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32. How to heal a broken heart one tub of Nutella one tub of peanut butter an old friend

32

HOW TO HEAL A brOKEN HEART: ONE TUB OF NUTELLA + ONE TUB OF PEANUT BUTTER + AN OLD FRIEND

B eing fired and breaking up with the man of your dreams on the same day is really not recommended for your mental health. In fact, if there’s a way to avoid it, I would do so altogether. Space it out, if possible. Because normally, if you lose one, you’d at least have the other to throw yourself into. Distract you from the loss. Otherwise, you’d find yourself in my situation: wrapped in a blanket in your bed, can’t remember when you last washed your hair, on your computer looking for jobs, licking a mixture of Nutella and peanut butter off a spoon (like a melted Reeses’s cup). You’d be stuck thinking nonstop about how much of a loser you are, all while your cat judges you from afar. And while, a week later, I don’t regret standing up to Lena for what I believe in or ending things with Will, it still sucks.

I sigh and look over at the kitchen counter, where a heap of Will’s apology gifts have started piling up. A whole collection of items filled with reminders of how well he knows me or things tied to inside jokes. Friendship bracelets, sketches, a gorgeous vintage Oscar de la Renta dress in my size, a book on tambour embroidery (a new technique I’ve been experimenting with on used clothing I’ve purchased recently), and flowers. So many flowers—all cat friendly, of course.

While they’re all beautiful and fill my depressing apartment with an amazing scent, all they serve as is a reminder that he hurt me. Betrayed me. That the man I fell in love with and gave myself to completely was a liar. Just like the ones before.

“I’m going to have to throw it all out, aren’t I, Ginger?”

My cat lifts her head to glare at me from the chair. She doesn’t understand why Will hasn’t come by in days, and I think she hates me for it. We both grew too attached when we should’ve known better.

With a sigh, I use my non-sprained hand to dip my spoon into the peanut butter again, followed by the jar of Nutella, and then shove the whole concoction in my mouth.

“I need a job. STAT.”

* * *

After a lot of introspection and weeks of rationing that bring back nightmares of times when I experienced food insecurity as a child, I finally find a job. And while it isn’t working at the corporate level, it’s still somewhat in the fashion realm. Somewhere I quickly excel at and am passionate about.

Necessity is the mother of invention—that was my childhood’s motto. With my mother being so unreliable, I had to learn early how to work with what I had, which is what gave me such great instincts and a knack for creative problem-solving while working at Sartoria. It’s also why I decide on a job working in retail again—this time at a second hand shop.

The salary as a sales associate isn’t enough to cover all my expenses, but I use my discount to buy the pieces that aren’t moving on the floor that I know I can do something with. After that, I work my magic on them and resell the pieces either in the same store or online for a pretty reasonable profit.

It’s fun, a fantastic creative outlet, and it almost distracts me from the fact that I am absolutely miserable.

Because I am. Miserable, that is.

Three weeks after our blow-up, Will stopped trying to contact me. No more flowers, no more gifts, no more calls. And while I never once wanted to call him back or reach out, it killed me. His gifts were the only remaining connections I had to him, the only way of knowing that he was even still alive. I mean, what if something had happened to him? What then? We had no friends in common who would’ve been able to communicate it to me.

I struggle to not let myself go down that rabbit hole, but some days are harder than others. As the early days of summer are fast approaching, I’m saddened to think that all the fantasies I dreamt up of the things we’d do once the warmer weather hit won’t be happening. No outings to the beach. No picnics outdoors. No weekend trips up to Connecticut to visit his mom.

Despite still being mad at him, more than anything, I’m devastated to think that after just a few weeks of trying to apologize, he’s given up on us when I haven’t stopped loving him for a single second.

Not one.

* * *

The first week of May, I come home from a shopping spree to my favorite vintage shops and craft stores to find a visitor waiting for me on my building’s stoop. I stop dead in my tracks just a few feet away, because the last time we spoke feels like so long ago, I have no idea what to say.

Molly sees me approach, and her eyes widen as she gets to her feet.

We’re both quiet for a moment, unmoving. But when the bags of clothes and materials start to tire my arms, I break the silence.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Molly winces, but I feel like it’s a fair question to ask. It’s been well over a month since we last spoke, and I haven’t received so much as a single text. Not even after I was fired for my association to that psycho, Lena.

“I—I just want to talk. To apologize. To figure out what went wrong and how we can fix it.”

My breath hitches, my eyes suddenly stinging with the possibility of more tears—they already ache from this morning’s cry fest in the shower.

Molly sounds sincere, but I’ve been burned before.

“I mean, I know what went wrong. You weren’t a good friend.”

It’s a low blow, but not untrue.

“That’s fair. I deserved that.” She nods solemnly. “Can we go up to your place? To talk?”

I look down at my feet, processing. Because a break-up with a significant other always hurts, it’s true. But you never expect a friend break-up to cut just as deep. Sometimes it makes you question things about yourself maybe even losing a significant other would never make you question about yourself. The grief of it all can be just as bad or worse.

Maybe that’s why losing Will has been especially difficult. Because he wasn’t just some guy I’d been dating. He’d become my best friend. The person I’d grown closest to.

“Please, Bridge.” Molly takes a deep breath and pulls out a bottle of champagne, a small bottle of orange juice, and a paper bag from my favorite deli from her enormous purse. “Brunch?”

That finally breaks me, a dam of tears immediately spilling. It might seem like such a silly thing, but it speaks mountains to me. Because what’s better on a weekend than bottomless mimosas and brunch with your friend for a full life catch-up? And I haven’t had that in forever.

I drop my bags on the sidewalk and my face in my hands, breaking out into sobs. Not more than a second later, Molly’s arms are around me, holding me to her.

“Bridge, I’m so sorry.”

I nod against her neck because I know. I know Molly isn’t a bad person deep down. If she were a bad person, we never would’ve become friends in the first place. And I need this. Need her. Need a friend.

It’s been weeks of loneliness and heartache and a solitude so sharp and deep I feel like it’s hard to breathe sometimes. Like my lungs have frozen and refuse to stretch to make room for air. Like every single person who’s ever left me or betrayed me is pressing down on my chest and windpipe.

Between sobs, Molly leads me to the building, carrying my stuff for me all the way to my apartment. Once we’re inside, Ginger shoots her an ugly look as if to say “I know how you treated my mother” and steers clear of her.

I take a seat on my bed, a blubbery mess, and tell her, “She’s here to apologize. Chill.”

Molly smiles fondly at me as she puts my bags and our coats away. “Ginger mad at me, too?”

I nod and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “I don’t think I’m mad anymore, though.” At you or Will , I think. “Just sad. Sad at how things turned out.”

Molly frowns and takes my hand. “I want to talk. But I think we should do it over some glasses of mimosas and some food. Let me make the drinks and I’ll get us some plates.”

“We can eat in bed. Maybe turn on a TV show in the background?”

“Deal.”

We don’t really talk about anything until after our bellies are full, and we’re both a little buzzed. Instead, we watch episodes of The Bachelor and discuss how this season has been quite possibly the most boring and why. It isn’t until Molly mentions one of the girls at work is considering applying, that our conversation stalls.

“How is work, by the way?” My voice is small, cautious.

She throws back the rest of her drink, and sets the glass on my nightstand. “They asked me to come here, you know.”

I blanche. It takes a few moments to process this information. “What? I thought you… Oh. So you’re not here to apologize.” Another painful slash across the heart.

“No, I am,” she says quickly. “I definitely am. I’ve been wanting to forever. I just… haven’t had the courage to yet. Until today. I’ve been a coward.”

She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know what happened with the whole Lena drama—I mean, there are rumors, but no one really knows, and you don’t have to tell me—but the whole company was a mess for a while. I heard talk about a lawsuit and layoffs. Legal was interviewing every single person who had touched the Stevenson account.

“Then, last week, things changed. They settled down. I got pulled into HR, and I swear to god I thought I was going to get fired. But it turned out it wasn’t anything like that. The meeting was about you.”

“About me? What?” I sit up, intrigued.

“HR knew you had been hired based off of my referral and they wanted me to go and convince you to say yes when they asked you to come back. They asked me whether I had stayed in touch with you. Whether we were still friends. Whether I knew if you had already found a job or not.” She shakes her head in disapproval, the whole thing sounding a bit too… sketchy. “I told them we were on the outs. Also, I may have pointed out how manipulative that was. There was no way I was going to show up to your place and beg you to come back to work when we hadn’t spoken in weeks. When I had acted like a total bitch to you.”

“They were going to beg me to come back to work?” Why would they beg me to come back to work? Yes, I was good at my job, contrary to what Molly initially thought I would be. But it’s not like I wasn’t replaceable. Especially now, with Lena gone. I’m smart and capable, but I was only just learning and Sartoria wouldn’t have had a hard time finding my replacement.

She exhales heavily and refills her glass. Polishes off the last of the champagne. “I’ll tell you everything, but I want you to know that I’ve been wanting to apologize to you since the second you walked out of that bathroom door. I’ve felt so ashamed for how I behaved. Not just in that moment, but in general. You are one of the most resilient people I know, Bridget Quinn. And to suggest that you’re the reason why shit falls apart around you was fucked up and horrible of me not just to say, but to think, too.”

“It’s not a crazy assumption to make,” I say with a self-deprecating shrug. “I am the common denominator in every single one of the crazy things that has happened in my life. The less-than-stable parent. The laundry list of odd jobs here and there and how I lost them. The list of men I thought would change but never did.” And the one I thought was perfect but broke my heart.

“Stop. While that may be true that you’re the common denominator, it’s purely coincidental. You are… an exceptional woman. A great friend. And a fantastic employee. I don’t know what came over me that day—that place is toxic and warps my thinking sometimes—but I do know that you didn’t deserve it. And you deserve much better from a friend.”

“Thank you.” I sniff.

“Everything I said was all about me and my insecurities. Not about you.”

I nod and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close into a hug I think we’ve both been needing for a while. “Thank you for being honest.”

When our long hug is over, she breaks the silence first. “I saw on socials you have a new job. At Houston’s Closet, right?” I nod and Molly smiles. “I feel like that’s perfect for you.”

“It really is. I need to tell you all about it.” And for the first time in a while, I feel a genuine smile spread across my face. “The pay is nowhere near as much as what I was making at Sartoria, but I love it.”

“That’s amazing, Bridge.” She smiles, but it’s quickly followed by a sigh. “I’m jealous you found something you love. Because that meeting I had with HR was actually the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. It made me realize what a manipulative place we worked in and how it had turned me into someone I didn’t like. I just…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what got into me. The competitiveness. The betrayal. Like, it’s not a soap opera or a high stakes industry. We’re not?—”

“Saving lives,” I finish the sentence for her.

This makes her laugh and bump her shoulder against mine. “Exactly. So I quit. Immediately, I wanted to call you, but I felt I needed time. To work on myself. To work out what I wanted to say, exactly. And I knew that whatever had happened at work must’ve been serious enough that you probably wanted your space, too.”

“Yeah. It was… a lot.”

“But I’m here now for myself and for you and for our friendship. I want it back. I want you back. I want to be friends again. Do you think you can forgive me?”

I reach out and wrap my arms around her. Hold her once more, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes, Molls. Of course. We’re human. We all make mistakes. And I’ve seen firsthand what that place can do to people. Let’s give this a second chance.”

“Thank you, Bridge.” She pulls away and smiles, eyes red.

“Now that we can put this all behind us…” I get to my feet with more excitement than I probably should. “Can I show you something amazing for dessert?”

She laughs and sniffles, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Sure. You have frozen thin mint cookies or something?”

“Even better.” I run to my kitchen cupboard and pull out the jar of peanut butter and Nutella.

* * *

“I appreciate you coming here to see me. To apologize after everything,” I tell her between spoonfuls of peanut butter and chocolatey goodness. “I… I’ve been going through a rough time lately—I don’t just mean the craziness that happened at Sartoria, which I promise to tell you all about one day—but just… I’d been seeing this guy…”

A slow smile spreads across Molly’s face. “I thought so. All the giggling while texting. How busy you were on the weekends. The goofy smiles at your desk when you spaced out.”

I sigh wistfully, a flood of memories with Will—good ones—filling my brain. “Yeah. He was… He was amazing.”

Molly frowns. “If he was so amazing then what happened? And why didn’t you tell me?”

I feel my face twist in pain. “I don’t even know where to begin,” I confess. “I guess I didn’t tell you at first because he worked for Stevenson.”

Molly gasps. “What?”

I laugh once. “Yeah. We kind of met through work. Which is why we agreed that it would be a conflict of interest given everything that was going on between the two companies. Neither one would approve. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put you in the uncomfortable position of knowing I was doing something wrong. But also… it was all so amazing, part of me just wanted to keep it to myself. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I wanted to hoard my relationship. Protect it, you know?”

“No, I totally get what you mean. You wanted to keep it safe in a bubble. Not let the outside world interfere.” She nods pensively, dipping her own spoon into the tubs of chocolate and peanut butter before licking it clean.

This is certainly not the most… shareable dessert, but fuck it. If you can’t share germs with your friends, are you really friends?

“Exactly. Which is ironic, since telling someone might’ve helped avoid things exploding the way they did. Because, maybe if I had told you about him—if I’d told anyone—I’d have found out sooner who he really was. Since my clueless butt wasn’t able to put two and two together.”

“Oh my god, Bridge.” Molly gasps; she brings her hands to her mouth in shock. “Please tell me he wasn’t another grifter trying to steal your money.”

I snort. “No, he wasn’t. He turned out to be Stevenson’s CFO.”

Molly blinks at me a few times, too stunned to speak for a moment. “What?”

With a sigh, I walk over to the fridge and pull out two beers. “We’re gonna need another drink for this story.”

* * *

Molly sighs once. “Listen, I’m not excusing his behavior, but?—”

“Nope.”

“I get what you’re saying, Bridge, but?—”

“Molly.”

“The man loves you. He loves you and you love him and?—”

“ No. ”

Molly huffs in frustration. “Why are you so willing to forgive me but not him? You just told me you fell in love with him. You just said you thought he was the love of your life. That’s not something to take lightly or let slip through your fingers.”

“ Was . Past tense.” I get up to grab another beer, wobble to the fridge. It’s seven P.M. now, which means we’ve been drinking for eight hours. I don’t even know how we’re alive at this point. I guess thanks to the DoorDash gods and Chinese food for providing sustenance to absorb all the cheap champagne and beer we’ve consumed today.

“Okay,” she says, getting up to her feet on the bed, holding out her hands for me to toss her a can. I do and miss, but it falls at her feet. She doesn’t seem to mind though. “Okay, but, like. Remember what you said when I thanked you for forgiving me? You said ‘Molly, goddess divine?—”

“I did not use the words ‘goddess divine’”

“Shh! This is my story. You said ‘Molly, you goddess divine, everyone deserves a second chance.’”

“I did not say everyone . I said let’s give this a second chance , but?—”

“Did you or did you not say that?”

“I just told you what I actually said. Dude, I think you’re drunk.”

“Your face is drunk.”

We burst out into peals of laughter on the bed, struggling for breath. “God, I needed this kind of silliness. I missed you a ton,” I tell her.

Molly smiles. “Me too.” But then she sighs and all humor leaves her face. In its stead is only concern for a friend who’s hurting. “I’m serious, Bridge. You love him, don’t you?”

I swallow and throw myself onto my back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as the tears start to stream down my face. They come so easily these days.

“More than I’ve ever loved anyone before in my life. It’s like…” I try for a deep breath and fail again. There’s just no room. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever known, Molls. Like… I feel like half of me is gone. That it’s with him. And I’m scared I’ll never get it back. Worse still, I’m scared I won’t ever want it back.”

“Forgive him, Bridge. You’re so good at seeing the good in everything—in people and in every horrible situation you’ve been in. Why can’t you do that here?”

“Honestly, I think it’s because of that very reason that I don’t want to. He once told me looking too often at the bright side of things can result in settling. That I’d settled too much in life, accepted too many bad things. That I should fight for what I deserve. And wouldn’t me just accepting that he kept who he was from me—even if it was with good intentions—be settling?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you be doing the same if you don’t? He doesn’t want you to settle because he wants happiness for you. He wants you to fight for what you deserve. So wouldn’t you not forgiving him leave you settling for an incomplete life without him?”

In a twisted way, I can see Molly’s point.

“But what does it say about me if I forgive him? If I take him back after all of it? Doesn’t it say I’m a pushover?”

“I think it says that you love him enough to try and make things work. Like a real couple would. I think it says that a life without his love would be unacceptable.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. “Bridge, if you’re able to forgive him and move on, I think it says that your relationship can withstand anything life throws at you.”