Emergency Ex (11 page)

“At this moment. Not enough. Not anymore.” She shook her head. “Too little, way too late. Don’t follow me. We’re done.” She sobbed the last word.

He reached out to her, but she didn’t look at him. Just drove off.

Shirt buttoned unevenly and feet aching and freezing, he hobbled back to his condo. He’d made a great friggin’ start on his new life—their new life.

Chapter Five

May 26th—Brenda’s Thirtieth Birthday

Chelsey wagged her tail and made welcoming sounds when Brenda got to her condo.
Who needs a man when I have a dog like Chelsey?

After getting little sleep, Brenda rolled out of bed too early. Usually Saturday was her favorite day of the week—a time to goof off or, more usually, to catch up with everything she’d not attended to during the week. Since her thirtieth birthday was on this particular Saturday, she’d expected the day to be extraordinary. Now she had nothing to do. Even worse, she’d been so efficient the past week that she didn’t even have a single chore.

She looked at herself in the mirror and shuddered. “So you’re thirty—a reason to celebrate. Why are you shuffling around, looking like something a cat would refuse to drag in? What are you going to do today to make it special?” Brenda had a tendency not to be very nice when she talked to herself.

The world was wide open to her and all she could think about was her misery. “You look all set to be the guest of honor at your very own pity party,” she told her unhappy reflection.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn her reflection looked back with a scowl. “What’s with the pity-party crap?”

“Keith,” Brenda moaned, clutching her throat as if it hurt to utter his name. “Keith…”

“Him again? What are you, in middle school?”

“I… I l-l-love him.” Her voice shook and tears filled her eyes.

“You l-l-love him? Give me a break.” Her reflection rolled her eyes, which startled Brenda enough to open her eyes wide. “I can’t believe you’re letting that loser be your excuse for even one more moment of misery. You want a pity party? Fine. Have one.”

“Thanks for the permission,” she hissed to the mirror with a touch of sarcasm.

Reflection Brenda
drew her brows together and glared out. “Anything more than ten minutes is too much.”

Real Brenda
reeled backward.
Whoa. I must be in a bad way if I’m hallucinating nasty images of myself.
Much as she didn’t appreciate
Reflection Brenda’s
message, she had to admit the phantom had a point. No one else was going to put a limit on her pain and suffering if she didn’t do so herself. A ten-minute pity party? That sounded about right. After all, now that she was thirty and more aware than ever of the passage of time, she could no longer afford to waste any of that precious commodity.

“I’ll be guest of honor at my ten-minute pity party and then I’ll—” What? She could do anything. Go to the ocean. Go to the mountains. Go for retail therapy. Go to one movie after another—she hadn’t done that since high school. Go to a museum. All of the above. She’d decide later.

Since this would be a very time-limited pity party—
my last one ever because of something Keith has or hasn’t done—
she’d make it good, but fast. Candles always helped set a mood, so she assembled tea lights and tapers. Something more. She dug out the gorgeous, expensive candles she’d bought in anticipation of a romantic home-cooked dinner with Keith. Never used.

What else?
Music. “I Will Survive”—no. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Not that one. Maybe not “Time After Time” either. Likewise for Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

“Auld Lang Syne” always made her cry. It wasn’t New Year’s Eve. Was it even legal to listen to “Auld Lang Syne” on another night? As if the music police were going to check up on her. Still, the way her luck was going… Ah, heck, might as well mainline the agony with “Romeo and Juliet”. She added the framed photo of Keith she kept at her bedside. It would have to find a different home, possibly in the circular file, but she’d position it among the candles for now.

Chelsey came into the room, took one look at the pity party and contributed the saddest ever whine. Brenda stroked in her dog in appreciation.

Ten minutes.

* * *

Keith didn’t fall asleep until almost five a.m. Later, in the foggy mist of not quite being fully awake, he missed Brenda. He’d wanted to make love with her again to usher in her thirtieth birthday with an orgasm or two, but she’d split, saying this was the end for them.

Not. He poured coffee, strong and black, and took a long fortifying swallow.
She knows what she means to me.
Right. She
has to
, no matter how pissed off she is.

What if nothing he said or did worked? His body grew cold at the possibility of failing, really failing, with Brenda—of no longer having her in his life. He sat down hard and thrust his hands into his hair, willing his brain to work. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose his best friend, the woman he loved.

Why am I getting so nervous? This is Brenda, after all. Brenda always takes me back, always forgives me, always understands.

But, what if this time she doesn’t?

Too scary. Don’t go there.

Instead, for the first time ever, he dialed his brother’s number to get advice.

“Bro, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly a world expert on getting it right with a woman,” Ryan said.

“What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“You know Brenda. Dig down deep inside. You’ll know what to do.”

He didn’t have clue. Desperate, he sought advice from the least likely source to be willing to help him—K.C. Corrigan.

“Yeah,” K.C. croaked into the phone. “An early phone call Saturday morning. This better be good.”

Great. I woke her up.
He apologized for the early call and then threw himself on her mercy.

After K.C. expressed her opinion of him in less than flattering terms, she helped him plan redemption. He thanked her.

“Don’t mess up,” she warned, “or I’ll come after you.”

He believed her. Lucky for him, he had no intention of messing up again.

* * *

Catharsis didn’t arrive on schedule, despite a generous infusion of her own finest chocolate and Chelsey’s comforting company. Still, as the cliché went, today was the first day of the rest of her life. She didn’t intend to go forth on a stream of tears, so it was time to turn off the sad music, wipe her eyes, pull up those very expensive big-girl panties and march forth. No way was she going to spend what remained of her first weekend as a thirty-year old wallowing.

So one last sob, one last sigh. Music off. Candles snuffed. Picture of Keith stuck in the back of her junk drawer where she’d forget it as thoroughly as all the other bric-a-brac. She’d get rid of all her photos of Keith and, especially, of the two of them together. Aargh. Not today. Soon.

Right now, shower. A few more tears. What was a little more moisture in a shower stall? The steamy hot water warmed her and helped clear her head. Her favorite shampoo and the expensive shower gel she’d saved for special occasions when she was poor. She’d treated herself to a mani-pedi the day before. By the time she emerged from the shower, she felt at least three-quarters human.

Despite a momentary dread of confronting her talkative reflection again, she wiped the steam from her bathroom mirror and saw only her newly showered self. “I’m going to do whatever I want today,” she promised herself. No response came forth.

Time to dress. She didn’t need a date with anyone to justify wearing Armani and Jimmy Choos. A gorgeous day awaited outside her condo. She intended to embrace it.

Too bad she still had no idea exactly what she wanted to do. How silly—to be so out of touch with herself that she had no idea what she wanted to do when she was free to do anything.

More mood music—upbeat. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”. “Bette Davis Eyes”.

By the time she brushed on the last of her makeup, she had to admit she looked damn good. She smiled at her reflection, which continued to behave. Too bad she still had no idea what she was going to do.

If life had been anything like normal the past few days, being with Keith might have been her first choice, but it wasn’t an option.

Then he came to her.

This had better work. This has to work.
With all the advice he got,
Keith had come up with a plan. He surveyed Team Brenda, his hastily assembled catered birthday breakfast now crowding the hallway in front of her door. Champagne and orange juice for mimosas. Special blend coffee from the slopes of a semi-active Hawaiian volcano. A chef for custom-made omelets and French toast. A server with a full complement of breads, jellies, yogurts, cereals, milk both from cows and almonds, citrus fruit, melon, berries—and all the necessary dishes and cutlery. Another server pushing a round table on wheels that would lock into place, and yet another with chairs. Still another with fancy linens. Top of the line, all the way. Even a dog handler to make sure Chelsey didn’t get in the way. Luckily the staff at romance friendly Bistro Bacchanalia had agreed to Keith’s hastily-concocted scheme and were able to assemble all the necessary ingredients.

Brenda, looking beautiful but sad and all dressed up to go out on the town, watched in open-mouthed wonder as the crowd assembled in her living room. “What is this?”

Keith had dressed for the occasion in the suit he usually reserved for weddings and funerals. “This is the first installment of your birthday celebration. I may have blown dinner at Bistro Bacchanalia, but here’s a breakfast to knock your socks off and take your breath away.”

“Where is your kitchen, madam?” the chef asked.

Looking less than impressed, she pointed him in the right direction, then turned back to Keith. “What are all these people doing here? And why are you here? Last night I told you—”

He held up a cautioning hand. “These people are here to give you the breakfast of your dreams—the least you deserve—but I figure I have to start somewhere. Because I want what you want, only it’s taken me too long—”

“I meant what I said,” she muttered before folding her arms in front of her. “Farewell.
Adieu.
Don’t let the door hit you on your way out. Call off the kitchen staff.
Nothing
they do is going to make a difference. It can’t. Too little, Keith, way too late.”

She can’t mean it. Why is she being so blind to how I’ve changed?
“Brenda, no. Listen. Let’s put the past where it belongs—in the past. It’s a new day and I’m a new man. Please don’t give up now. Not after all we’ve meant to each other. Not now, when I realize that I—”

Her eyes flashed a withering look of the type that probably served to great effect in business dealings and had made her scary as
Emergency Ex
—a look he’d have been happy to go his whole life without being the target of. “I meant everything I said. Call off your troops.”

“Too late,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’m out of here. Feel free to enjoy your breakfast. Heck, invite a
friend
. Several. Just one condition. Make sure everything’s cleaned up and back to normal when you leave or I’ll send you the cleaning service bill.” With those cold words, she spun on her heel and stomped out the door.