Chapter 12 Going Out
CHAPTER TWELVE
Going Out
Sophie sat in her living room under seven layers of blankets, including the comforter from her bed, and Jackie’s as well.
If it had been cold in the apartment, she would have looked semi-normal, but it was a sauna under the bowerbird nest she’d built for herself out of self-pity.
She had even gone so far as to pilfer Jackie’s super comfy, super off-limits bathrobe to lounge in.
Surrounding her was an odd collection of things designed and curated to make the pain of her non-breakup less palpable: a now-empty carton of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food lay on its side, next to at least twenty crumpled and damp tissues from the past two nights of watching chick flicks that had induced tears rivaling preteen-girl levels.
To top it off, the cases of DVDs she’d indulged in were still strewn about the nest she’d made.
All the great Hollywood men were there, staring up at her with their “we-never-would-have-let-you-go” eyes.
Tom, other Tom, Hugh, Matt—all of them reminded her in some way of Brad.
It was pathetic, really, the level of sheer determination she’d given to hiding out and moping for all it was worth. Not as if there was someone who could pull her out of it. Jackie technically still lived there, but she hadn’t been seen in nearly a week.
If Sophie felt better, she might have been inclined to send out a search party.
That is, if she didn’t know exactly where Jackie was, the little minx.
She’d been shacking up with Steve since the night after Julia’s wedding, and the only time Sophie saw her anymore was when she came to change out the contents of her suitcase.
Sophie got so jealous every time she saw Jackie’s shit-eating grin, she’d hide in the bathroom, so she wouldn’t have to pretend to be happy when Jackie visited.
She knew she should actually be happy for Jackie, and she was, but she was so damn miserable about her own situation.
Jackie used to be as anti-guy as Sophie. Now, she spouted new-age nonsense about how “everything happens for a reason,” and “it’ll all work out in the end.” Jackie had been replaced by a cheerful cyborg, and Sophie was torn between being delighted and horrified.
Would it? Would it really all work out? Would she like her new job as much as she loved the high-octane world of trial law?
Would she find another man she felt as strongly about as she did Brad?
Would she ever be able to replace the sister-slash-mother she’d found in Jackie?
She doubted she would do any of that, actually.
For starters, her new job was awful, despite only being in the orientation phase of it all. The staff was kind, treating her almost uncomfortably well because of the track record and accolades she’d arrived with, but they were all incompetent, and getting them to organize was like herding cats.
When the small boutique firm outside the city had heard she’d “separated” from Drew’s, they’d made her a pretty damn good offer—close to what she’d been making at her old job when she’d left—but the best, most redeemable part was, she would be able to do some of the type of trial work she loved while helping disenfranchised women with the firm’s 20% pro bono workload they did to give back.
It would have been pretty freaking fantastic if they knew how to operate and find pro bono cases, or how to separate them into a distinct case load.
Which it turned out they didn’t. Not even close.
It seemed that they only wanted her on board to turn their shabby practice into a stronger one. She was hired to be a fixer, not a lawyer, and she was pissed. All that and she’d only been there three days. It was exhausting thinking about what to do—stay and be miserable, or find yet another job.
But no matter, tonight was New Year’s Eve.
That meant no more thinking about work for the rest of the night.
However, that left her with all the freed up mental space to fully panic about Jackie trying to drag her to Steve’s party.
She knew it was coming. Jackie had called her an hour earlier and told her to get ready, and by ready, she meant “ready to go out” kind of ready.
Thinking about “getting ready” or seeing Brad sent her right over the edge, most of the way toward another pint of ice cream and Szechuan takeout.
It would feel good to stop brooding and get out and socialize with new people, but she just couldn’t stomach seeing Brad, his perfectly nimble and agile fingers running through his soft, thick hair—fingers that had been exploring all of her just a week ago—his smile that crinkled up his eyes in the corners in a way that made her stomach flip.
Plus, what if he brought Julia? All the booze in the world couldn’t help get her past that.
She was being so freaking dramatic—she’d only spent one night with him, for crying out loud. The thing was, she’d spent four years in college pining after Brad. One taste of him made it so that she didn’t think she’d ever be okay with anyone else now.
Ugh. Suddenly Juliet didn’t seem as off-base with her passion for Romeo. Maybe she’d watch the Baz Luhrman take on that story instead of going to the party. She’d be in better company, even though pretty much everyone met their demise in the last three scenes.
Thinking about all the ways Brad could meet his demise at the party—kiss a girl with herpes, fall into the food table, slip on ice and bruise his perfectly gorgeous back side—had Sophie smiling until she heard the now-rare key-turned lock on her front door.
Instinctively, she burrowed down underneath the covers, pure fight-or-flight taking over.
She heard Jackie come in, set down something big enough to make a thump on the wood floor of the entrance, then her friend’s spiked heels trotted right over to where she was buried.
Sophie held her breath, but before she could turn blue, the dark cloud lifted.
Harsh halogen and her friend’s smiling face shone down. Dammit.
“Did you really think you could hide from me?” Jackie asked, her stupid-sappy smile plastered to her face.
“I could smell your desperation from the door.” She sniffed, her nose turned up.
“And something way worse. What is that?” Jackie waved her hand in front of her face, and Sophie tried to bury herself again, this time out of sheer embarrassment.
“That must be the remnants of the Ben and Jerry’s,” Sophie quipped, reaching in vain for the comforter which Jackie held just out of her reach.
“Sure,” Jackie said, her face measuring a small level of disgust when she surveyed the wreckage surrounding Sophie. Sophie cringed as she picked up the tissues one by one and tossed them in the empty ice cream carton.
“Don’t do that,” she whined.
“Someone has to. It looks like Chernobyl in here, Soph. I mean, Jesus, you only slept with the guy once. Was he really that good?”
Sophie reburied herself in the folds of Jackie’s robe.
“Yes. Better,” she whined, her voice muffled.
“Well, forget about him. We have to leave in twenty, and with the canvas you left me to work with, that’s a tall order.”
“No way. Not going. Uh uh.” Sophie pulled her head from the nest, her hair feeling like an actual bird had taken up residence inside the locks.
“Bullshit. There’s no way I’m going to let you sit here and wallow on the last day of the year.”
“It would make for a fitting end to this shitshow of a year, though, wouldn’t it?”
“No. Now get your ass in the shower and do exactly what I say for the next…” Jackie looked at her watch as she pulled the layers off Sophie with prejudice, “eighteen and a half minutes.”
“Traitor,” Sophie huffed. She slammed her feet on the hardwood floors and stormed off to her room.
“Whatever, just shower fast. Critical parts and shave. That’s it.”
“You’re a monster,” Sophie yelled back to the living room.
She wrestled with a mild pang of guilt as Jackie banged around in the kitchen, cleaning up after her.
She turned on the water as hot as it would go, and as the spray hit her, a surge of the fiery lawyer inside her sparked and ignited.
The steam enveloped her in a cloud of anonymity, and she practiced what it would feel like to wipe the scowl from her face after a week of it being hardwired into her complexion.
She smiled, her smug “you’d-better-not-underestimate-me” grin used best just before she gave her closing arguments in the courtroom, and damn if it didn’t come back to her like riding a bike.
It did feel good to be joining the human race again, to leave the unrealistic Hollywood men behind her and potentially kiss some real ones tonight. For the first time in a week, hope crept up her spine, warming her more than the scalding water that fell on her shoulders.
Sophie showered fast, not out of fear for what Jackie would do to her if she didn’t, but because she actually wanted to go out.
She towel-dried her hair, threw some mousse in it, applied some light makeup, and came out to find the tiniest dress in her closet—a gift from Jackie from her previous birthday that she’d never been brave enough to wear—on her bed, matching shoes she’d never seen beneath it.
Sophie gasped, and Jackie chuckled from the hallway.
“Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Jackie, I’ll break my neck in them!” Sophie screamed.
But, God, they were gorgeous, all shiny rhinestones that seemed to change from blue to green depending on the light and the vantage point of the viewer.
She wasn’t kidding, though. She’d barely be able to put them on without toppling over, let alone navigate a crowd after a couple drinks.
And by God, she was having a couple drinks tonight.
“Yeah, but you’ll look sexy doing it,” Jackie yelled back.
“Ha-ha. Seriously, where did these come from?”