22. Brooke
Brooke
"Jesus, Brooke, I can smell the vanilla extract from down the street!" Janine shouts as she kicks open my front door. Her eyes go wide at the state of my kitchen.
A massive stack of chocolate chip cookies teeters precariously on wire cooling racks. Naked cupcake bottoms wait for frosting on the already cluttered dining table. Two full pans of brownies steam under the window I successfully cracked open. The cold air is perfect for cooling them off faster, but not as shocking as dumping them in the fridge. The stand mixer dutifully whirrs away at the gigantic clump of what's going to be buttercream frosting.
So, I'm stress-baking. Sue me.
It's not like I can do much of anything else. Huey is so tired of me crying into his soft orange fur that he's gone into hiding somewhere in Eve's room. I can't talk to Dustin. I can't talk to my team. I'm not so desperate that I'll strike up a conversation with Ricky about his latest stock calls, but I'm getting there. Maybe I'll ask him what his favorite canned spaghetti brand is tomorrow .
"Okay, you're spiraling." Janine pokes at one of the cookies with a long, neon pink acrylic nail. "You're also keeping the local flour mills in business single-handedly. Which is commendable; we love supporting local. But seriously, you need to focus your energy on something else."
"What else is there?" I shriek and burst into tears for the sixty-seventh time today. "I don't know what to do! What if I lose my job? What if I don't, but I can never talk to Dustin again? What if he's not upset like I am—what if he's relieved to be free of me? What if he hates me, and this was all an elaborate ploy to get back at me for dumping him in college?"
"You're an idiot." My best friend in the whole wide world, who's also a massive bitch right now, plops down at the kitchen table and shoves a naked cupcake into her mouth. "Of course, he doesn't hate you. Do you remember how he looked at you? Do you remember how he kicked me out—very rudely, I might add—so he could dick you down?"
"Grrrgh." I drop my head into my hands. "But what if?"
"What if the world was made of cream cheese, you dumb shit?"
"That's not fucking helpful, Janine!"
"It's about as helpful as you wondering if he hates you. Of course, he doesn't fucking hate you. God, you're so dumb when you're in love." She throws a cupcake wrapper at me. "What do you want to do?"
"I wanna talk to him, obviously." I peek out at her between my fingers. The crumpled cupcake wrapper even looks like him—kind of. If he scrunched his face up and was pink with red Valentine hearts. She's right—I am super dumb when I'm in love.
"And if you could talk to him, what would you say? He's back in Chicago, right? Would you start looking at plane tickets? Would you beg him to come back?"
"Probably."
Ricky chooses that exact moment to saunter out of his room and assess the haphazard mess I've made of the kitchen. "'Sup, B. You doin' anything for Valentine's Day?"
"Not the time, Ricky," Janine hisses between her teeth.
"Why not? She's got that guy—the one with the beard. What's his deal? I haven't seen him around for a few days."
"Fuckin' hell—" I grit out, but Janine goes full bear mode. I swear I can see her acrylic nails sharpen before my eyes.
"If you'd step out of your crypto cave for a single fucking moment , you'd know what the deal is, Richard . Or do you only emerge when you can steal cookies from Brooke? Or when you think you might have another shot with me? Ship has sailed, baby boy. Fuck off back to stock puts land." She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, but I'm stunned speechless.
Richard? Another shot with her? Baby boy? Richard?
"Whoa, hey now. I was just making polite conversation. The fuck's your problem?" He yanks a cookie from the top of my very precarious stack, and I swear to god, I watch the whole thing topple in slow motion.
Chocolate chip cookies cascade from the counter to the tiled floor. Some shatter on impact, but more of them leave long smears of melted chocolate as they slip and slide. All of them are ruined.
Fuck me sideways.
Huey pokes his head into my room and beelines for his food bowl. Janine sent me to my room so she could clean up the mess Ricky caused—or maybe force him to clean up after himself, which would be a first. I'm still not sure what the hell happened between them, but I figure she'll tell me when she's ready.
Or she'll tell me when I pester her about it enough.
I watch my orange single-brain-celled cat crunch away on his kibble. He's been more skittery since Dustin left. I mean, it could also be due to the fact that I keep trying to use the softest fur available (his little tummy) as a pillow. But that comes with the territory when your assigned human is a Millennial who just got forcibly dumped via corporate policy.
Does it even count as getting dumped? I don't know. But fuck, I also don't know if Dustin is going through the same anguished emotions I'm feeling. And I can't know. And that hurts like hell.
I just want to hear his voice. I want his overly logical explanation of why this is fine, actually, and everything is going to work out perfectly. I can almost imagine what he'd say, something about how it doesn't make business sense to keep us apart. Our productivity is what Atmosphere and DropTop will measure against our relationship for success and KPIs.
An unhinged giggle forces its way out. That's so him. And here I am, laying on my unmade bed, soaking my pillow with tears (again) and laughing at my own jokes. I'm so fucking pathetic.
Loud voices echo down the hall, and I shove my head under a pillow. I don't know what Janine and Ricky are arguing about now. The voices grow louder, and it doesn't sound like just Janine and Ricky. It almost sounds like….
"Brooke?" My door swings open, and I pop my head out from under the pillow.
Oh, fuck me . "What do you want, Calvin. "
My shithead ex-husband looks around my room with disgust before his eyes land on Huey. The most beautiful little kitty in the world arches his back and fluffs out his tail, hissing at Calvin.
"Holy hell—keep that thing away from me!" Calvin shuffles backward and closes the door behind him. "Brooke, will you please come out here so we can have a rational discussion like adults?"
"Good boy," I praise Huey.
Hoisting myself out of bed, I grimace at my reflection in the compact mirror Janine left out. Somehow, it's angled perfectly so I can see my rat's nest hair piled in the world's greasiest bun on top of my head. I have dark circles under my eyes. To top it all off, I have a ridiculous amount of flour and various baking goops caked all over my shirt and extremities.
Awesome. Just the kind of look I was hoping for when I have to face my ex-husband.
I slam open my door and lean into the frame. "What the hell do you want, Calvin?"
"You've ignored me for weeks—you blocked me! Why do you want to keep the baseball cards so bad?" He sneers at me, and I wonder how the hell I ever thought I loved him.
"I don't have your stupid fucking cards! I don't give a shit about you, Calvin. I left . We're divorced . You're gonna have a kid with whatever her name is. Why do you think I have your shit? Why can't you just leave me alone?!" My voice raises with every word until I'm bellowing, and he finally looks at me with the discomfort he made me feel.
Good. Be scared of me. Get the hell out of my life, and don't let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya.
"You—Brooke. You know how much those cards mean to me. My father gave them to me, and I want to give them to my son. I know you took them. You had to get one last dig in at me. You had to have the last word. You always did," he snarls and steps closer. "You're such a bitch. You've always been manipulative and power-hungry."
"Oh, shut the fuck up," Janine snaps. Ricky stands to his full height behind her and fixes Calvin with a disgusted glare.
"This doesn't involve you, Janelle," Calvin quips back. "This is between me and my conniving ex-wife."
"I think Janine told you to shut up," Ricky growls. I guess I never noticed it before, but he can be kind of scary. He's taller than I thought he was—in my defense, he's always hunched over and kind of stoned. "Dustin's not gonna like you, buddy."
"Dustin?" Calvin's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "What—Dustin? From fucking college? Brooke, you cheating bitch!"
"We're divorced, you dickhead! How is that cheating?" I shriek back, flapping my hands .
"I knew you had someone on the side—how long have you been seeing him? Is that why you kept your job after all those years? Just in case your precious Dustin showed back up? I know he's in the tech world, and I know he's the real reason you wanted to be a programmer."
"Wh—are you on meth or something? I hadn't seen him in years—you cheated on ME! Repeatedly! Jesus, fucking hell, get out!"
"I think it's time for you to leave, guy." Ricky closes the distance between himself and Calvin in a few menacing steps. "She doesn't have your shit. Baseball cards depreciate in value, anyway. Unless they were signed by an all-star. You should look into crypto, really set your kid up for success."
What the fuck? He chooses now to preach the crypto word? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm thankful he's stepped in. But what the fuck?
It seems Calvin is as bewildered as I am because he just nods with a stricken look on his face. The confusion melts as he turns back to me, and he shoots me a scowl. "I swear to god, Brooke, if you're lying to me…."
"She fucking isn't, you idiot! Go home! Go back to your baby mama!" Janine launches herself at Calvin, but Ricky catches her right before she makes impact.
"I need to get out of here," I grumble to myself .
"Fine. I'm leaving. Brooke? You look like shit. Fix your face and your hair." Calvin lobs one last insult before stomping out the door.
Jesus Christ. This day couldn't get any worse.
Well, that's not true. Maybe I could be teleported back in time and get caught fucking Dustin again and put on leave again—that would definitely be worse. I wring my hands and resist the urge to pick up my phone and call him.
"You okay, babe?" Janine rushes over and pets my (very greasy) hair. "I'm so sorry. I tried to keep him away."
"I know," I groan. "I know. Thank you. God, what an asshole. What did I ever see in him?"
She chews her lower lip for a second, and I brace myself for whatever's coming.
"Well… Do you remember before you got married? Your bachelorette party?" She mimes slamming back a drink. I nod. "I did ask you if you were sure…."
"Did you? God, I was blitzed out of my mind. What did I say?"
"You cried. You looked at me with your big, pretty eyes—and your makeup looked great that night, by the way—and you just started sobbing. I was sure I would have to call your mom and orchestrate a runaway bride situation. You were inconsolable until you woke up the next day. At that point, you'd forgotten everything. You seemed so happy when you were sober—I just chalked it up to the very dignified, uh, bender we were on." She throws her arms around me, and I melt into her hug, like I do every time. "I'm so sorry, babe. He's such a dick. Did you hear him call me Janelle?"
"Oh, my god, right? Like, what the fuck was that? As if he hasn't known you for years ."
She snorts an incredulous laugh. "I'd be offended if it was anyone else. He's always been way up his own ass. Y'know, when he's not sucking himself off."
I dissolve into hysterical giggles, and she cackles along with me. As I break away from our hug, wiping the tears from my cheeks, I sigh. "Y'know who would fucking hate Calvin?"
"Girl, if you say 'Dustin' and don't call him, I'm going to kidnap you to Chicago myself."
A thought occurs to me, which is dangerous in my current state. Janine gives me a knowing look and just smirks. "Do it, girl. Fucking do it. I'll watch Huey. We'll have a grand old time together."
"Do it, B," Ricky pipes up, and I jump. I forgot he was here.
This is obviously the perfect time for me to make a hasty decision.