Chapter 7
PAIGE
After taking an Uber from work to the auto shop, I pay the mechanic an arm and a leg before driving a repaired Dory home and crashing on my couch.
I trail my finger across the top of the giant consolation sugar cookie, collecting as much frosting as possible before indulging in yet another mouthful of sugar. My limbs are splayed across the couch like the broken woman I am inside. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined my day snowballing like it did.
I can’t stop seeing Jay’s satisfied smirk after he got the job, or Jen’s horror as she watched her breakfast splash all over my outfit, or Zia’s smile as she squeezed Jordan’s bicep like it was her favorite pillow. And the way Zia called her and Jordan a “we,” as if they were the long-time friends…
I groan and lay my head on the couch’s armrest, placing the cookie box on my stomach. I need more sugar. I finish defacing the entire consolation cookie before making my way to the irony of the congratulations cookie.
That’s when Missy and Ji walk through the garage door with groceries in their hands. They’re in the middle of an animated conversation but go silent when they find me in my couch cocoon with a fingerful of frosting hovering above my mouth.
“Hello.” I smile like a rodent who just got caught stealing pizza from the garbage.
Missy and Ji’s grocery bags drop to the floor in a rustle of plastic, and they plant themselves on the ottoman in front of me. I want to hide, hiss, and claw like the trash panda I am. I’m not ready to face humans right now. I’m sick of them. Especially the beautiful, best-friend-stealing Meghan Markle lookalikes.
“Oh, honey,” Missy says, nothing but sympathy in her voice. Of course she can surmise that I didn’t get the job.
I curl into myself but realize I still have a glob of frosting on my finger and down it shamelessly before rolling away from them and into the couch seam.
“Wow, straight to frosting? You didn’t want the ice cream in the fridge?” Ji asks sarcastically.
“Ice cream is just watered-down frosting,” I mumble into the cushion. “If I’m going to drown myself in sugar, I’m going to do it quickly.”
“Want me to get you an IV? Hook the sugar right up to the vein?”
“Yes, please.” I roll over slightly, extending my arm and exposing my veins. “Right arm is best.”
“I take it you didn’t get the job,” Missy says.
I sit up, and I can tell by the way Ji and Missy’s faces scrunch that they can now see the entirety of my stained ensemble. I point to Missy’s sparkly heels, which I placed at the base of the couch when I walked in. “Let’s just say I de-luckified your Louis.”
Missy gazes at her heels as if they’re a favorite child who can do no wrong. “If something bad happened in the Louis, then there must be a reason. The Louis are always intentional.” She takes my hand and pats it like I’ve unrightfully taken the blame for a heinous crime. “You have not de-luckified the Louis.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure I did a thorough job of it.”
Missy rocks back as if stumped. “Well, there has to be one good thing that happened in them.”
Oh, sweet, optimistic Missy. If only there was something good. But right now, I’m about to pull an Othello and smother her positivity. “Well, I didn’t get the job. Which hurt, especially after seeing Smirky Jay get it with all his peacock confidence, but that wasn’t all. Jordan showed up right outside the glass walls of the conference room.” I pause for effect. “Yep, he showed up, then Zia, my gorgeous co-worker, slammed right into him. They flirted, they exchanged numbers, and then they became a we , all while I was watching them like a guppy in a fish tank. Then …”
Ji and Missy’s eyes are wide. My audience is captivated. “Then, in front of an entire conference room of co-workers, including my boss, I sit on my chair wrong and go down head over heels, bringing my friend’s cup of coffee with me.”
Vindication swamps me as I stare at my friends’ horrified expressions. Then I stand, tucking my two cookie boxes underneath my arm and head toward the hallway. “I’ll be in my room, watching America’s Got Talent .”
I’m just plopping onto my bed when I hear two sets of footsteps headed for my room, then my door opens, revealing Ji and Missy. The burning behind my eyes flares up once more. I need tissues. I’m about to roll off my bed and grab the tissue box from my desk, but Missy beats me to it, bringing the box over. Missy and Ji perch on the edge of my bed, and I sit up as the tears break loose, allowing my best friends to witness the Bellagio water show streaming from my eyes.
Soon, Missy’s gentle hand rests on my arm. “Look at me, honey.” Missy’s words are so calm and confident that my swollen eyes can’t help but pull out of their funk to look at her. “You are talented. You are loved. And the hard times will pass. Now, come on, say it,” she orders with all the verve of a Southern mama, then she eyes Ji. “You too.”
Ji rolls her eyes, and together, we chant Missy’s affirmation.
After the second round, Ji stands beside my bed with sudden zeal. “Okay, get up.” She grabs my hands and drags me to my feet. “Enough chanting. Time to smash things.”
Thirty minutes and a trip to Dollar Mart later, Ji, Missy, and I are standing at a place supposedly called Slab Rock, a vertical red rock just a few minutes’ walk up one of the mountain trails near Pine Lakes. Ji hands me our bag of very ugly breakables we got for twenty-five cents each at our local dollar store.
I pull out a ceramic plate with a hideous frog imprinted on the front. Its mouth is open, with music notes spilling out from it to edge the border of the plate. I brush a finger over the eighth notes. It reminds me of Jordan and Trello Park and how he pulled me close to him while the older couple danced to Chicago.
“Smash it,” Ji says, grabbing another plate from the bag.
So that’s what I do.
Like a mature adult who knows how to cope with her emotions, I tuck my plate in a plastic bag, tie it shut, and throw it against the slab over and over and over again. All the while my mind replays songs from Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” album until it’s just chanting the words, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”
Around my eighth throw, I really am feeling stronger. Refreshed. I think I might even hit up the batting cages now and then—this is cathartic. I look over at Ji, whose ceramic plate is nearly powder in her bag but she keeps throwing it. Her bag soars through the air with precision and speed, and I think we might have the makings of a softball team. Ji must be working out some of her stress from planning this year’s Pine Lakes Gala. She’s been so busy lately.
I pick up another plate, bag it, and extend it to Missy, who’s been sitting on a log watching us work out our angst.
“Missy. Your turn.” I hold out her personal smash bag.
She puts up both hands. “I don’t have anything worth smashing for.” Hers is a sunny smile.
“What if I told you that Colton will be joining us on our rafting trip?”
That beaming face instantly clouds. “He isn’t.”
“Oh, but he is.” I nod.
Missy snatches the bag from my hand, and without a second thought, she sends the plate hurtling toward the rock. A satisfying crack echoes around us on impact.
Ji and I share a glance. During our junior year of high school, Colton and Missy had a falling-out. To this day, no one but them knows why, and none of us can talk sense into them. But since we’re all part of the same friend group, they’ve learned to tolerate each other. Barely.
“Rafting will be interesting,” Ji murmurs to me as we watch Missy hurtle her smash bag three more times.
When our bags are limp with broken shards and powder and our arms are sore, Missy, Ji, and I collapse on a nearby boulder.
“I feel so much better,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.
“Good.” Ji sighs. “We should do this more often.”
“Where did you even find this place?” I ask her.
“One of our clients wanted an outdoor venue for their Greek wedding. I stumbled on this while I was out looking for the right place.”
“ Opa! ” I say, thinking of all the plates we just smashed.
“ Opa! ” Missy echoes.
“So, not to circle back to old feelings,” Ji says, looking at me, “but I think now is as good a time as any.”
Missy sits up straighter on the boulder as if Ji’s words are a rallying cry, and all the cells in my body go on red alert.
Another bombardment is coming, and I’m not sure I’m ready to handle what they want to say, so I jump ahead of the conversation in hope of controlling it. “I will get over Jordan. I can do it.”
Ji leans toward me. “We know you can. I just think the way you’ve been approaching it might not be truly effective.”
“And how am I approaching it?”
“You’re not dating,” Ji says. “You’re waiting.”
“What? I date all the time,” I say defensively. “Like every other week, I’m on a date with someone new.”
“That’s the problem,” Missy chimes in. “You’re always dating someone new. You never settle with just one. I think your last serious boyfriend was He Who Must Not be Named from high school.”
Missy’s right. I haven’t had a serious boyfriend since just after my sophomore year of high school. Sure, I dated guys in college, but ultimately, I didn’t feel as strongly for them as I know I’ve felt for another. And since coming back to Colorado, well, let’s just say the guys I’ve been on dates with are single for a reason. Ji and Missy can’t fault me for that.
“None of the guys I date really interest me,” I say.
“No,” Ji says. “You intentionally choose guys that don’t interest you. You’re determined to date to show Jordan that you’ve moved on from him, but you also date losers to keep you from getting into a serious relationship. That way, if Jordan decides to fall for you, you’re wide open. You’re stalling your life for him in the hopes that one day he’ll turn around and love you as more than a friend.”
A slap to the face would have stung less than those words. As my mouth goes dry, I’m left searching my brain for an honest rebuttal, but I come up empty.
I have never admitted it out loud, but Jordan was a major factor in taking the internship in Colorado after I finished college—so much so that I chose the Wonderman & Fleck internship over two other internships I was offered in California. Yes, Ji and Missy were here, and the idea of living with them was extremely exciting, but in all honesty, I wanted to come back to Colorado to see Jordan again. To see if his feelings had changed.
But they haven’t.
“Obviously you can be his friend, Paige,” Missy says, filling the silence. “But you also need to find a way to move forward.”
“How?” It’s the only word I can manage.
“By truly dating people.” Missy smiles a little. “Funny, smart, interesting people you actually want to date. Someone who’s not just a placeholder for Jordan but who can hold his own place in your heart.”
I know deep down that what my friends are saying is true. If Jordan hasn’t said he loves me by now, he doesn’t. I can’t keep waiting around and hoping. But how can I even think about giving my heart to another person when I’m in love with Jordan?
“I’ll think about it.” I know that’s not the answer they’re looking for, but for now, it’s the best I can give.