What a Girl Wants (19 page)

I push the button again. Do I really need to hear the excuse? I mean, John comes first. What more do I need to know? There are no further messages. It’s times like these I need my Bible. Taking it out, I start to read in James when the phone rings.

“You’re mad at me,” Brea says.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Did you even listen to my excuse?”

Brea knows me too well
. I hate that.
“No, but let me guess. John suffered an excruciating bowling accident and you spent the afternoon in the emergency room.”

“Very funny.”

My arms cross defensively. “You know I’m really happy for your marriage and all, but you still have to have friends, am I right? John can’t be your entire life because that’s as pathetic as not dating. I was really counting on you today, Brea. It was extremely awk-ward with my great-aunts. Not to mention my mother giddily planning a wedding. This means nothing to you, does it?” I accuse.

“Would you please quit your whining?”

I am whining. I hate being caught. She annoys me sometimes.

“Ashley, other people are going to get married. Your friends are going to have children. It’s not my fault I fell in love, but how long are you going to be bitter? Move on, will ya?”

“Me? You’re going to blame this on me? Let your yes be yes, and your no be no, Brea.” Ha, got her with Scripture. “You said you were coming. This has nothing to do with me being jealous, or a loser with no friends. This has to do with you, my best friend from childhood, standing me up worse than Seth did in Fresh Choice.”

“The violins are playing, Ash.”

“I
so
deserve some sympathy. Purple and metallic gold decorating scheme—need I say more?”

“I’m sorry, Ash. I really am, but it was Dave’s day and you knew it was going to be bad. Listen, there’s this young gal at my mother’s church. She’s pregnant, and she wants to put the child up for adoption.”

Her words stun me into silence.

“My mother told her about us and she wanted to meet us today. She’s due in three months, and you just don’t say no to a volatile, pregnant teenager.”

I feel utterly alone. When did my best friend decide to adopt a baby? Her life is moving in fast forward and I am completely standing still.

“Brea, when did you decide you wanted to adopt?”

“I didn’t, until my mother called me. Then it felt right. I prayed about it and I’m just beside myself. After I met Tracy, we connected, and I feel like she’s carrying my baby, Ash.”

“What about your own children?”
She was pregnant two weeks
ago, was she not?

“We’ll still try to have them of course, but a baby is a precious gift. Who cares where it comes from? They all come from God and this one needs a home with two stable parents.”

“And those stable people would be?” I can’t tell if Brea is trying to convince me or herself. She’s the kind of person who takes on everyone else’s needs as her own personal mission.

Brea will make a great mother, there’s no denying that, but I’m worried her heart is still broken over losing her baby. I’m worried she’ll end up with a house full of kids before she ever gets the opportunity to start her own family. I want Brea to make this decision because it’s right for her, not because she wants to save the world. But I realize I can’t make Brea do anything. This is up to her and John. Not me.

“Okay, I know I flaked today. What else is new?” Brea asks. “When am I ever where I say I will be? That doesn’t mean I’m unstable. Just flighty.”

“But that is going to be important if you’re a mother, Brea. You have to be where you say you’re going to be.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “You know how much I want a baby.”

“Yes, I do, but do you have to have one right now? They generally take nine months.”

“You are so completely selfish, Ashley. That’s why you’re not married, you know. You never think of anyone but you. You can’t be happy for anyone but you!
How does this affect Ashley?
Your mother should have named you Scarlett!” She slams the phone down in my ear and this must be what quicksand feels like. I’ve tried everything to stay afloat, but life is just bringing me down.

“You know, God, I said I wanted to know my reason; I didn’t say slap me from every angle or shout what a loser I am from the highest mountain, now did I?” My ceiling is not answering me and now I have this rush of guilt over Brea. What a terrible thing to say to her! This is the perfect way to start my week. The phone rings again.

“Brea, I’m sorry—” I answer without checking the caller ID.

“Ashley?” a familiar accent asks.

“Purvi?” I ask, knowing it’s my boss.

“Yes, I just got off the phone with Taiwan,” She’s all business. This can’t be good.

“It’s Sunday night, Purvi.” That’s my way of saying she needs to get a life, but I’m obviously no one to talk. I’ve spent my afternoon at yet another bridal shower, which I could give professionally by now. And a thousand times better than my mother.

“It’s Monday morning in Taiwan,” Purvi says with resolve, like I don’t have my own foreign clock ticking in my head. I know what time it is in Taiwan. Purvi is still talking, but I fluttered out. I focus back in on her words. “They’re not going to manufacture our patent product any longer.”

I squeal. I heard that part. This is Way Bad. “No royalties?”

“Those royalties made our stock rise, Ashley. You’ve got to get them back. Our contract is null and void if they write off the products for the American market.”

I just hate this feeling in my stomach. It’s a cross between roller coaster drop and bad ramen roiling in my belly.

“Dare I ask?” I grip the phone until my knuckles are bone white.

“You’re going to need to head back to Taiwan soon.”
Back to
Taiwan.
Were more depressing words ever spoken? Back to fish parts, brown air, and my luxury view of the cinder-block building next to the cinder block hotel.

“How soon?”

“Can you be here at six a.m.?” Purvi sounds annoyed I’m not there right now.

“I’ll be there.” Lord knows I have nothing else to do. Then Brea’s words come back to taunt me that I’m selfish. Everyone’s selfish to an extent, am I right?

“Purvi, can I ask you a personal question?” I ask before she hangs up. She sighs. It apparently invades our android personas, but I continue undeterred. “Do you think I’m selfish?”

She laughs. “All single people are selfish. If you weren’t, you’d be married.”

“Uh huh,” I say meekly. Not quite the answer I was looking for. Is it selfish to give up any semblance of a social life to run off to Taiwan at the drop of a hat? Is it selfish to work sixteen-hour days when I know I won’t have an apartment in two weeks? I think, if anything, I’ve been downright generous with Purvi and Selectech. They own me. I hang up the phone.
Selfish, my foot.

Single people are the last safe vestige of political incorrectness. It’s okay to point out our flaws and contemplate freely why we’re all alone like a mannequin in a couture window. I didn’t write my life script. God did. And He hasn’t written in the wedding yet. Maybe He never will, but what am I thinking? Some man isn’t going to complete me. God is. Purvi is in a miserable marriage. Her husband lives in another country or it would be even worse, and yet I’m made to feel like she’s somehow fulfilled while I sorely lack something of interest in my life.
Yeah, right
. The phone rings again.

“Hello!” I snap.

“I’m sorry,” Brea says.

“You know what, Brea? Did you ever think that maybe I’ll never be married? Maybe God has some big plan for me and I’m going to write the patent on something so huge, you can’t even fathom it. Like the machine that cures cancer,” I say, thinking back to Dr. Kevin. “Maybe my life will change the world as we know it. Maybe—”

“I just wanted you to be happy for me about the baby, Ash. This has nothing to do with you. If I thought you were such a loser, would you be my best friend for twenty-odd years? I do have some semblance of dignity to uphold.”

“I just can’t believe you would miss my brother’s shower.”
Oh
my goodness, I’m inducing guilt. I have become my mother. Get thee
an apron.
Brea and I are both quiet for a moment, and then we just start giggling.

“Forgive me?” Brea finally says through laughter.

“You know I do. Purvi says I’m selfish too, by the way. Thank you for that. Because I really needed to ask the robot a personal question about my self-worth.”

“Ash, I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t be selfish hanging out in that singles group. Maybe you were right about them. You need to move on.”

Oooh big truth there. Hating that.
Maybe just associating with the Reasons makes me one. I don’t get swooped up because I have full membership privileges in the Reasons.
Ahhhh! Definitely time
to change the subject.

“I’m getting sent back to Taiwan. The company’s stock is dependent upon the outcome.”

“Really? Ash, that’s so cool.”

“Yeah.”

I hear a noise coming from my bedroom. At first, it doesn’t faze me. I just assume it’s a book falling off the pile to be read. All the novels sit while I brush up on memory technology and scrutinize this contested patent.

There it goes again. It sounds like a kid eating Cap’n Crunch.

“Brea,” I whisper. “I think there’s someone here.”

“What?”

“I think someone’s in my apartment,” I whisper louder.

“Hang up, call the police.” I grab my cell phone, which of course is dead—and I rush out the door without shoes. I press the button on my cell hoping to get one more phone call, but it’s dead, so I run down to the manager’s apartment.

Mrs. Manger, rhymes with Banger, opens the door in a bathrobe with a slinky gown underneath. Since she’s about eighty, it’s not a sight I needed today. She’s not exactly grandmotherly, but her skin is ashen from a life of cigarettes and beer.
Boy, I’m far too
vain to ever smoke.

“Do you want something, Ashley?”

“There’s someone in my apartment. There’s a noise coming from the bedroom.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No, I just got out of there. Can I call here?” I’m shaking. This is one of the better neighborhoods in Palo Alto. Granted, my building is old, but all the apartments are. That’s the only thing that makes them affordable in this city.

“Come on in. Mr. Manger ain’t here or he’d come up. He’s fix-ing a water leak at our other apartment house tonight.”

I’ve never known the man to go anywhere without a tool on him. He could just as easily use it as a weapon. Terrific timing. I step into the apartment which has been inhabited by the Mangers since time began—or at least that’s how it appears. Mrs. Manger despises me as the collection of all that’s wrong with the Bay Area, and I’m interrupting her movie of the week. Shoot, I’m missing
Masterpiece Theatre
myself and have to be at work by six a.m., so it’s not exactly at the top of my fun list either.

I dial 911. “911 emergency. What is your emergency?”

“I think there’s someone in my apartment,” I whisper. Like I’m still standing in my apartment.

“You’re calling from 1100 Channing Street, Apartment A?”

“Yes, but my apartment is Apartment D.”

“The police are on their way. Are you alone? Do you want me to stay on the line with you?”

“No, I’m safe. Thank you.” I hang up the phone. “They’re sending someone out right away.”

Mrs. Manger doesn’t seem the least bit nervous. She sits back down in front of the television.

A commercial comes on. “Do you have a new place yet?” Mrs. Manger asks.

“No, I’ve been very busy—too busy to look.” I shrug and give this world-weary sigh.

“You’ve only got two weeks, Missy.” Her face is wrinkled with worry, not for me obviously. How do I explain I’ve been in Taiwan? That I’m going back tomorrow and that another month would mean the world to me. Big sigh. She doesn’t care. She’s probably as rich as Moses from owning these apartment buildings forever.

They try to hide behind some scary landlord, but I checked the title while in the city for something on a patent. They own this place and four others. Not that you’d ever know it from the orange shag carpeting they boast or the drapes brown with smoke and age. But my apartment is cute. They actually seem to care what their tenants like, just never thought about it for themselves.

Before I drum up the courage to ask for another week, a police car arrives with lights blaring but sirens silenced. I peek through Mrs. Manger’s curtains and see an officer heading up to my apartment. I’m praying for his safety. Slapping myself that I left my lap-top in my bedroom when it’s my Life Source to the outside world.

It isn’t five minutes before the officer raps on the door. I open it and he’s laughing. He’s actually trying to gain his composure before he speaks.

“That your apartment?” His broad shoulders are shaking and he smoothes his dark mustache with his thumb and forefinger.

I nod. “It’s my apartment.”

He holds up a frayed phone cord.

“You have rats, Ma’am.”
Okay, major mortification
. Is there a way to redeem yourself in such a situation?

“Rats!” Mrs. Manger says, looking at me as though I belong in the dumpster out back.

“This building is infested. I can hear them in the wall behind your bed,” the cop says, looking to Mrs. Manger with a smirk.

Hah! Take that. But, eww.
For a split second I feel good it isn’t my fault, then the reality that I have been Sleeping with Vermin replaces that fleeting peace.

I’m so grossed out it’s not even funny. I feel like a thousand ants are crawling down my back. There’s no way I can stay here for two weeks. I’m worried about how I’m going to get my things out tonight. Mrs. Manger exits the room and closes the door to her bedroom. I guess we have our answer about her ignorance there, don’t we?

“Did you actually see one?” I ask the cop.

“Only the tail of one.” He scrunches up his masculine face. “They’re big, Ma’am.”

I so did not need to hear that. I’m not going to sleep tonight. Or ever. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry to bring you out for nothing.”