Chapter Eight
I’ll admit it.
I originally thought having two months off work would be a dream come true—but it’s only been two weeks since I broke my arm, and I’m already bored out of my mind.
And being alone in my apartment all day is kind of … depressing.
I hate being alone.
I stare blankly at my phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media, seeing the inevitable updates from people living their fabulous lives. Pregnancy announcements, engagement photos, exotic vacations—it’s all there, mocking my own uneventful existence.
Now, I understand better than anyone that social media is a highlight reel (I myself attempted to become an influencer … but unlike TikTok would lead you to believe, it’s not nearly as easy to go viral as it looks.) But … I still fall victim to the comparison game. And right now, my life is in shambles compared to the majority of the people on my feed.
I let out a heavy sigh, setting my phone down on the coffee table and leaning back into the cushions of my couch. The apartment feels too quiet. The solitude is beginning to feel suffocating. And while I’m grateful for my life, and everything I have … I can’t help but miss the simpler days—when Jo, Larisa, and I would get together every week and watch Gilmore Girls reruns with copious amounts of pizza and wine. So much has changed since then. My girlfriends are settling down, and I’ve somehow become the third wheel, the loner.
I’m just a pity party … with a broken arm.
I need to snap out of it!
I pick up my phone again, suddenly struck with an idea.
Me: Hey, wanna get together for lunch and catch up?
Carol:Sure! Let’s do it!
Carol and I rarely interact outside of work, but perhaps that should change. After all, she and I are both in the same life stage—single and trying to figure things out.
Ding dong.
I jump at the sound, wondering who could possibly be at my door at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday.
Ding dong. Ding dong.
“Woah! I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses!” I yell out before opening the door to reveal a guy holding a package.
“Delivery for you, Miss!” he says.
“I didn’t order anything … that I know of. Oh, no, was I shopping in my sleep again?”
He reads the label on the package. “Are you Emmy Williams?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then this is for you. Please, sign here.”
I take the package a little reluctantly as I don’t really remember placing an order, but before I can say anything else, the man has already disappeared down the steps of my apartment building.
After I close the door, I carefully balance the package using only my right hand. It’s been two weeks since I broke my arm, and I’m finally starting to get the hang of doing things right-handed. Maybe I should continue to train myself to do this … I’ve heard life is a lot easier as a right-handed person.
I walk over to the kitchen table and set down the package. The tape comes off in a quick motion, revealing the contents inside.
For a few moments, the apartment becomes quiet as a tomb as I process what I’m seeing. I dip my right hand into the box and sift through what looks like hundreds of lip balms. Cherry lip balms.
But … how is this possible?
Who would’ve remembered my obsession with these…
Did Evan send these to me?
My heart starts to pound inside my chest and my breathing is ragged now.
There are so many cherry lip balms inside that I can smell the aroma through the plastic. I’m beyond overwhelmed—I feel caught in a landslide, all my emotions cascading down at the same time, almost choking me.
I reach for one of the small tubes, open it, and apply the lip balm.
Immediately, the memories start flooding my mind as if I’ve been given a shot of a remembrance potion.
Fenway. September weather and the yellow leaves. The sun behind me, warming my hair. A tall, lanky boy with dazzling green eyes and short, curly hair. He’s all alone and says he forgot his lunch at home. I give him half of mine. He’s cute but older than me. We should be friends. I put on the Burt’s Bees cherry chapstick. I know he’s watching me closely. Does he think I’m pretty?
I open my eyes, and I’m back in my apartment. The taste of cherries is on my lips now and, somehow, I equate it with Evan. Even though we’ve never kissed.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he answers after the second ring.
“It’s going … incredible. Well, apart from my broken arm, but that’s not the point. Evan, I just got the most amazing, wonderful, out-of-this-world gift. Was it from you?”
“Well, what did you get, Dolly?” he teases me, but I can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s smiling.
“Umm, about a million Burt’s Bees cherry lip balms!”
“Not a million. Only a hundred,” he says.
“Only a hundred? Only? Who does something like this, Evan? I’m stunned. I don’t even know. This is … my heart is so full right now, I feel like I’m about to cry. In a good way!” I rush to add, so that he doesn’t worry or misunderstand me.
“I’m so happy you like it. So happy—”
“I do! I love it! But what came over you to do something like this? Wait a minute! Is this your way of telling me that my lips are chapped?”
He laughs into the telephone and it might be the most wonderful sound I’ve ever heard.
“Your lips are perfect, Emmy. Perfect. No, I just … I was thinking about the day we met. Do you remember? Seventeen years ago. You were putting on that very lip balm because you—”
“Wanted to start wearing red lipstick but wasn’t allowed to!” we both exclaim at the same time, amusing ourselves.
“That’s right! Well, you were eleven, after all!” he tells me.
“There’s no age requirement for wearing red lipstick. It’s a classic!” I retort.
“You know best, Emmy. Anyway, I guess I just … got nostalgic, and decided to surprise you a little.”
“A little? You surprised the heart out of me. This is such a thoughtful gift! I mean it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I hoped it might cheer you up after your broken arm and all.”
“It definitely did. But…”
“But what? You don’t have enough space for a hundred lip balms?” he jokes.
“It’s not that. I guess I’m just surprised that you still remember such a small detail about me after so many years,” I tell him.
“How could I forget? It was the first time I ever saw you. That memory will stay with me until the day I die.”
“What did I do to deserve you, Evan?”
“You … were my friend,” he says. “When I needed one the most.”
There’s a pause in the conversation. I have a feeling that he’s thinking about our marriage pact and might like to bring it up. I don’t know how I would react if he did.
“So, what do you think? Shall we grab lunch? I have a break in my schedule and could meet you somewhere,” he says.
“Oh … umm … I can’t. I’m actually meeting Carol for lunch today.”
“Oh no, problem! That sounds fun. Well, maybe we can get together at the end of the week?” Evan asks me.
“It’s a date!”
I put down the phone and stare lovingly at my present.
It seems thatI was the only one who was thinking about the marriage pact.
“How do you still look so amazing even though your arm is in a cast?” Carol blurts out as she finally makes her appearance.
I’ve been sitting at this Turkish restaurant waiting for her for over an hour.
“Hi, Carol! How are you? All good?”
“Oh, yes, yes! But tell me about you!” she squeals and takes a seat across from me, without even acknowledging the fact that she’s late.
“Ummm … I guess this is still the most important piece of news about me,” I say, lifting my left arm a little bit, showing her the cast.
“Yes, of course! It’s been … how long now? Two weeks? Oh, Mr. Doyle has been absolutely grilling me! He won’t let it go that I dropped that dang perfume, so now he hovers over me every time I stock the shelves. And he refuses to hire someone else until you come back, and I have to do all the work, of course.”
“I’m so sorry about that, Carol. It must be such a hassle,” I tell her, and I mean it. “But I’m not able to come back right now.”
“I know you’re not, Em. That’s fine. He’s paying me extra, that old goat. So, at least there’s that. Let’s order, shall we?” She pulls the menu closer. “What is all this?”
“Oh, it’s Turkish food. I figured you might like to try it. Evan and I love coming to this restaurant. It’s one of our favorite places, really. We’ve always talked about going to Istanbul but … I guess life got in the way.”
When Carol hears Evan being mentioned, she looks up from the menu like a dog whose name has just been called. “Is that so? Evan likes this place? What does he like to eat?”
“I guess … the Lahmacun, we always share one of those. It’s like a pizza, but thinner. The kebabs, of course. I swear, he can eat like a million at a time. I don’t even know where he puts it all. The Imam Bayildi, that’s my personal favorite. Eggplants fried in so much olive oil that you think you’re in heaven—stuffed with sweet tomatoes, garlic, and bulgur. Oh, and the Dolma, of course! Let’s get some of those! Stuffed vine leaves with rice and minced meat. Mmm, my mouth is watering already!” I tell Carol as I scan the menu.
She has a strange look on her face. “Stuffed vine leaves? Is that even edible? I mean, who came up with that?” She wrinkles her nose and pushes the menu away.
“Most of the food is traditional and authentic—the dishes have been served for hundreds of years. I think it’s pretty interesting to eat something that has so much history behind it,” I reply.
“Yuck … I’m good, thanks. I think I’ll just have some coffee,” she says.
I’m baffled by the fact that she’s refusing to even try the food. Not to mention how rude she’s being—especially considering she was an hour late to lunch and didn’t even apologize.
“Have it your way. I’m ordering,” I tell her.
She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “So, tell me. How’s Evan?”
“He’s fine. Busy at the hospital,” I reply.
“Mhm. So, is he, like, dating anyone at the moment?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“But is he talking to any girls? Like texting and all that? Wait! Is he on Tinder?” She pulls out her phone as if she’s expecting Evan to materialize from there.
“Carol … to be honest, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s on Tinder. He’s not that kind of guy. He likes stable, committed relationships.”
She claps her hands as if I just told her that Santa Claus is real. “Oh, good! Could this day get any better? A rich doctor who only wants a serious relationship? Not to mention how handsome he is! It’s like he’s a unicorn!”
I’m feeling more and more uncomfortable with the way Carol objectifies Evan. It’s as if she sees him as nothing more than a type or a category, rather than a human being.
Maybe this lunch was a mistake…
“Listen, Carol, this is—”
She cuts me off. “So, how come you two never dated? Oh, no! Is there something wrong with him? Is he … is there something wrong with his…” She raises her eyebrows all the way up on her forehead, trying to make me understand the innuendo.
“Carol, listen. Evan is my best friend. I’m really not okay with you talking about him like this.”
“Come on, Emmy! Don’t be such a goody-goody! This is girl talk!” she says.
“Not about my best friend.”
“So, what kinds of women does he like? Does he have a type? Wait, is he into some kind of … stuff? Is that why he’s single?”
And now I’m reminded why Carol and Idon’t hang out outside of work.
“Alright. I think that’s quite … enough.” I signal the waiter and he comes to our table.
“Please wrap up all the food. I’ll take it with me. Thank you.”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Carol, I think I’m gonna go. I feel kind of tired, and my arm is starting to hurt,” I lie.
I know the right thing to do would be to confront her directly. But … I still have to work with this woman when I go back to the beauty shop; I don’t want to antagonize her.
I can’t have both her and my boss as my enemies when I return to work.
“Oh, alright. Well, this was fun!” she says, completely missing the social cue.
“It was … something.”
I’m sitting on my couch, eating the Turkish food I brought home with me, venting my frustration regarding Carol to Larisa and Jo.
Larisa: I don’t understand. What did she ask about Evan?
Me: All these questions like: what he likes to do, what kind of women he likes, and … more.
Jo: More? What does “more” mean?
Me: She asked me … private stuff about Evan.
The more I think about the conversation I had with Carol over lunch, the more upset I get about it. As a result, I feel the need to dissect it and get a second opinion from my friends.
Our little group chat is on fire now, with messages coming from all three directions, with Larisa, Jo, and myself each sharing opinions about the topic at hand.
Larisa: So?
Me: So … she’s obviously interested in him, Larisa! Can’t you see that?? How blind can you be?
Larisa: Hon, I’m not blind. It’s pretty obvious that Carol’s interested in Evan. My question is, why does this bother you so much?
I pause to read her question over and over again as I think about what answer to give.
Me: Well, it bothers me because … he’s my best friend.
Me: Except for you guys, of course.
Me: Anyway, Evan is my oldest friend, and … you should’ve seen the way that Carol was talking about him. Ugghh!!
I send a few puking emojis to really drive home my point.
Both my friends start typing at the same time, and I can see their dots moving on the screen of my phone.
Larisa: Hon, please don’t take this the wrong way.But it sure sounds like you’re jealous.
Jo: Yeah, I was gonna write the same thing, but Larisa cut me off. Aren’t you a little jealous?
Me: Me? Jealous? No. No. Guys, why would I be jealous?I don’t have feelings for Evan. We’re just friends and always have been. No, this is about Carol!
Larisa: Emmy, I have to say, even if Carol IS interested in Evan. There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s single and so is he. They’re both adults. Not to mention the fact that Carol seems to be a pretty good girl.
Jo: Yeah, haven’t you always said that you two get along great at work?So, why wouldn’t Evan want to date her?
Me: No, I said that we get along well AT WORK. I never said anything about it being great.
Me: Plus, that’s not the point! I’m telling you. Guys, the way she was talking about him at lunch just … made my skin crawl.She referred to him as a rich doctor who is super handsome!
Both my friends send emojis with a straight face.
Larisa adds one that seems to be confused.
Larisa: Umm… well, Evan IS a rich doctor.
Jo: And he IS very handsome. Carol’s right.
The more I read my friends’ messages, the more frustrated I get. It’s as if they’re adamant about not understanding what I’m trying to tell them.
Me: That’s not the point!!!
Me: She was objectifying him!!!
Me: Carol doesn’t care about Evan at all!!!
Me: She only likes him because he has money, because he looks good, and because he’s a doctor.
Me: You know, that old stereotype of marrying a rich doctor. I’m telling you. The woman thinks that she hit the jackpot or something.
Me: But she doesn’t care about Evan like I care about him!!!
My friends start to reply almost as soon as I finish writing.
Larisa: Em, you have to see what’s happening here.Come on …you’re jealous.
Jo: I agree. Also, I think you’re a little territorial too.Which, I get …this is the first time, maybe, where a woman is telling you, to your face, that she wants Evan. Perhaps this is causing you to behave in a territorial way and you feel like you don’t want to let him go.You don’t want to be in a relationship with him, but you also don’t want anyone else to have him either…
Jo: Unless you do … want to be in a relationship with him, and that’s what this is all about?
I put down my phone.
The Turkish food that both Evan and I love so much has now gotten cold. It still smells delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite.
I get up from the couch, my right hand feeling tired after all that typing. Behind me, my phone keeps beeping, a sign that my friends are still texting me.
But I don’t want to deal with this conversation anymore.