LoveLines (3 page)

“Dude!” Christopher yelled. He slapped Reece’s back and laughed. “Dude, that was amazing!”

“Not too weird?” Reece asked.

Patricia shook her head. “Not weird at all. Funny.” She paused. “Funny and fab.”

Reece let out a huge sigh. “I won’t lie. That tie threw me for a second. I stood up and wasn’t even sure what to say. But then it came automatically.”

“Thank God for that,” Christopher said. “You made me look good today, bro.”

Reece smirked. “Only concern I had.”

The team worked all day—even through lunch—on the campaign materials. Christopher and Patricia focused on storyboarding the commercial idea
, while Reece and Darrell fine-tuned the PowerPoint presentation.

Darrell and Patricia left around 5:30. Reece and Christopher stayed until six. They caught sight of Bailey walking down the hall with purse and car keys in hand, and Reece had the instant, overwhelming urge to pop out of the conference room and wish her a good night.

“I wonder if that girl . . .” Christopher pulled out his phone and checked his email. His marked-up document was there from Bailey with a note attached: “Because I’d never let you down.” He smiled and looked at Reece. “Forget it,” he said as they filed out of the room. “I know what you’re thinkin’.”

“You do?”

“Mmhmm. You don’t need to hand deliver those campaign materials to our resident proofreader,” Christopher said.

Reece grinned wickedly.

“And don’t even try to tell me you don’t know how to send an email with an attachment,” Christopher went on.

The men walked out of the building and were immediately wrapped in a stifling blanket—that
summertime humidity that hung low and thick after an afternoon thundershower.

“She don’t need you bothering her at her desk while she
’s tryin’ to work.”

Reece chuckled. He had to hand it to his friend. Christopher was determined to keep him away from Bailey. Perhaps he knew some unsavory things about her and didn’t want Reece getting hurt. But how could that bouncing, ponytail-wearing girl hurt anyone? She was way too cute to hurt a fly. And anyway, he just wanted a chat. Where’s the harm in that?

He wished Christopher a nice weekend and climbed in his Audi. He turned on the radio and, on a silly whim, searched for the oldies station. He found it and sat shocked as Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” slapped and chimed about the interior, filling his car with the cotton candy sound of innocent, new love.

Reece was all about reading the signs. He lived the “everything has a reason” kind of life. And for him, it was no coincidence that a Buddy Holly song played on the radio at the exact moment he turned the station. Nope. There was meaning behind the song. There was purpose behind the song. There was Bailey behind the song. And in that moment
, he tossed the idea of sending her an email right out his car window. He was going to talk to her instead.

***

I’d no idea who he was. That was the first I’d seen him. I could strangle Christopher for not bothering to introduce us. That would have been the mannerly thing to do. And Christopher had manners. I knew this to be true because he always held the door for me, and one time he actually held out my chair in a meeting. The guy was all class. So why didn’t he bother to acquaint two strangers?

And why
did I care so much? Oh, right. Because the dude was cute as hell and looked to be my age. I caught sight of him at the end of the day, on my way out the door. He was still with Christopher in that conference room. They must have been in there all day. I hoped maybe this time I’d get an introduction.

I slowed my step near the open door. I even paused and searched my purse for my car keys—the ones I knew were in my hand. No luck. No introduction. No name. And it wasn’t my style to initiate a meeting. Oh well. I sighed and walked out the door.

Probably wiser to look at him from afar anyway.

“So, how’d y
ou do yesterday?” Erica called.

Her head was stuck in the re
frigerator searching for an afternoon snack for her kids. Her four-year-old screamed in the background, while her two-year-old rolled around on the kitchen floor, beating her chubby fists on the hardwoods and trying to out-match her brother. So far, she was winning.

It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon.

“Eh,” I replied.

“What’s that?” Erica said, holding carrots and a container of hum
mus. She couldn’t hear me. She couldn’t hear me if I were standing right beside her. I glanced at her daughter, Annie, whose face sported fat, angry tears.

“Your kids eat hum
mus?” I shouted above the wailing.

“My kids eat anything,” she shouted back, and walked to the kitchen table. “Screaming stops now!” She tossed the food and watched her children scramble to the chairs, pull themselves up, and sit completely mute awaiting her next order.

“Amazing,” I breathed.

She doled out carrots and opened the hum
mus, then instructed her children to take turns dipping. And they did. They munched on their carrots in silence while Erica and I moved to the living room. She sank into an oversized armchair directly in front of the TV and instinctively reached for the remote.

“Hello?” I said with mock offense

She laughed. “Sorry. Force of habit. I get a second to breathe, and it’s TV time, you know?”

“Not really,” I replied.

“Bitch,” she whispered, and then she suddenly remembered the conversation she tried to start in the kitchen. “Oh yeah, so how was yesterday?”

“I didn’t do it,” I muttered, taking a seat on the couch.

Erica nodded, pulling her long blond hair back in a messy bun. “Did you come close?”

“Yes.”

Her blue eyes brightened. “Bailey, that’s so good! How close are we talking?”

“I got my hand on the door handle.”

“Get out! Are you serious?!”

I smiled at Erica’s enthusiasm.

“Okay, this is, like, a major step, Bailey. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I would have been prouder to actually make it inside,” I pointed out.

“Hey. Baby steps, okay? You’re too damn hard on yourself.”

I burst out laughing. “Um, Erica? I’ve been workin
g at Beach Elite for over five years. I think we’re way past baby steps.”

“You also told me that you
r doctor said your hang-ups are really severe. So, yeah. It’s gonna take some time. You touched the door handle yesterday. That deserves recognition.” Erica thought for a moment. “That deserves a drink.” She hopped up from the couch.

“It does?” I asked.

“Totally.”

I watched Erica disappear into the kitchen then reemerge with two beers.

“You just want an excuse to drink,” I said, taking the beer.

“You’re damn straight,” she replied. “You don’t understand, Bailey.” She popped the top then tossed me the bottle opener. “You don’t understand what I go through on a daily basis.”

“Yes, I do. You tell me. Every day. In excruciating detail.”

Erica looked at me flatly. “You hate hearing about my kids, don’t you?”

“Not at all!” I lied.

“Oh, whatever. It’s obnoxious, I know.”

“It’s cute,” I said. “Your kids are cute. Well, when they’re not screaming.”

Erica smiled.

“Your husband’s cute. Your life’s cute . . .”

Erica gave me her pity glance.

“I hate you,” I said, and she laughed.

“It
ain’t all that,” she said, “and you know it.”

“Better than being alone,” I mumbled. “And I’m not looking for a pity party. Just
sayin’.”

Erica drew in her breath. “You know, I have a really hard time with this notion that you can’t be happy unless you’re with someone. And I don’t mean
you
you; I just mean people in general. People think this, and it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yeah. It’s like, why can’t you be content with just you? Why aren’t
you
enough? Why aren’t
you
complete?”

I stared at my friend. “Are you really saying this to me?”

Erica nodded and took a swig of beer.

I glanced at
the kitchen table then turned back to her. “You’re such a bitch,” I hissed.

“How so?”

“It’s easy for you to spout ‘wisdom’ like that when you’re married with kids!”

“Oh, calm down. Half the time I don’t even
wanna be married.”

“Bullshit.”

“Watch it,” Erica said, jabbing her thumb in the direction of her children. “I’m just saying that I wish you’d be happy.”

“Erica, I’m not happy being alone. Okay? I commend those people who enjoy being single. Good for them. More power to ‘
em. But that’s not me. And it doesn’t make me some weak ass woman because I want a partner. People partner up! That’s what they do! And I’d like to. I’d like to find someone who can . . . deal with me.” I stared at the bottle cradled in my hands. “I’m tired of failing at it.”

Erica moved over to the couch and sat close to me, our legs touching.

“You’ll find someone,” she said, “when you least expect it.”

“You’ve been saying that to me since I was eighteen,” I replied. “
Kinda don’t believe you anymore.”

Erica nudged me. “But it is the truth.”

I was silent for a moment, aware of the emotional tumult building inside my chest.

“I miss him!” I blurted, then chugged the rest of my beer.

“I know.”

“I hate him.”

“We all do.”

“I’m still in love with him, Erica.”

“Only natural.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. The tears sprang up. They always did when I drank in the afternoon. Don’t ask m
e why, but daytime drinking made me highly emotional. Erica knew it. I had no idea why she offered me another beer.

“You know I’ll take it because I’ve got no willpower,” I snapped. I wasn’t angry with her—just myself for being impossible. I dabbed the corners of my eyes. “You know I’ll have to sleep over or at least take a nap.”

“That’s cool. Or Noah can drive you home,” Erica called from the kitchen.

I snorted. “I love how you volunteer your husband for things. Is that a married couples rule?”

“Only if it’s the wife doing the volunteering,” she replied, plopping back down on the couch and handing me the beer. “Okay. Go ahead and let it all out.”

On cue,
I burst into tears while I sipped my beer. I only spluttered and coughed a handful of times, dotting my shirt with dark brown liquid. Somehow I was able to squash OCD voice who worried that the stains wouldn’t come out in the wash.

“It’s so unfair!” I wailed.

“Honey, Brian was a bit of a jerk. I mean, obviously. He broke up with you. That’s jerkish,” Erica said soothingly.

The breakup was completely my fault,
and Erica knew it. But that’s the great thing about girlfriends—they feed us bullshit lies about ourselves so that we can shirk responsibility for our actions. A girl can be a complete psycho in the relationship, and her best friend will find some excuse for blaming the guy. Not that I was a psycho, but my tics were a problem.

“I’m not talking abo
ut Brian!” I cried. I glimpsed Little Noah and Annie. I’d forgotten they were still at the kitchen table. They took absolutely no notice of me, still crunching their carrots and dipping in turn. “M-my con . . . dition!” I stuttered.

“Sweetie, look at yourself. You’re making great progress. You grabbed the door handle yesterday, Bailey! That’s amazing!”

I snorted disdainfully. “If I have to have a mental disorder, couldn’t I have gotten one that people actually take seriously?”

Erica sighed and muttered, “Here we go again.”

“I’m serious, Erica! I mean, bipolar? People take that shit seriously. They may walk on eggshells around you, but they take it seriously. And there are drugs to help manage it.”

Erica nodded automatically. She’d heard this a trillion times.

“Or schizophrenia? Um, hello? There are places where you can actually go and live and rest and have people take care of all fifteen of you twenty-four seven.”

Erica cracked a smile. “You
wanna go live in a psych ward?”

“I’m just saying it’d be nice to have the option,” I replied. I tipped my beer and discovered all the contents had disappeared. “There are no places for people
who have OCD to go. No medicine that really helps.”

“What about that anti-depressant you’ve been taking?”

I stared at my friend. “Seriously?”

“I thought it was helping some.”

“My tapping tic is back,” I confessed.

“Oh God. I thought you’d conquered that one,” Erica said.

I shifted on the couch. “I had. That was until I failed at opening the door early yesterday. My anxiety just exploded, and I found myself tapping my pens all day while I worked.”

“Did you
just hear the way you said that?” Erica asked.

“Huh?”

“‘I found myself tapping,’” she quoted.

I blinked at her.

“Passive, Bailey. Passive voice. You’re not taking responsibility—”

“
Shutty,” I snapped.

“Hey, I’m not Dr. Gor
don over here, but you told me to call you out when you start playing victim to your disorder,” Erica pointed out.

I scowled and nodded reluctantly.

“
Aaaaand
,” Erica went on, “you also told me to cut you off when you start comparing mental disorders.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But yo
u don’t understand what I’m dealing with. It’s a joke. No one takes OCD seriously. Half the fucking world thinks it’s OCD. ‘OMG, I, like,
have
to eat all the yellow M&Ms first out of the bag. I’m so OCD.’ Yeah, no. You’re
not
OCD.”

Erica chuckled.

“They have no idea the self-hatred. They have no idea that most of the time we think something horrible will happen if we don’t perform a tic! We don’t wanna operate this way. It’s not funny, but everyone thinks it is. We’re weird and quirky. Laughable.”

“Your condition isn’t
laughable to me,” Erica said softly.

We were silent for a moment. I traced the bottle rim with my forefinger and thought about Brian.

“It wasn’t laughable to Brian either,” I admitted. “He really did try to stick it out. I mean, a proposal? That’s the furthest I’ve ever gotten.”

Erica plucked the beer bottle from my hand and placed it on the coffee table. She turned her head in the direction of the kitchen when she heard her children’s voices. They were climbing off their chairs. Snack time was over.

“I’m glad you didn’t marry him, Bailey,” Erica whispered in my ear. “He wasn’t right for you.”

“But he made it the longest,” I said, feeling my eyes well again.

“And there’s someone else who will beat him. Someone better. Someone who will stay.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Forever.”

I smiled sadly and watched the kids march into the living room.

“Who wants cuddles?” Erica asked them. “Because I think I need them. I know Bailey needs them.”

Annie pounced on me in a flash, wrapping her plush baby arms around my neck, raining salty
hummus kisses on my cheek. She sat in my lap all afternoon, falling asleep after ten minutes. Little Noah lay on the couch with his head cradled in Erica’s lap.

“So this is why you had kids,” I whispered.

“You better believe it,” Erica replied. She stroked her son’s hair and listened to his shallow breathing. “Their bodies are so tiny. I love listening to them sleep because their breathing is so faint. Not like my husband.” She grimaced. “Not loud and deep with the grunting and the groaning.”