
Well, almost better. It’s pretty fucking great considering five months ago we barely tolerated each other.
“Greta, hey. Here, let me take that.”
“Thanks. I thought I was in pretty good shape but carrying that up three flights of stairs made me realize I need to up the resistance on my climbing machine.”
“Or, you could come hiking with me one weekend.”
“Oh, hey, Max,” Greta says.
“Hey, Greta,” Max says, and manages not to drool all over my new couch. “Wanna beer?”
“Sure, but I can get it.” Greta puts her purse down and goes into the kitchen. “Today your day off?”
I stand in the middle of the room, holding the plant and looking around wondering where to put it. Greta sees me and points. “Over by the window, Toni.”
I follow her instructions because, as much as I love trees in nature, I’ve never been able to keep a plant alive. I decide to not tell Greta that, put the plant down, and turn it so that the bushy part faces the room.
The three of us chat for a bit, Greta sitting in the corner of my new couch with her shoes off and her legs pulled up underneath her, angled toward Max and talking about business and the opening last night. I sit on the matching chair (I know, so bougie), watch them, and wish Audrey and Willa were here, too.
I’ve not only been grieving the loss of Audrey, but the loss of the four of us, the friendship we’d built over the weeks we worked together. It was amazing how easily we all got along, how our personalities meshed and complemented each other. There was never a lull in our conversations, and no one dominated. It had pulled Greta out of the shell she’d created over the years to protect her from the stress and anxiety of being in charge. At least, that’s how I think of Business Greta, especially when I see her like this, relaxed and comfortable and engaged.
“I better go,” Max says. She stands and stretches her arms over her head, her shirt riding up and showing the pale skin of her stomach, with an enormous hickey next to the navel. My eyes go wide, and I look at Greta to see if she noticed. She’s looking at the plant by the window, completely uninterested in Max’s little display. Max looks a little disappointed, which means she did that for Greta’s benefit. Poor Max. She’s never gonna give up, I guess.
I walk my friend to the door and as soon as the door closes behind her, Greta says, “Toni, it’s time.”
“For another beer?” I ask.
“For you to come back into the office.”
“No. I’m not ready.”
“You’re mistaking this for a suggestion. This is your boss telling you that you need to be at the office at nine a.m. tomorrow morning for the staff meeting. And be ready to give everyone an update on what you’ve been doing for the last two months.”
“Greta, I?—”
Greta holds her finger up. “I’m not done.”
“Should I sit back down?”
“Probably.”
I sit on the couch and angle myself toward my sister.
“ I want you back in the office,” she says.
I expected Greta to give me a spiel about my responsibilities, setting an example for the other employees, and showing Audrey that she hadn’t crushed me. I absolutely did not expect her to lead with this. I’m too stunned to speak, but Greta doesn’t give me much time to, anyway, before barreling on.
“I miss having you around. You bring a needed energy to Fourteener Sports. Willa makes up for it a bit, but she’s a contractor and will be leaving in a few months. And, she’s not family.” Greta swallows, takes a drink of her beer, and realizes it’s empty. “Maybe I will take another one.” Her voice is a little raspy.
I rise without a word, get us two fresh beers, and return.
Greta takes a long drink and pauses, I think, to gather her thoughts. Instead, she hits her chest lightly with her fist and lets out one of the loudest burps I’ve ever heard. Her eyes are wide when she looks at me. “Sorry.”
I can’t help it, I fall over laughing onto my stupidly expensive, decadently comfortable couch.
“If you tell a soul about that I will deny it,” she says.
I’m not looking at her but I hear the laughter in her voice. I sit back up, and see Greta grinning, with a slight blush on her face.
“Oh, you know I’m going to break that story out when you least expect it.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still grinning. “I’m sure you will pick the worst possible moment.”
“Absolutely. What are little sisters for?”
Greta shakes her head, takes another drink. “I’ve hired a Marketing and PR firm to take advantage of this whole Fortune magazine thing, and I want you involved in the development of our strategy, since you’re one half of the new face of Fourteener Sports.”
“Who’s the other? Ned?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” She reaches out and touches my leg. “You’re doing a great job with the adventure division, working from home and on the road. Which is a little surprising, considering your Instagram.” She raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve been wondering when you’d mention that.”
Greta shrugs. “You’ve been doing your job so there wasn’t a point, but I am curious. Are you getting any sleep at all?”
“Yeah, about that. They’re all strangers.”
Greta doesn’t react for a beat. “Aren’t they always?”
“OK, fair. But, um, I don’t sleep with them. Not lately. The women. The strangers. I ask them to take a photo with me, buy them a drink, chat a little, maybe, then send them on their way.”
Greta furrows her brow then laughs. “What? Why?”
“I’m not interested.”
“Did Audrey’s rejection turn you straight?”
“God, no. Gross . I’ll go out, have a beer or two then go back wherever I’m staying.”
“You’re trying to make Audrey jealous.”
I blush to my roots. “I wasn’t at first. I was really trying to move on. But I just…” None of them were Audrey , I think. They didn’t feel like her or sound like her when I touched them. They didn’t look at me like Audrey did, either. Remembering the way Audrey looked at me is what was, and is, most confusing. Not only when we were making love, but when I would catch her at random times during the day. There was always such…the stupid romantic part of me thought love, but now I don’t know what to call it. Those expressions are what torture me the most.
“Toni?” Greta says softly.
I shake the image of Audrey out of my mind. “It was too soon. I know posting those photos was childish and immature, but yeah. I wanted her to see that I’m not holed up somewhere licking my wounds, even if it’s not the whole truth.”
“That’s pretty passive-aggressive, which I don’t approve of as a rule. For this, I’ll make an exception.” She studies me for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip.
“What?”
She shakes her head once. “Nothing. Back to business. Don’t take what I’m about to say as me wanting to take over your department.”
I bristle. I knew this would come eventually.
“I do want to be more in the loop, but more than that, I want our employees to see you are the one making this happen. That you’re taking your idea and running with it. Making it a success. It’s important that they see, and believe, that we are equal partners.”
“Wha…did you just say equal partners?”
“Yes, of course. We’ve always had equal shares, but I want this to be a true professional partnership. You know how important the income from your division is going to be to us.”
“Right. Professionally.” I’m surprised by the stab of disappointment I feel, and do my best to hide it by taking a drink.
“Hey,” Greta says.
I look up at her and know she sees right through me.
“You’re doing a fantastic job, but that’s not the main reason I want you in the office. I want my sister beside me. It’s been hell trying to be the fun one at work,” she says, humor sparking in her eyes. “I rather liked being an ice queen. I need you to come back and take some of the pressure off me.” Her cheeks puff out when she blows out a dramatic breath. “It’s exhausting. I don’t know how you and Willa do it.”
I suppress a smile. I know without a doubt that no one in that office will say that Greta has been the fun one the last two months.
“OK,” I say. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Ready to go at nine a.m.”
“You will?”
“Absolutely. I need to save everyone from your sad attempts at being the fun one.”
She lifts her head up to the sky. “Thank you, baby Jesus.”
“But you might have forgotten I leave for New Zealand again on Tuesday.”
Greta squinches up her nose. “I did forget.” She waves her hand away. “Come to the meeting anyway. Everyone misses you.”
She takes her empty beer bottle to the kitchen and is getting ready to leave. I can’t let her leave without knowing.
“Has, um, Audrey asked about me?”
Greta adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder before meeting my gaze. “Yes. Once.”
“Oh.” Only once? Jesus, I was hoping for a bit more than that.
“She got the message that she needed to focus on doing her fucking job and not asking about you.”
My head jerks back at the heat in Greta’s voice. “Did you say that to her?”
“Not in those words, no. But my tone of voice got the point across. Trust me.” She turns at the door. “Don’t worry about having a big presentation tomorrow. I know this is short notice.”
“Nope, it’s no problem. I’ll have something ready.”
Greta nods and is out the door when she stops and turns around. “Is it all pretending to the world? That you’re over her?”
“Mostly. I cycle through the stages of grief pretty regularly.” I can’t tell Greta about the random crying jags I go on because they’re just mortifying. You’d think I was getting out of a ten-year relationship instead of one that hadn’t officially started and consisted of two hook-ups and weeks of flirting.
Greta raises her eyebrows. “The stages of grief?”
“Yes. I’ve had my heart broken, Greta. For the first time.”
Greta’s expression softens. “What stage are you in right now?”
“This moment? Sadness.”
“But that can change?”
My sister has obviously never had her heart broken. It’s a new experience for me, too.
“Yes, but it’s happening less and less. I’m more in the resignation phase than anything.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t come back to the office,” Greta says.
“No, I’ll come,” I say, surprising myself. But it feels right to say it. I need to move forward, and my sister wants me in the office, with her as an equal partner. “I can’t avoid Audrey forever.”