Love and Chaos (19 page)

“I’m sure, sugarnuts, I’m sure,” I say.

Jonah winks at me and walks away. I grin after him. Cute guy. Not so bright.

Then I look back and see Sam staring at me with a strange look on his face.

“What?” I say. “He’s a friend of Pia’s! She worked here for about four and a half seconds last year.”

“Right,” says Sam. “So tell us about the Gap.”

So I do, a bit. And then Vic tells us about a department store that his sister used to work at in Park Slope. It was called Germaine’s.

“She hated it,” Vic says. “Especially during the holiday season. She’d come home with dozens of mismatched gloves, you know. People would drop them on the ground when they were shopping. I didn’t wear a matching set of gloves until I got married.” Vic cracks up, and it’s so weird and nice hearing him laugh like that that Sam and I crack up, too.

When our food arrives, we get lost in chewing and appreciative eating noises. I love margherita pizza. I like the constancy of it: you always know what you’re getting, each bite is exactly like the last, no nasty surprises. And eating with Sam and Vic feels natural, like we’re family. I think Sam’s thinking the same thing. This is just so happy and peaceful.

I wonder who Vic eats with these days. His sister passed away last year, his wife died a long time ago. He must feel very alone.

“We should do this more often,” I say. “Dinner, here, I mean. Every Thursday! Would you like that, Vic?”

“Me? Sure.” Vic goes to take another leisurely bite of pizza, then stops, as though a thought just occurred to him. “You think I’m a lonely old man, Angie?”

“No,” I say, slightly defensively.

“I never feel lonely,” he says. “I’m very busy. I got my bocce ball, I got my social club, I got a million goddamn nieces always calling up and nagging me, I got cable now and that HBO is a whole lotta fun, I can tell you.… I got things to look forward to. Keep your life full of things to look forward to, and you’ll never feel alone.”

“Roger that,” I say. More pearls of wisdom from Vic. We should start a goddamn blog.

The thing is, he always does make sense. It’s just that it’s never the answer I really want to hear. I don’t think working full-time at the Gap qualifies as having a fulfilling life. But I know that’s my problem. A lot of people probably love working at the Gap.

I look down at my little gold clutch. It’s been the most incredibly useful purse. I usually get sick of bags and change every two or three days, but I love this one. I might make one with a long shoulder strap or a wrist strap, and a larger size for days when I need to take more with me but don’t want the full snail-tote. I’m sure I have about fifteen more of those secondhand Art Deco scarves stashed away somewhere. And I’ve been tailoring that slip dress that Sam liked to suit me, too. (Four inches off the hem, natch.)

Suddenly, even just thinking about sewing makes me feel happy, awake, and excited, like I have something to look forward to. If I can just pretend sewing is my job, then my life does have meaning.

I look up at Vic and grin. “You are absolutely right.”

At that moment my phone beeps.

A text from Pia:
Where are you? EMERGENCY.

Bartolo’s,
I respond.

Ten minutes later, just as we’ve finished eating, there’s a screech of brakes outside. A huge pink food truck has parked in the middle of the sidewalk. Pia.

She strides into Bartolo’s, banging the door behind her dramatically, sees us, and comes straight over.

“Oh God, Vic, Angie, Sam, help me! Aidan and I broke up.” She bursts into noisy sobs and throws herself down next to me. “We’re not doing the long-distance thing, we’re not even going to try. He just flew out tonight. It’s over, it’s really, seriously over.” Pia is crying so hard that I can barely make out the words, and I automatically pull her into me, into Sam’s baby owl hug where she’s nestled under my wing, drenching me with her tears.

I look up at the waiter. “Check, please.”

Pia drives me back to Rookhaven, wailing the whole way. There’s nothing I can do except be a good friend and listen right now, so I try to make out words among the wails and hope like hell we don’t crash. Sam and Vic decided to walk back, ostensibly to get some air but clearly to avoid Pia’s crisis. She
does
cry pretty loudly. It scares men and small animals.

Coco and Madeleine are in the kitchen eating stir-fry chicken and broccoli, and Pia stops sobbing long enough to tell us all the whole story.

“We started breaking up last night, and then we went to sleep, and then we had, like, four
A.M.
sex—”

“Overshare,” mutters Madeleine.

“—and then we woke up and didn’t discuss it, you know. Like if we just drank our coffee and ate our bagels it would just be like any other day. And then we met up after work and broke up for real. We have done nothing but talk about it for weeks, you know, and the thing is, we were going to do long-distance but we know it’ll never work! It’s like a slow death rather than, uh, a swift stab to the heart.” Nice. “And now Aidan’s on a plane to California, and I can’t believe it’s over.… But my life is going this way, his life is going that way, and neither of us should sacrifice our careers for each other, right?”

“Right!” Coco and I say firmly.

“What if I end up old and alone? Choosing my career ahead of love! I’ll be that woman with cats! I fucking hate cats!”

“Ladybitch, you’re not even twenty-three yet. You don’t have to worry about being old and alone.”

“I’m gonna miss him so much!” Pia isn’t listening to anyone. “Our relationship is like that movie
Dead Man Walking
!”

Madeleine frowns. “Uh, I’m not sure that—”

“I can’t believe it’s over! It’s over.” Pia stares into space, whispering, “It’s really over.”

“It’s not over!” says Coco. “It’s not like you’ve been fighting or fallen out of love, you’re just forced apart by, um, by unforeseen circumstances, that’s all! He’ll be back one day!”

“Yeah!” I say. “And in the meantime, you can date!”

“No! Do you know how hard it is for me to meet guys who really, truly
get
me? With whom I have a genuine connection? It’s just … it’s impossible.”

For a second, tears spring to my eyes. I try to imagine what it would be like to finally fall in love,
real
love, and then have it ripped away from me. It would be like a bitch slap from the universe, that’s what.

Pia’s ranting now. “Guys always think I’m weird, or stupid, or both. They think my upbringing is strange, that moving so much must mean I’m a basket case, or that being Swiss-Indian means I eat nothing but fucking cuckoo clocks and curry!”

I start laughing at this. “Ladybitch, calm down.…”

But Pia isn’t listening. “And they think I’m great for a good time, but not for conversation, not for anything real. I am really good at talking, goddamnit! I could talk for hours if you wanted me to! Now I’ll be single forever! And ever and ever! Oh God! I’m going to have a panic attack!” Pia closes her eyes and makes a sound that can only be described as “WAHHHH.”

At that moment, Julia walks in the kitchen, still in her suit from work, little gym bag glued to her shoulders, as always.

“What the fu—?”

“Pia and Aidan broke up,” says Madeleine.

“Holy shit!” says Julia. “I thought you guys would get married for sure. And we’d all be your bridesmaids.”

That sets Pia off again, naturally. Five minutes later, she’s still crying, and we’ve run out of calming platitudes.

So I put on my strictest voice, the one that has worked with a hysterical Pia in the past.

“Pia! Stop wailing and breathe,” I say. “Now. I mean it. You’re making yourself sick.” Pia closes her mouth, her chest still shaking from hysteria. “If Aidan is the man you are meant to be with, then you’ll get back together in the future. In the meantime, you get to enjoy your life. You love your job, you love Rookhaven.…”

“I love drinking,” she says, sniffing. “Let’s go out Saturday and get really shitfaced. I need attention from pretty boys. That will make me feel better.”

“Um, I can’t,” says Julia, turning pink.

“Why not? Hot date?”

Julia looks around the room, a coy smile on her face, until she has all of our attention exclusively on her. “Well, yes actually. I just ran into Sam on my way in, he was outside Vic’s place … and he asked me out!”

“Woo!” shouts Madeleine. “How did that happen?”

Julia is pink with pleasure. “We were talking about Bartolo’s, and I said it’s my favorite place in Brooklyn, then he said his favorite Brooklyn restaurant was this Mexican place near his house, and then I said, ‘Oh, my God I totally love Mexican,’ and then he said, ‘We should go sometime,’ and I said, ‘How’s Saturday?’” She turns to me with a huge grin. “Isn’t it awesome, Angie?”

Oh. My. God. Julia is going out with Sam.

CHAPTER
25

Five days until my birthday.

And another boring day at the Gap.

Fact: being bored changes the space-time continuum. As in, space starts to close in on you, and time stops moving. It seems like a month since I got up this morning. I can’t even remember what I ate for breakfast. Or what I had for dinner last night.

Wait. Yes I can. I ate pizza at Bartolo’s with Sam and Vic.

And then Sam asked Julia out.

I’m still so surprised. I’m like a little Angie cartoon with an exclamation mark above her head.

I’m also annoyed at myself for being surprised. Julia really likes him, and I’ve been bugging him to ask her out for weeks. It’s just what I wanted, right? It’s totally fine!

Well, whatever. I’m trying not to think about it. It’s only weird because he’s my friend, and we’ve been spending so much damn time together. We had that strange sleepover, though nothing happened, and, you know, it’s just one of those friendships that you make sometimes when you’re between relationships. I usually end said friendships by sleeping with the guy, and then find out that we weren’t actually friends at all. But that won’t happen this time.

Because he’s going out with Julia Saturday.

So that’s that.

And in thirty-two minutes, I can leave for the day.

(And then go home and put salve on my blisters and eat and sleep and get up and come in here and do it all over again. Argh.)

Suddenly, there’s a tap on my shoulder.

“Angie! It’s me!” Coco jumps up and down with delight. “Surprise!”

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, um, going to the Museum of Modern Art.”

We hug hello quickly.

Weird, I don’t think I’ve ever been alone with Coco outside of Rookhaven. With Pia and Coco together, yes, but never just the two of us. I look around, trying to think of something to talk about, and see my coworkers Derek the dickface and Shania the bitch staring at me.

“Want to try on some clothes?”

“Sure!”

“You should wear blue.” I have been dying to get Coco out of those baggy, faded black threads ever since we met. “Pale blue. To bring out your eyes. And gray. And white. Sharper shoulders, tighter waists, no more high-neck sweaters.… How much money do you want to spend? I’ll buy it all for you and use my fifty-percent-off employee discount, and you can pay me back. It’s kind of bending the rules, so we have to be real sneaky about it.”

Coco’s eyes light up. “Your job is so cool!”

I guess it is pretty cool. Kind of.

Coco and I spend the next half an hour enjoying a full-on makeover montage. All that’s missing is the eighties music. By the time my shift ends, she’s bought three pairs of jeans, four tops, an actual dress (I have
never
seen Coco in a dress before), and a really cool trench coat that’s perfect for spring. I’ve managed to get her out of her oversize, baggy, hide-me look. She has enormous boobs so unless she wears something really fitted, she can look a little frumpy.

“Wow, Angie, thank you so much. This is going to be so great for my next date with Ethan.”

“You’re seeing that guy again?” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

She pauses. “Yeah … I mean, I thought I would. Why? You don’t like him?”

“Of course I like him! Anyway, it doesn’t matter if I like him. What matters is if
you
like him.” God, I hate it when people say that shit, and here I am, saying it anyway.

“I think I do.…” She pauses. “Can we grab a coffee after this and talk?”

“Let’s get a drink instead. Go to P. J. Clarke’s on the corner of Fifty-fifth and Third, and I’ll finish my shift, buy these clothes, and meet you in fifteen minutes.”

P. J. Clarke’s is an old bar with a Sinatra-Rat-Pack pedigree, but I like it because you can sit at the bar, eat tiny burgers called sliders, and drink martinis. I don’t have the cash for sliders and martinis, of course, but I got my paycheck today, so I can totally afford a couple of beers for Coco and me. (I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make social plans without mentally going through my bank balance.)

On the way, I call Pia quickly. She answers, but all I can hear is snuffling.

“Ladybitch. It’s me.”

A small choking sound comes out.

“I’m having a drink with Coco near your office in Midtown. You wanna join?”

“No.” Pia’s voice is barely a croak. “I have to work late. I’m way behind because of all this fucking crying. It’s really hard to read a computer screen with tears in your eyes, you know?”

“Love you, ladybitch,” I say, surprising myself. I never say shit like that.

“Love you, too.”

When I get to P. J. Clarke’s, Coco is sitting at the far end of the bar, drinking a cosmopolitan and staring at her phone, looking incredibly self-conscious. The rest of the bar is filled with the usual Friday night happy-hour crowd: suits, tourists, and some nervous daters.

“Voilà. Fashion delivery,” I say, handing over the Gap shopping bag.

“Thank you! Wow. This is really so awesome of you!”

“Do you want another cocktail?” I ask Coco, praying she’ll say no because I can’t afford it.

“No, it’s kind of nasty,” she says, wrinkling her nose.