Chapter Fourteen
I’m back at the beauty shop for the first time in a month and a half, and nothing about it has changed. As soon as I walk in, the fluorescent lights make my eyes water. Their incessant buzzing sounds like electrical insects that want to attack your sanity. And it smells like cheap perfume, reminding me of the horrific moment I broke my arm.
“Hey, Emmy! Are you back already?” Carol greets me as if I haven’t been gone for almost two months.
“Hi, Carol! No, I’m just here to see Mr. Doyle. I have some papers for him to sign from the hospital. Is he in the back?”
“He’s gone across the street to buy himself a sandwich. He’ll be back in a few minutes. But I’ve gotta warn you, he’s in a grumpy mood today.”
“When isn’t he in a grumpy mood? I swear, I don’t think that man has ever smiled.”
“If he did smile, his face would probably crack and break.” She laughs and leans in over the counter, a clear sign that she’s in the mood to chat, or worse, to gossip.
Since I have to wait for Mr. Doyle to come back with his sandwich, there’s nothing for me to do but humor her.
“So … I saw your latest posts on Instagram,” she begins and my heart sinks.
I know exactly where she’s going with this.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. You went to that Harry Styles concert with Evan. Wow, that must’ve been so amazing! I actually wanted to go myself but it was sold out!”
“Yes, it was pretty fun. Maybe you can catch him next time.”
“Was it fun because of the concert or because you went with Evan?” She grins.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He’s so … dreamy, isn’t he?”
“Harry Styles? Yeah, sure,” I reply, pretending not to understand what she meant.
“Evan!!” she bursts out. “I was talking about Evan!! Gosh, he’s so handsome and smart and those pictures that you posted of him were just … chef’s kiss.” She makes that gesture in which she brings her fingers to her lips and kisses them, trying to show me how much she likes Evan.
I’m starting to feel more and more uncomfortable now. “Evan is a great guy, yes. He’s my best friend,” I try to keep the conversation civil.
“Exactly!” she says. “And that’s what I was meaning to talk to you about. Listen, Emmy. I really want to ask Evan out. I’ve been hanging out at his gym, following him on Instagram and all that, but I think it’s time to step up my game. But I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Umm … Carol, look. You don’t have to ask for my permission to ask Evan out. We’re just friends. Best friends. But I do have to warn you that—”
“I’m not asking for your permission!” She starts to laugh.
In the emptiness of the beauty store at this dead hour of lunch, her laugh sounds like a shriek, mocking me and piercing my heart.
“Yeah, sure … that’s not what I meant…” I mumble.
“Emmy, I wanted to talk to you because I want you to give me some tips,” she says.
“Tips? What do you mean?”
“Well, you are his best friend, like you said. Who knows him better than you? So, come on! Tell me! What can I do to win him over? What does he like? What does he hate? What should I wear? What are his fantasies? You know, stuff like this!” She leans even more over the counter and looks deeply into my eyes.
I have a gross feeling that I’m back in high school all of a sudden, chatting about boys with a fifteen-year-old girl. “Ummm … Carol … this is … this is … you know what? I’ll tell you!”
An idea strikes me.
“Yaaay!!”
“So, get this, Evan loves boxing.”
“Boxing?” her eyes grow wide.
“Yes. As a doctor … who has dedicated his life to healing and saving people, there’s nothing he likes more than to sit back and watch people punching each other in the face,” I start to invent wildly.
“Really? Is that so?”
“Oh, absolutely! He says it’s what keeps him in business. Boxing is what keeps hospitals open! The more people hit each other, the happier he is. So, next time you see him or … you know … stalk him at the gym, tell him this. He’ll see that you have the same ideas! Or, better yet, invite him to a boxing match!”
She looks at me like a happy puppy who’s been given a treat. “This is amazing! Yes, yes! What else? Tell me more. What else does he like?”
“Hmm, let’s see. Junk food. He thinks all children should be put on a strict junk food diet.”
“Really? But he’s a doctor!” Carol says.
“That’s the point. He thinks it’ll build up their immune system.”
“Oh, wow … I never knew!”
“Yeah, go figure. He also really loves conspiracy theories. Big, big fan! So, you can invite him over to your apartment to watch some Ancient Aliens, something about how Atlantis was real, how the ancient Romans had electricity. That one really gets him going!” I tell her and try not to laugh.
“Oh my goodness, I love those shows!” she says. “Can you believe it?”
“Honestly, Carol? Yes, I can.”
“What else? What kind of movies does he like?”
“Carol … come on … What kind of question is this?” I pretend to be indignant with her question. “Evan likes medical dramas, of course. His favorite shows are House, The Good Doctor, Grey’s Anatomy—pretty much any show that depicts doctors as doing nothing else but having affairs with nurses and mistreating patients. He just goes nuts for how accurate and amazing these shows are!” I tell her sarcastically.
“Why didn’t I think of this?” She slaps her forehead. “Of course! Medical dramas because he’s a doctor! And what about food?”
“Well, we went to that Turkish restaurant that he likes, but you hated it, Carol, so…”
“Yeah…”
And then, all of a sudden, she asks me something that makes my knees weak. “Hey, do you know if he wants to get married?”
Her question is a simple one. To Carol, this is just a piece of information, one of many that she thinks she can use to seduce Evan. But, to me, it feels like an ice-cold hand has reached inside my chest and gripped my heart painfully.
“Married? What … why are you asking me that, Carol?”
“I mean, like I said, Evan is a great man. The best, actually. Look around. Where are you going to find someone better? I’d have to be stupid not to think about marriage with someone like him,” she says simply.
“Stupid … mhm.”
She starts to play with the display on the counter where we usually keep samples of perfumes, lipsticks, and tiny lip glosses that we give for free to our favorite customers.
“I have no idea what kind of man you’re hoping to find out there, Emmy,” she continues absentmindedly. “I mean, the fact you already have someone in your life like Evan and he’s not your dream man … I just don’t get it. What is your dream man?” she asks me.
All of a sudden, the conversation has turned far more serious than I wanted.
To Carol, this is still just “girl talk” but she cannot possibly know what all this means to me.
“My … dream man?” I mutter.
“Yeah. I mean, Evan is so handsome, smart, kind, successful, even rich. What is he lacking that you’re looking for in another man?” Carol grills me.
“It’s not that Evan is lacking something. Evan and I have been friends for a very long time—since I was an eleven-year-old girl. I just don’t see him that way.”
“Romantically?”
“I guess so,” I answer.
“Well, I don’t understand how you can spend all your time with that man and not develop feelings for him. It would be impossible for me!” she says cheerfully.
Before I have a chance to answer, Mr. Doyle walks into the shop holding a sandwich.
“Hello, Mr. Doyle. I’m here because—”
“Miss Williams!” He looks up at me startled as if he’s seen a bear riding a bicycle. “Yes. Good. You’re here. Take those boxes and start unpacking them. We received a shipment of lipsticks today and they need to be sorted out,” he barks at me.
“No, Mr. Doyle, I’m not here to work.”
The man’s face contorts at my words. It’s quite funny, and almost looks like he’s eating a lemon.
Carol slips away into the back of the store, leaving us alone to discuss this.
“What. Is that. Supposed to mean. Miss Williams?” He spells out for me like I’m five.
“That. Means. That I. Am not. Here to work,” I reply in the same tone, spelling out the sentence for him.
“Don’t talk to me like that. Show some respect! I’m your boss!”
“Mr. Doyle, I came in here today because the hospital sent me these papers that you need to sign. It’s about my medical leave. So, can you please sign them?”
He looks at the papers but doesn’t move. “Are you coming back to work today?”
I lift up my left arm—which is still in a cast—and show it to him. “No, Mr. Doyle.”
“Are you coming tomorrow?”
This is like talking to a monkey. Only worse.
“Mr. Doyle, does it look like my cast is going to magically disappear by tomorrow? And that I’ll suddenly be able to lift boxes?”
“Don’t. Talk. Back. To me!!” he barks.
“Then don’t ask me these questions!” I reply, feeling like I’ve truly reached the end of my rope.
“Are you trying to tell me that you actually expect me to sign something that will allow you to miss more workdays?”
“No. Nothing’s changed. I have two months of medical leave because my left arm’s in a cast. This has been the situation from the beginning. I don’t understand. Why are you angry right now? You knew about this,” I tell him.
“Did you do this on purpose?” he asks me idiotically.
“Did I do what on purpose? Break my arm?”
He waves a hand through the air as if to point out the obvious. “I have the suspicion that you did this on purpose to get out of work. And to sabotage my business!”
This feels like déjà vu.
I stand there, in front of him, still holding the papers, not entirely sure how to answer him. “Mr. Doyle, please, this is ridiculous. Are you actually accusing me of breaking my arm on purpose? How would I even do that? Just so I could take two months off?”
“You just wanted me to be forced to pay you for two months off so you could do nothing but be lazy!” he continues. “You’re sabotaging my business!”
“No. I’m an employee who was injured in your store while working for you. I’m not sabotaging your business. In fact, instead of accusing me of such nonsense, you should be thanking me for not suing you!”
He looks startled for a moment as if this thought never crossed his mind. His face softens a little, but he refuses to back down. “Miss Williams, why don’t we forget about this whole thing? Come back to work today and I’ll sign your papers. Maybe.”
I feel a wave of resentment wash over me. The conversation I had only a few minutes ago with Carol prepared the grounds for my frustration. “Mr. Doyle, I’m done. You are the worst boss in the world. You can’t even show the basic signs of human decency and compassion for an employee who broke her arm while working for you. Not only that, but you seem to think that there’s some sort of conspiracy at play here to sabotage you—as if you and your store are the most important things in the universe. It’s truly disgusting. And I don’t want to spend another minute in your crummy store. I quit. I’ll email you these medical papers. And don’t you dare not sign them! Because I will sue you!”
I storm past him and rush out of the beauty store without waiting for his answer. Thoughts mingle madly in my head—pieces of the conversation I had with Carol, my fight with my boss, the questions she asked me about Evan … It’s like a choir that will not stop singing in my mind.
Outside, the Boston traffic makes it all worse.
Buzz. Buzz.
I startle at the sound of my phone ringing before collecting it from my purse.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dolly, it’s me. How’s your day? I called to remind you that you have an appointment at the hospital in a few days. The cast is finally coming off!!” Evan hoots over the phone.
“Evan? I just quit my job.”
“What? What do you mean you quit your job? Are you alright? What happened? Did that Doyle man do something to you?” He sounds alarmed.
“No, no … I mean, yes. But no, not like that,” I babble.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He refused to sign those papers from the hospital and then he accused me of breaking my arm on purpose to sabotage his stupid store.”
As I tell the story to Evan, I feel tears coming through, not of sadness, but of frustration and exhaustion.
“What? He said that to you? Emmy, listen to me. This was the right decision. That was not a good job, and you know it. That man has been exploiting you for years. I’m proud of you for finally quitting!” he says.
As I listen to Evan encourage me, his words give me strength.
He’s right, I’ve made the right decision.
I just needed someone to be on my side.
As always, Evan is there.
“Can you come over tonight? I don’t think I can be alone.”
“I’m on my way right now. I’ll bring takeout, cake, wine … you name it. Don’t worry. I promise, everything is going to be fine. We’ll get through this together, alright?” he says and I can imagine him smiling at the other end.
“Together.”
As I sit on the couch, a slice of cake half-eaten on my plate, Evan is listening intently as I recount every detail of my encounter with Mr. Doyle.
“I can’t believe he treated you like that. You deserve so much better than that sorry excuse of a boss.” He takes my hand in his, a gesture that feels warm and comforting. “You know what? You only have a couple more days to go before you get this cast off. You’ll be good as new! Let’s make a plan and figure out your next steps, career-wise. This is a chance for a fresh start, and I’m confident you’ll succeed at whatever you put your mind to.”
I nod, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Having Evan by my side makes everything seem more manageable. “Thank you for always being there for me, Evan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He squeezes my hand gently. “You’ll never have to find out, Dolly. I’ll always be here for you.”
I smile gratefully at him and turn on our favorite movie to decompress from the chaos of today, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence beside me.
But as the night wears on, a sudden wave of unease washes over me, his words echoing in my mind.
“I’ll always be here for you.”
But what if one day he’s not?
What if my friends are right, and one day he moves on, finds a wife, and forgets about me?
The thought gnaws at me, clawing its way into my consciousness until it’s all I can think about. Evan is too good, too kind, too perfect. Someone is going to snatch him up. Heck, even Carol wants to snatch him up.
The fear of losing him suddenly feels more pressing than ever.
As the movie plays on, I find myself stealing glances at him. The soft light from the lamp casts a golden glow on his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline. His eyes, a vibrant shade of emerald green, glimmer with the light, drawing me in. And while they’re fixed on the screen, every so often, they flicker toward me with a tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat.
How can someone be so utterly captivating without even trying?
I take in his gentle smile and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his hair falls in soft waves across his forehead, and the way his laughter fills the room with warmth. A feeling stirs within me, one that I’ve pushed aside for far too long.
Maybe honoring the marriage pact wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all…