Chapter 8
Today’s workload is heavier than usual. Between Tax Day and last-minute projects, my plate is full, and I won’t have enough time.
I’m going to have to push a few things to tomorrow.
Not Sunday, I’m taking that day off even if I don’t sleep for the next forty-eight hours.
Life doesn’t give you exactly what you want.
Today, I wanted to get out and enjoy the warm weather.
Apparently, the only out I might be able to pull off is to pack my things and work at the bookstore.
It’s around eleven thirty when I decide to take a break and prepare some lunch, but right before I decide what to cook, my phone starts ringing.
“Damn it,” I curse because I can’t get anything done today.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Everhart?”
“So formal,” he says with a mocking voice. “I need you to make a reservation for tonight.”
He is one of my oldest and most favorite clients. He barely asks for personal favors.
“Are we celebrating something?”
“That I might get laid,” he chuckles. “So, make it fancy, special, and blow my date’s mind.”
“You’ll blow the rest?”
“No one knows me as well as you do,” he says with a chuckle. “That’s why you’re my favorite assistant.”
“I’m your only assistant,” I remind him.
“Yet, you can’t be faithful to me,” he says dramatically.
“Ha, you’re funny. I’ll have everything set for tonight at seven.”
“Sounds good, what are you up to today?” he asks with a smooth voice.
He makes me want to stay and chat with him for the rest of the evening.
“You’re not going out today?” he questions curiously. “Do you finally have a hot date?”
As I search for a good restaurant in San Francisco, I continue the conversation with him.
“I might head to the bookstore after I grab dinner,” I respond.
“Buy yourself some dinner, charge it to my account.”
“Aren’t you the best boss?” I comment. “I’ll take the dinner, but I’m still not quitting my other accounts.”
“You can’t blame me for trying,” he insists.
“Maybe it’s time you got a real assistant,” I suggest.
“You know what happened with the last one. I can’t afford to have women throwing themselves at my brother’s feet. My sisters-in-law won’t be happy.”
“I’ll get a male assistant,” I offer.
“Then, I won’t be able to get anything done. Stop trying to fix me up with someone else. You and I are forever, sweetheart.”
“Fine, be that way.” I stop, or I’ll never be able to get off the phone. “I’ll send you the information for your reservation once I have it.”
Around noon, my stomach grumbles and I finally rise from the seat and go to the kitchen to prepare myself a salad. Instead of working, I text my friend Laura to see if she’s available to chat.
Laura: Skype me?
I set my laptop on top of the coffee table, next to my food and call her. When she comes up on the screen, I see her sitting back, feeding Simone, her three-month-old daughter.
“Oh, you’re busy feeding the infant,” I say with disdain because it pisses her off that I’m not talking with a small voice and making parties for the baby.
Why would I? I can’t hold her, she can barely listen to me since she’s never around and we haven’t been introduced. Evidently, the day we meet in person she’s going to become my favorite niece. I just won’t say that to Laura. I enjoy pissing her off.
“Simone, her name is Simone,” she corrects me.
“One day, I’ll get used to calling her Simone. How is she doing?”
“Let me see, she cries every two hours, demands food, and craps like an adult.” Laura kisses her forehead. “She’s doing fine. She hasn’t done anything extraordinary yet, but I can’t imagine my life without her.”
I scrunch my face. “You’re talking like a true mother. One day you’re going to dump me for one of those women who take their children to play dates and know how to make giraffes out of toilet paper rolls and glue.”
“How’s work?” she asks, rolling her eyes and ignoring me.
“The usual, my clients demand food, complain every two hours, I’m sure they crap like adults. It’s like having multiple babies, but not a single one of them is cute.”
“None of them?”
“Well, Fitz could be Chris Evan’s doppelg?nger—but he’s not into women. The other three I have on the roster are pretty ugly if you ask me and J. Spearman—aka Jackson Spearman—doesn’t have a picture online, and I am not allowed to search for any information, or he’ll sue me.”
She gives me an incredulous glare. “I take that you didn’t cyberstalk him.”
I grin. “I tried, there’s not one picture of the guy.”
“Of course you stalked him. That’s in your nature, you’re a true rebel who never gives up a quest.”
I groan, pinching a few leaves of spinach and fighting with the strawberries. “Yeah, I almost fired him as my client,” I say before taking a spoonful of salad.
“Uh-uh, what did he do?”
“He’s one of those men who thinks he can spread his anger around the world.”
She nods as if understanding. Laura and I go way back. She was my roommate from freshman year and even when I changed schools in college, we lived together until I decided to move out of Boston.
“What’s for lunch today?” she eyes my bowl.
“A ‘salad,’” I answer dismissively.
“Without lettuce?” She snorts. “That’s not a salad. Does it have any greens?”
“Do artichokes count as lettuce?” I stab some of them along with roasted red pepper and carrots.”
“Nope, you’re just mixing stuff in a bowl.”
“It’s a rainbow of veggies, ahi tuna, and wonton sticks.”
“Dressing?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Sesame dressing, and lots of it.” I grab my ramune and take a few sips.
“You were born in the wrong country,” she declares, giving me an eye roll. “Have you looked into moving to Japan, yet?”
“I’m happy here. What else can you tell me about yourself? Husband?”
“He’s pretending that he’s working while he’s playing Player Unknown, or maybe it is Fortnite. I can’t keep up with his vices,” she says with a huffy grin.
“I’ll send him some work,” I say loudly, hoping he can hear me.
“Anthem,” I hear Alistair protest. “If you two are going to talk shit about me, get your facts straight.”
“Tell him I have some work for him,” I insist. “To get his butt in gear.”
“Erasing your love letters to J. Spearman?” he asks loudly.
“Have you been spying on me?” I protest when he comes to the screen, kissing the top of Laura’s head and then the baby.
“No, I have better things to do, but while I was updating the chat app, I happened to catch some of the action. Things are heating up,” he says mockingly.
Alistair has been my best friend since elementary school. We’re as close to brother and sister but cooler. I even introduced him to the love of his life.
I glare at the screen, complaining, “Your husband is an idiot.”
“You two put me in a tight spot,” she says. “Since I want to go out with him tonight and have crazy hot sex later. So, I have to be nice to him. But I don’t want to lie to you.”
“I’m right here, ladies,” he protests and bends down. “Do you want me to take her, babe?”
Once Alistair and Simone are out of sight, I ask, “You’re finally going out?”
“Yeah, his mom is coming to take care of Simone for the evening,” she says.
“We should celebrate,” I say.
“Come over, and we can go out—my geek can babysit—and you can finally meet Simone in person.”
“Boston is too far away,” I say, letting out a nostalgic sigh.
“How are things with you?” she inquires.
“Same old same old.” I give her a slight shrug, rising from the floor. “Give me a second, let me get dessert.”
I grab a piece of the chocolate Bundt cake I prepared yesterday and top it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some whipped cream. Laura stares at my plate, her mouth slightly open.
“Are you still practicing yoga?”
“And Pilates,” I add. “Jiu Jitsu is off the plate, but I might try barre, it looks—interesting.” I scrunch my nose.
“Look at you, working on that hot body,” she says with a singing tone, fixing her tangled blonde hair.
Taking a bite of cake, I say, “I’d be hot if I laid off the sweets.”
“Are you still seeing your therapist?”
Oh God, the problem of having a best friend is that she’s on my case all the time.
“I Skype with her every week,” I say with a grunt.
“Have you made any friends lately?”
“Yes, Simone. We’re trying to get to know each other. You might want to teach her a word or two.”
“Ha! You have to try harder,” she observes.
“I’m nice to others, that counts, doesn’t it?”
“Not necessarily, you’re nice to everyone. If I recall, that was your goal for last year—to make a new friend. So far you haven’t done shit.”
“This might be the year I finally make a friend in real-life.”
“If I ask about boyfriends…” her glance moves away from the screen.
Damn it, she’s on a roll today. I laugh uncontrollably.
“Tinder is a fucked-up place. You can’t find a date, let alone a boyfriend,” I say and show her my phone. “There’s not one eligible bachelor. I keep swiping left at every prospect.”
“Have you tried real-life dating?”
I gasp, touching my breastbone lightly. Then, compose myself and ask innocently, “Is that a new app or a website?”
“Try harder,” Laura insists.
“I could set up a classified ad, something like…” I say, “give me a second.”
Quickly, I run to my office for an office pad and a pen.
“Female, late twenties, looking for a tall, dark, handsome guy with a sense of humor,” I say, scribbling squiggly lines on the yellow paper. “He must have good taste in music, movies—and be a Netflix connoisseur. Honest, faithful, and full of integrity. Gentleman need only apply.”
“Don’t forget dependable,” she inputs.
“Kind,” I add.
“Fatherly,” she says. Laura watches her husband walk around the living room cradling their adorable baby.
Could I get one of those babies to go?
Then, I add, “He’d have to have one of those tiny creatures for me to know if he’s father material.”
“Not necessarily,” she adds.
“A sense of humor?” I question because I’m not sure if that’s necessary.
She nods and says, “You’re too witty to be with a serious guy. You need someone who will humor you. He has to be smart and support your career which is all-consuming.”
“Respectful is a must,” I add.
“Confident.”
Biting my pen, I wonder if there’s a word for…Caliente in bed. “Passionate?”
“You want a miracle, not a man,” Alistair yells from wherever he is.
“I’d make do with just a few of those qualities,” I say, finally writing some of them down. “Smart, a gentleman, dependable, with a sense of humor, hot would be nice but not necessary.”
“Supportive,” Laura offers her two cents.
“Yes, let’s add that to the list. Integrity and honesty. A good family man,” I say. I don’t have a physical description of the perfect guy, but I do have a few qualities that are a must.
“He has to deal with your demanding personality,” Alastair brings up a delicate subject.
“I’m not demanding,” I protest.
“You expect a lot from others, sweetheart. Which is fair since you give a hundred percent all the time, but when someone fails you, you write them off,” he concludes sounding just like my therapist.
“I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to write them off, Alastair,” I remind him. At this point I’m just giving him ammunition to mock me.
“There’s that too,” he says, no mockery or pity in his voice.
“Are we psychoanalyzing me? I already have someone handling my crazy, thank you very much.”
“My woman is concerned about you. You’re too far away and isolated,” he explains. His face is filled with concern. He’s just as worried as Laura. How can I make them understand that I’m happy?
I am happy, aren’t I?
“Look, I appreciate you guys, but in all honesty, I’m doing fine,” I correct him. “I’m not lonely, just alone by choice. There’s a difference.”
“You should visit,” Laura suggests. “You can stay as long as you want. I’ll set up an office just for you.”
“I’m not saying no.”
“But you’re not saying yes either,” she concludes with a sad face.
“Exactly.”
Am I a bad person for not wanting to go back home? It’s kind of impossible to think about using my vacation time to go to a place where I feel asphyxiated by memories and obligations. Before she gives me one of her lectures, I check the time and say, “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Go out and enjoy the day,” she says.
“Don’t worry, it’s in my organizer and my journal. Go out and make this day your bitch.”
“We love you,” Laura says.
“I love you back.”
From: AlistairlovesLaura
To: Bossypants
Friday, April 15th, 4:23 p.m.
Just be you, sweetheart. Maybe not the old you, since you’ve been suffocating that girl for years, but try to become a grown-up version of her.
The one who disappears every Sunday, drinks straight from the bottle, feeds the homeless, puts her right sock on first, and never uses the word can’t. Normal isn’t part of your vocabulary.
You are you.
Be proud of your fuck ups, your mistakes, and your best intentions. Accept every little bit of yourself and don’t ever apologize—for any of it.
Remember your innerweirdo.
I get your mantra, let grief nourish your courage. But you’ve been nourishing it for too long, and losing your essence; that which makes you one of the most incredible people I know.
Stop beating yourself up and move on from the past.
Live your own life.
You hate straight roads. Be proud of those curves that make you who you are. Don’t look for perfection in yourself or in a man. I want you happy again,
Al
P. S. Simone would like to meet her auntie, please come to visit soon. Lau misses you more than she wants to admit.
I smile and clear my tears, hating how well he knew the old me and how much I miss her too.