33. A Family Meeting
33
A Family Meeting
CARLY
To-do list—February 1
?? Finalize Helen’s look for the award show
?? Ask the girls NOT to come over
Stop watching Andrew’s videos
Try to forget it’s my birthday
F rosty air brushed my cheeks as I stared at the lonely carton in my freezer.
When I’d lived with Brad, our housekeeper had stocked the freezer side of the wood-paneled Sub-Zero full of nutritious choices the cook could turn into delicious meals for us. On the rare occasions I used it, the compressor whooshed after I closed the French door.
My refrigerator was a cheap, big-box-store model with the freezer on top. As little as I cooked, I couldn’t justify—or afford—the expense of the top-of-the-line model. Regardless, that monstrosity wouldn’t have fit in my condo. Mine was the perfect size for one tub of Double Fudge Extreme Peanut Butter Brownie ice cream.
My mouth watered, already tasting the chocolaty goodness, the sweetness cloying behind my molars, the saltiness parching my tongue.
Then my mom’s warnings about calories echoed in my brain. She’d encourage me to drink a glass of water and wait thirty minutes. She’d remind me chocolate wouldn’t cure my cramps. Or my emotional hangover.
That’s all this was. I’d deluded myself that Andrew could support me the way I’d supported Brad all those years, that he wouldn’t think my styling business was silly or unimportant.
I remembered the tic in Andrew’s jaw when he’d said, “A fashion emergency,” like nothing in my life could be as important as anything in his. I mean, yes, his mother was in the hospital, and he had to have been stressed about that. But in times of stress, people said what they really thought. And Andrew thought I was only good enough to be arm candy at his social events, to be his crutch when he needed one.
Never again. I reached for the carton.
In my silent kitchen, my phone rattled against the counter, making me jump like the diet police had zapped me with a cattle prod. I slammed the freezer door shut and checked my phone. Another inquiry from a friend of Helen’s. I filed it so I could respond in the morning.
Just as I blanked the screen, something banged against my apartment door. I crossed the den to the front of my apartment.
Could it be Andrew coming to apologize? My phone had been buzzing nonstop since I’d walked out of the hospital a week ago but never with a call from him. A fist squeezed my heart, and it pattered giddily like I was Molly Ringwald in a John Hughes movie.
I sucked in a deep breath and peered through the peephole.
My shoulders sagged before I unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Hey, Lucie.”
She pushed past me with a bottle-shaped paper bag clutched in her hand. “Happy birthday, babe. I brought the drinks.”
I closed the door. “I said I was too busy to celebrate my birthday. We agreed to postpone for a few weeks.”
“Too busy?” Raising her eyebrows, Lucie assessed my loungewear. Thank goodness she hadn’t caught me with the ice cream.
“I’m working from home.”
“Uh-huh.” She pulled a bottle of tequila from the bag.
“Tequila? It’s my forty-sixth birthday, not my twenty-sixth.”
“Oh, you’re going to want it when?—”
Another knock came at my door, and I checked the peephole again. Tessa, with a stack of pizza boxes. I opened the door.
“I didn’t call for a pizza,” I joked weakly.
She kissed my cheek as she stepped inside. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For the record, I said it wasn’t fair to combine your birthday party with an inter?—”
“Tessa.” Lucie thumped the bottle on my counter.
Tessa scowled at her. “She’ll find out soon enough.” She turned to me. “Can I stash these in your oven?”
“Sure, but what’s?—”
Another knock stopped me, and this time, I didn’t bother to look through the peephole. I opened the door to find Savannah, breathless as her hair escaped her ponytail in a halo of wild tendrils.
“Happy birthday! Am I late? I got here as fast as I could. My son borrowed my minivan, so I had to steal Jason’s Porsche, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the top up. But it was a blast!” Her eyes glittered.
“You stole?—”
“Get in here,” Lucie called. “You’re just in time. What’d you bring?”
“All I had time to whip up was guacamole.” She lifted a small cooler. “With homemade tortilla chips. And a movie.”
“Gimme,” Tessa said. “I can’t get enough salt today.”
Savannah kissed my cheek, then crossed to the kitchen to hug Tessa.
In a low voice, Tessa asked Savannah how she was doing. Savannah said something too soft for me to hear, but it made Tessa bite her lip and her normally steely eyes melt.
A stab of pain rocketed through my abdomen. I sank into the chair and tucked my knees against my chest.
“Are you okay?” Savannah asked.
“I’m fine.” I waved a hand. “Just cramps.” My periods were becoming more erratic than my junior high bestie, and after flaking on me last month, this one had hit me like a school bus.
“You want to take something?” Tessa rummaged in her bag.
“Already did,” I said. “It should kick in soon.”
Buzzing erupted from my phone, which I’d left on the counter. Lucie glanced at it. “Message from Yelena?”
“I’ll text her later.”
“Okay.” Lucie nudged Tessa and Savannah into the den. “Sit down, everyone.”
“Do you have news?” I asked, leaning forward. Savannah and Tessa took the sofa across the coffee table, and Lucie lowered herself into the other chair like a queen on her throne.
“Always, but that’s not why we’re here,” Lucie said. “We’re here to talk to you about what a sad sack you’ve been lately.”
“Wait. What?” I held up a hand. I remembered what Tessa had said. “This is an intervention? For me?” Anger tightened my throat. “What the hell are you intervening about?”
Savannah’s gaze darted to Lucie. Tessa pivoted between Lucie and me, her mouth slightly open, like we were playing at Wimbledon.
“Look at you.” Lucie flung her hand toward me. “Yoga pants. Your hair’s in a ponytail. You’re a mess.”
“Hang on!” Savannah said. “I’m wearing yoga pants and a ponytail.”
“It’s different,” Lucie said dismissively. “This is out of character for Carly.”
Savannah folded her arms across her chest, obscuring her T-shirt, some faded giveaway from a 5K benefiting her kids’ school.
“And if I’m not mistaken,” Tessa said. “That’s yesterday’s ponytail and yoga pants.”
I glanced down. She was right. They were my least favorite pair, a dingy gray, and they showed the wrinkles from where I’d balled them up and tossed them toward the hamper last night. “I’ve been too busy working on other people’s looks to worry about mine. Besides, I didn’t feel like doing laundry.”
“I’ll do your laundry.” Savannah stood. “Where’s your machine?”
“Sit down,” Lucie barked. “We all need to be here for this.”
Savannah flopped back into the chair and trapped her hands between her knees. She shot me a sympathetic expression.
I tugged the elastic out of my ponytail, wincing when it snagged. Combing my fingers through my hair, I said, “Interventions are for addicts.”
“Let’s call it a family meeting,” Savannah said. “That sounds nicer.”
“Whatever we call it”—Lucie rolled her eyes—“you need to snap out of it.”
Savannah winced. “I’m sure Lucie means that it’s okay to feel your feelings, but we’re worried about you, sweetie. All you’ve done lately is work.”
“I love my work,” I protested. My phone buzzed again. Lucie jumped up, snatched it off the counter, and tossed it at me. I checked it—not urgent—and set it face-down on the coffee table.
Savannah stroked my hand. “You haven’t responded to our group texts. You didn’t even want to celebrate your birthday.”
“It’s not like I’m turning twenty-one or thirty or even forty. Once you pass that, birthdays are just a reminder that…”
“That you’re resilient and strong and a year wiser,” Lucie said.
“Hear, hear,” Tessa said, holding an imaginary drink.
“Also, a reminder that my hair is going grayer, the lines on my face are getting deeper, and everything’s a little less perky.” Glancing at my chest, I wished I’d bothered to put on a bra.
“Who wants to be perky when you can be respected for your life experience?” Tessa asked.
“Maybe you get respect in your industry, but mine values youth and beauty,” I grumbled.
“Where’s all this coming from?” Lucie asked. “Is that why you broke up with Andrew? If he called you old, I’m going to march into his bank and?—”
“No. He didn’t. But whether or not he’s thinking it now, eventually he’s going to realize that I’ll turn fifty while he’s still in his thirties. He’s going to figure out he’s wasting his youth. Like I did.”
“No, sweetie.” Savannah patted my hand. “Life experience isn’t a waste. You figured out what you wanted and grew strong enough to go after it.”
I huffed out a chuckle. “It sounds a lot better when you say it.”
“It’s true,” Tessa said. “Our lives are long—we hope—and full of mistakes. All we can do is try to do better the next day.”
Writing in her notebook, Lucie hummed her agreement.
My phone buzzed again, and I checked it. I should answer, but I was with my girls. I’d get back to everyone tomorrow.
Tessa raised an eyebrow. “Did Andrew break up with you because of your phone? Because it’s fucking annoying.”
“Sorry.” I turned off the notifications.
“You need an assistant.”
“An assistant? I can’t afford…” With all the new business coming in, maybe I could afford an assistant. That would free up more time to work on styling clients.
“Wait.” Lucie looked up from her notebook. “Andrew broke up with Carly because of her job?”
“No,” Savannah said. “It was a joke.”
“Actually,” I said, righteousness stiffening my spine, “I broke up with him because of it. He tried to minimize me just like Brad. And I’m not doing that again. It’s my turn.”
Lucie narrowed her eyes. “Your turn to do what exactly?”
“To be the important person. Not the person who’s only there to support him.” I crossed my arms.
“Did he say that?” Savannah asked. “That you should quit your job and support him?”
“Well, no. But he implied it. He laughed when I told him I had to stay in LA for a fashion crisis.”
“He laughed at you?” Savannah seemed to expand, like a cat fluffing itself up, preparing to hiss.
“Not exactly. He just… He…he said he needed me because his mother was in the hospital, and he was worried.” Saying it out loud made it seem more reasonable.
“Aw.” Savannah clutched her hands to her heart. “I bet that took a lot of courage to admit. What did you say?”
“I, um…” I thought back. I’d been so proud of what I’d done for Helen when I’d walked into the hospital and then so disappointed he didn’t see it. “I think I told him he’d understand when he took the VP job. Then he started talking some nonsense about not taking the job, and…” Was he serious about that?
“You know, sometimes crises make us examine what’s important,” Tessa said. “Maybe he was thinking about the brevity of life.”
“He’s only thirty-two,” I scoffed. “He’s not thinking about dying.”
“Are you sure?” Lucie asked. “His dad died of a heart attack at forty.”
I remembered how he’d said he liked his weekends and how he always made time for brunch with his family. “But—that’s not what men are like. Is it?”
“Not all men,” Savannah said. “Andrew sounds like one of the good ones. What did you say when he said he needed you and wanted to be with you?”
I grimaced. “I told him my life is a feature film, and I’m the leading lady.”
“I love that!” Lucie scribbled a note.
“But when his mom is in the hospital might not be the best time to say it,” Savannah said gently.
“Maybe not,” I admitted.
“Why did you walk out without talking about it like a grownup?” Tessa leaned forward.
“Because I…because…because I was afraid if I didn’t walk out, I’d stay,” I whispered. “And let him hurt me like Brad did.”
“Do you think he’d do that?” Tessa asked.
“Why wouldn’t he?” I stood. “He’s young, gorgeous, and on the rise. Why would he want someone like me?” I gestured at my saggy boobs.
“The question is, do you want him?” Tessa’s green gaze bored into me.
The memory of Andrew’s expression at the wedding, a mixture of awe and pride, of the tender way he’d kissed me the day he’d taken me to play with puppies, made my insides turn molten like I’d swallowed sunshine. I sank back into the chair. “I think I love him.”
Lucie stopped writing and looked up. Tessa leaned back with a triumphant expression.
Savannah tucked her hands under her chin. “Aw. I knew you’d get there eventually.”
“But that’s bad, right?” I said. “It’s one thing to have a fling with a younger guy. It’s something else to fall for him. To think he could want me for the rest of my life.”
Lucie paused her writing. “Isn’t this just a fling? You’re not marrying him.”
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “The age difference?—”
Savannah shook her head. “Love is love, sweetie. Age doesn’t matter if he makes you happy and you make him happy. Julianne Moore, Katie Couric, and Tina Turner all found love with younger men.”
Lucie cocked her head. “Sounds like someone’s been doing research.”
Savannah’s cheeks turned red. “I’m trying to be helpful.”
“I’m no Tina Turner,” I said.
“All those women are successful in their own right,” Tessa said. “Just like you.”
I shook my head. “They were all successful before they met their men. People might think I’m using him to advance my career. Audrey sure as hell did.”
“But everyone knows how great you are. You’re styling Helen freaking Choi,” Tessa said.
“Yes, but?—”
“Stella McCartney,” Lucie said.
“What?” I asked.
“Stella McCartney,” she repeated. “She’s Paul McCartney’s daughter, right?”
“Yes?”
“She probably had a lot to prove, considering her pedigree, but she made a name for herself in fashion. No one says she’s only successful because of who her parents are.”
“How do you know who Stella McCartney is?” I said. “You get your clothes at H&M.”
“How the hell do you know where I shop?” Lucie looked down at her black cigarette pants.
Waving a hand to shush Lucie, Tessa scooted to the edge of her chair. “You’re scared.”
“Of course I’m scared!” The words burst out of me. “Someone who was supposed to love me humiliated me and…and demolished me. Goddamn Brad.”
“Oh, Brad did more than that,” Lucie said darkly. “He told everyone not to hire you.”
“No, that was Audrey.” Everyone knew my frenemy torpedoed my career, even before she knew I’d slept with her son.
“I’ve been doing some research myself,” Lucie said. “Brad threatened to sabotage a real estate deal Bianca Waddingworth’s husband was working on. That’s why she canceled on you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I interviewed Bianca for my charitable giving project. My best guess is that Brad couldn’t stand the thought of your success eclipsing his.”
“What an ass,” Tessa said. “I can’t believe you stayed with him as long as you did.”
Savannah, who’d seemed so engaged in the intervention before, picked at her yoga pants. “Sometimes…sometimes it’s hard to see that you deserve more.”
I reached across the coffee table and grasped her hand. “We deserve more.”
She lifted her head and beamed at me. “We do. You do. Andrew’s so much more than Brad could ever be. You deserve him. Maybe you can give him another chance to deserve you.”
Could I let Andrew make me happy? He’d said he loved me. But my ex used to say he loved me. I couldn’t trust Andrew not to hurt me too.
“I don’t think so. Why would I need a man when I have you three?” I held out my hands. Savannah grasped one, and Lucie grasped the other.
“I’m not going to fuck you though,” Lucie said. “That’d be weird.”
“Lucie!” Savannah and Tessa shouted.
“Kidding. Goddesses forever,” she said.
“Goddesses forever,” we repeated.
What I needed was an assistant and my friends. Not another man, especially not one who wanted me to be less than I was.