A Life More Complete (44 page)

“With whom, pray tell?”

“Noah, if you can
believe it. Things have been so crazy I completely forgot to tell you. I guess
it isn’t so much as a date since I think he’s actually my boyfriend. I didn’t
say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“Oh, Mel. I’m so sorry
that my shit show has overshadowed your good news. I’m glad you gave it a
second chance. Just watch out for those oscillating fans.”

“Totally. Try and relax
tonight, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I say. But
I don’t. I sit and obsess about the swarm of paparazzi that are parked outside
my house and seem to be growing larger with every passing second.

Bob shouts, “I brought
food,” as he strolls through my front door. “There’s a shit ton of paparazzi
outside your house. Don’t worry, I pissed on one guy’s car while he was busy
taking pictures.” He drops the bags from my favorite Mexican place on the
table. “Gotta wash my hands,” he says winking at me.

“Bob! What is wrong
with you? You can’t go peeing on someone’s car!” I glare at him as I remove a
soft shell taco from the greasy bag.

“Sure I can. If they
think it’s okay to camp outside your house then surely I can take a piss on
their car. Hopefully they’ll leave.”

“Good point,” I reply
finding it hard to argue with the man who brought me tacos.

“I gotta say, honey,
you look like hell. I know you’ve been through hell and back but you gotta pull
it together. All this sobbing isn’t going to make you feel any better. It just
makes you look like shit and the media is going to eat you alive if you leave
your house looking like,” he stops and points a finger at me, “that.” His nose
wrinkles up and I shake my head at him.

“I thought you were
here to support me? It doesn’t seem that way.” My tone is coming across more
annoyed. “I don’t exactly have the kind of control over my emotions that you’re
expecting of me,” I say as I point to my ever-growing belly. “Pregnant,
remember?”

“I know, but he’s not
worth your time or your energy.”

“Do you think I like
being a blubbering fool? I’m trying my best. I’ll get it together. I promise.”

“That’s my girl. Don’t
let him do this to you. You’re better than this and you know it.”

“I’m going crazy. I’m
not like this. I don’t know why Tyler brings out the worst in me. I hit someone
today. What was I thinking?”

“Um, you were thinking
she deserved it and rightfully so, but it’s over now.”

Just as I begin to
rationalize my feelings all over again someone knocks on the door. Bob startles
me with his booming voice. “Don’t answer it,” he practically screams.

“Why?”

“Because you have a
slew of paparazzi outside your house, you hit Trini today and your asshole
husband just admitted to cheating on you. Nothing good can come from opening
that door.”

Just to clarify,” I
say, “he never actually admitted to cheating on me. An admission would have
been too easy.” I finish my thought and make my way to the door.

“Oh, that makes it...”
he stops before he continues with his sarcastic comment. “What the hell are you
doing? Don’t open that door!”

Bob starts after me and
when I turn around the anger in my eyes scares him back into my kitchen. “I
know I asked you to come here, but just shut up for a minute.” I open the door
to find Tyler staring at me. He’s perfectly dressed in a suit that looks like
it was just pulled from a dry cleaning bag. Neatly pressed and creased, even
though I know he has been wearing it since we had it out earlier today. It’s
just not fair. This is what a breakup looks like on him. I, on the other hand
look like Baby Jane Hudson. I don’t know why, but he catches me off guard. I
stand there staring back at him unable to speak.

“I need to get a few
things that you forgot to pack,” he says quietly. “You alone?”

“No,” I blurt out.

“Can I come in? I
really would like these assholes to stop taking pictures of me.” He motions
toward the driveway.

“Those assholes are
here because of you.” I step aside and he ignores my comment as he enters the
condo. “Hurry up, please. I don’t really want you here.”

He heads into the
bedroom without acknowledging Bob. I follow after him not knowing what to do or
say. I make eye contact with Bob who mouths, “What the hell?” I shrug my
shoulders and hold up one finger signaling to him to hold on. Tyler emerges
from the bedroom carrying the box of pictures he gave me shocking me even more.

“What are you doing
with my pictures?” I half shout.

“Your pictures?” he
questions, his tone lacking any seriousness. “I don’t think so. I might have
given them to you, but the last thing I want is for you to have a reminder of
how great things were and try to come crawling back to me.”

I’m livid now. The fury
is building and is nearing a frenzied peak. “Are you kidding me? Are you
fucking kidding me?” I scream, following him to the front door. “You’re
mistaken if you think for one second that you are worth my time. My point was
already made clear. We. Are. Done.” He laughs in a condescending tone that just
adds to my blind rage. “Don’t you fucking laugh at me!” I follow him as he
proceeds down the stairs to the driveway. I can hear Bob behind me yell, “Don’t
follow him. Please don’t follow him,” which he follows up with a breathy, “Fuck”.

The flashbulbs begin
their blinding glare as the two of us make our way to his car. I stop dead in
my tracks when I see her sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Everything
around me goes black and I lose any self-control I have left, which is almost
none. Seeing her sitting in the car looking away like she has no idea who I am,
like I didn’t spend the last eight years of my life with her. Like we were
never even friends. I follow my first instinct, probably not for the best. I
grab the first thing I can get my hands on and launch it at the passenger
window of Tyler’s car. Hitting it dead on, the window shatters into a million
little pieces, scattering glass all over my driveway and covering Trini. My
pulse is racing and I’m breathing like I’ve just finished running ten miles. Every
bit of my behavior is surprising and Bob’s voice jolts me back into the now.

“Jesus Christ! What are
you doing?” he screams as Tyler backs out of the driveway without responding to
my retaliation.

I turn to face him, the
anger still apparent on my face because he takes a step back. He puts his hands
up in a defensive posture. “You need to go back in the house and calm down.”

“No!” I scream back at
him. “Did you see who was with him? How dare he bring that bitch to my house.” All
the while I’m stalking down the driveway in pursuit of his car. The cameras in
my face, flashing and recording my every move. Bob grabs ahold of my arm and
begins to yank me back to the house like a tantrum-throwing kid being dragged
out of Disneyland. Defeated, my shoulders slump and I follow him willingly. He
closes the door behind him and the tears begin to fall. I press my face into
Bob shirt and his arms come around me in a comforting hug.

“Oh honey, I know this
is hard, but you really need to stop publicly humiliating yourself. It’s bad
enough that Tyler did it to you.”

“Bob...” I sob. “I
really am going crazy.”

“No, no,” he says, but
with little conviction. “Just a momentary lapse in judgment. Regardless, let’s
never mention this again. You were like one of those girls on
The Bad Girls Club
.” I laugh as I slump
down on the couch. “The worst part is that it was all caught on camera.”

“Oh my God! Don’t
remind me,” I say covering my face with my hands.

“Why don’t you lie down
while I make us some popcorn? We can watch
The
Notebook
and cry at the ending.”

Bob joins me a few
minutes later on the couch and I grab a handful of popcorn. Turning to him I
say, “I’m really sorry. That was pretty awful.”

“It’s fine. Everyone needs at least one bat shit crazy friend,
right?” He makes me laugh as he leans down and kisses my head.

The next morning I opt out of going
to work and since my travel has become impossible and my most important client
has been obliterated, it couldn’t be better. I can’t deal with the fact that
leaving my house will create controversy not to mention exposing my
embarrassing act of vandalism. I don’t have anything to do but catch up on
sleep, so that’s exactly what I do. I sleep in until eleven and then lounge
around my house watching talk shows and eating non-breakfast related crap. In a
way it feels as if the outside world doesn’t exist and I didn’t do a horrendous
job of bringing a world of shame upon myself last night. Oh wait, yes I did.

An entire day has passed since our
breakup and it still remains undisputed by Tyler. Hiding out in my house has
brought with it no negative repercussions to my actions, but I know they are
looming in the dark cloud that seems to be hanging over me. My mood fluctuates
throughout the day, first I feel vindicated and self-assured for standing up
for myself. I am done taking his bullshit, I tell myself. Then it turns to
crying, but eventually leading back to being proud. I survived on my own for this
long and I will continue to do it.

I pull myself together and haul into
work the next day, evading the paparazzi that have now set up camp outside my
house. The office is no better as they are staked outside of the building and
in the parking garage. My head hung in shame, I make my way to the elevators
refusing to speak with anyone. When I finally make it through reception my
welcome is less than stellar. It borders somewhere along the lines of compassion
and terror. The looks on their faces say it all. They’re either scared I’m
going to lose my shit right there or that they need to console me.

Sitting in my office with the door
closed doesn’t deter the twenty or so employees of Ellie Regan P.R. from
visiting me with their words of encouragement or sympathy. These are people I
speak to on rare occasions and know nothing about my life, yet they still feel
the need to impart their great knowledge of breakups on me. The worst has to be
when a lady from marketing asks me if I’ve seen the latest tabloid with a
picture of Tyler and Trini on the cover in a loving embrace. My only answer
was, “No.” I think she got the point.

When I look at the clock I realize I have
only been at work for two hours and it feels like a lifetime. I can barely
handle the comments when I return from the bathroom to find the tabloid on my
desk with a note that says, “Sorry.” I lose it.

Flying into Ellie’s office as I begin
my rant.

“I can’t do this!” I scream, knowing
everyone in the office is waiting for a show and one to rival yesterday’s. “I
quit! I can’t stay here and have my life displayed for public viewing.”

Ellie, in her calm manner, yet still demanding,
says, “I don’t think you should quit.”

“I don’t care what you think!”

“Can you just hear me out?” I nod and
she continues. “If you quit you’ll lose your health insurance and I can’t have
that on my conscience. Understand what I’m getting at? You and the baby will
have no health insurance. Imagine the cost of delivering a baby without
insurance?” Again I nod, as I begin to settle down. “Now I understand that
right now everything really sucks, I get it, I do, but quitting isn’t going to
solve anything. I do think you need some time off. You have three weeks
vacation. Why don’t you use that? If you haven’t had the baby by then, you can
start your FMLA. That will give you twelve more weeks of insurance. You can pay
it up front, since you won’t be getting paid. The cost will be the same as what
is taken out of your check each month. After all of that, if you still want to
quit I won’t stand in your way.” She smiles sharply and nods her head. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I reply back feeling calmer. “Thanks,
Ellie. I’m sorry I’m a ranting lunatic.”

“It happens to the best of them,” she
says smiling. “Now, get out of my office. I have work to do since my best
employee just put in for three weeks worth of vacation.”

“Bye, Ellie.”

I head home and flop down on the
couch checking my phone for the millionth time and still nothing from Tyler. I
don’t know what comes over me but I begin to pack. I heave every piece of
maternity clothes into a suitcase along with the entire contents of my
bathroom. I toss it into the trunk of my car and in three days time I am in the
one place that I never thought I would see again. My mother’s house.

I pull into her driveway around six
in evening and knock on the door. The look on her face says it all, but she
still invites me in. I don’t know what possessed me to drive two thousand miles
over three days while I am thirty-six weeks pregnant, but I did it. Along the
way I arranged for a new obstetrician, found a pediatrician and managed to
secure my health insurance for the remainder of my twelve week leave. Although
pragmatic about the future, I still have no idea how or why I ended up here.

“What are you doing here?” my mother
asks.