The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (8 page)

“This is what I think,” Jay starts and then chomps on a stick of celery. “I think that this breakup is good for you.”

I look at Jay as if she’s crazy. “Why would you even say that?” I ask just agitated at the fact that she would even think it. “I love Victor. I would do anything for him.
WE WERE GETTING MARRIED
!” I exclaim.

“You were way too dependent on him. Living in his apartment, spending his money …”

“Hey!” I say. “Some of that money was my money, too! I resent that!”

Jay smirks. “You can resent it all you want, but your relationship was all about him and nothing about you. Just look at what he did to you last Saturday. He stood you up.”

“He
took me out the weekend before,
” I say defensively.

“Yeah, for a benefit,
” she replies. “He needed a bit of eye candy on his arm to maintain his aristocratic image.”

“As far as last Saturday, he had a valid excuse.”

“Mmm hmm,” she says with an ‘I’m not buying it’ looking on her face.

“I can’t help that he h
ad a meeting or whatever it was,
” I defend. “If he has work, he has work. You know what they say: the news never sleeps.” That must’ve been the kicker. Jay begins to laugh … and laugh … and laugh. I’m almost embarrassed. “What’s so funny?” I ask her. “It’s the truth.”

“Are you really this naïve, Leslee?” she asks me and I shrug my shoulders as I reach for another hot wing. “I mean, really, Leslee. The news never sleeps?” she shakes her head at me. “Stop making excuses for the dickhead. He doesn’t deserve you. Every time you make up an excuse for him, it’s like your making up excuses for your failing relationship.” And the truth comes out. It’s brutal, it’s harsh, but it’s straight to the point. A relationship intervention so to speak. I always made it seem like we were the perfect couple living the perfect life, but little did I see how imperfect it actually was.

I open my mouth to begin to speak but Jay cuts me off. “Yeah, yeah, I know wha
t you’re gonna say,” she starts.
“He’s a workaholic, he’s busy, he
’s on TV,
” Jay
says mockingly. “I’m a workaholic, too, but I’ll be damned if work is gonna take over my life and my relationship. I have a priority at home and that priority is to be with the woman that I love and respect … and
WHERE THE HELL IS MY BEER
?!” she yells hoping that the bartender would hear her.

I can feel the tears again as they roll down my cheeks. Jay hands me a napkin. “Oh, Leslee, stop your crying,” she tells me as she puts her arm around my shoulders. “You know he’s not worth your tears. You’ll find
the one
… someday.”

“But what if I don’t?” I sob. “I’ll be single forever. I’ll be the lonely cat woman with a ton of designer clothes and nowhere to go!”

“You won’t be single forever,” she reassures me. “But if you are single, you need to know that other people don’t make you who you are. It’s
you
that makes you who you are. You need to find out who you are first, get to know yourself and what you want in life, then come up with a game plan. Do what
you
want to do.”

“I wanted to be a successful, married paralegal!” I exclaim. “And now I have no job, and no fiancé, and not even a place to live. My game plan for life is fucked.”

“Well, I can’t help you with the first two, but if you need a place to stay, the couch is always free at my place.”

“Thank you, Jay,
” I say to her.

“Of course.”

“But I think I need to get out of here.”

“Out of the bar?” she asks me and I nod my head. “I know why. It’s because the Knicks ar
e losing, isn’t it? I can’t bare
to watch this shit either.”

I laugh. “No. I think I need to get out of New York for a bit and get my mind together.”

“Where ya gonna go?” she asks.

I think for a moment. Where can I go to reestablish myself, get over my breakup and my whole unemployment situation
? Where can I figure myself out
? People always say that home is where the heart is and my true home, my
old
home, is only two hours away from here.

I wipe the tears off my face and ta
ke a deep breath. “Philadelphia,
” I say. This is my decision, a spontaneous decision at that, but hopefully it’ll be the right decision … for now.

“You can’t leave New York!” Jay argues. “It’s the best city in the world! What other city can you go to where you can shop all day, party all night, and then grab a pizza
at
seven in the morning? We’re nonstop here! You can’t go to Philadelphia and have the same energy there as here.”

“We have Philly ch
eesesteaks and the Liberty Bell,
” I say quietly.

“Oh nice! A heart attack in a
bag topped with cheddar cheese,
” she replies sarcastically. “And I don’t think the Liberty Bell can top
our
Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.”

“There’s no such thing as a
better
city. They’re just
different
cities, that’s all. Plus, I would be closer to my parents.”

“The parents that you only speak to on holidays via email or phone,” Jay says then sighs. “Look, if you feel that Philadelphia is the best choice for you right now, then go for it. I can’t tell you how to live your life. But I think that you are strong enough to just stay here and figure things out.”

“You act like I’m leaving New York forever,” I tell her. “I’ll be back. I just need a little time to get myself together and to get away for awhile.”
Get away from the embarrassment is more like it.
How did my life get so shitty within a matter of hours … HOURS?!

“Well you know you can’t just leave without saying goodbye to the girls,” she tells me, smiling. “We can have a Leslee Robinson Pity Party where all we do is drink and vent about how bosses and men suck.” Jay nudges me and I hesitate a bit.

“OK, fine,
” I say, laughing. “Call up the girls. We’ll make a night of it.”

“Great!” Jay exclaims. She pulls out her cell and then looks at me with puppy dog eyes. Jay, on the verge of tearing up, hugs me. “I’m gonna miss you, Les! You are my best friend, hands down.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too,
” I tell her. “But, I’ll definitely be back.”

“That’s what you say now, but you’ll leave, find another man, get married, hav
e tons of babies and stay there,
” she says. “You won’t come back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do,
” she assures me. “Once people leave this beautiful, concrete jungle, they never come back, which brings me to another question.”

“And what’s that?”

“Where are you gonna stay?” I haven’t even really thought of that. I can’t stay with my parents because ultimately they drive me
completely
insane. Maybe I should just stay in New York, stick it out, and just bunk at Jay’s for awhile or maybe …

“I know where I can go,
” I say, thinking in the back of my mind how crazy my idea is.
Home, sweet, home, Philadelphia
, I think to myself. Home, bittersweet, home.

After a never-ending night with the girls (a nonstop, men-bashing, martini-drinking night with sad, drawn out goodbyes), I take a train to Philadelphia in the morning. I can hear the screeching wheels of the train as we pulled into 30
th
Street Station. I sigh.
This is it,
I think to myself.
It’s my old life revisited.
I better just suck it up for now and deal with it. I’ll be back in Manhattan in no time.

I drag my bags off the train, struggling to fit through the doors. It takes me about fifteen minutes to walk from the train track to the lobby. I can’t figure out if it’s the excess baggage or the hangover from last night. Maybe it’s the combination of both. I put my sunglasses on to hide the bags under my eyes and also to soften the glare of the lights. I want … to … fall … over.

“Leslee!” I hear a familiar voice shout from across the lobby. “Over here, over here!” Waving frantically from across the way with her long, black, wavy hair, her perfect mocha skin, and a vintage t-shirt on is Karen, my Philadelphia best friend and college roommate. Even though I am excited to see her, the emotion hasn’t fully kicked in yet. I feel like I want to throw up a bit.
My drunken shenanigans are over
, I tell myself. No more martinis for at least a month.

I muster up a smile. “Karen!” I say unenthusiastically as she practically bear hugs me. I feel like if she squeezes any tighter, I might actually pop.

“How was the train ride?” she asks.

“It was une
ventful,
” I tell her. “I slept the whole entire time.”

She sniffs my clothing and starts to fan her nose. “Woo, Leslee! What the hell were you drinking?” She’s implying that I smell.
Ugh!
Maybe I do smell. I begin to sniff my clothing.

“I had a few beers last night which turned into martinis … which turned into vodka shots … which turned into Tequila shots … which ultimately turned into me passed out on a living room floor.” I have a headache. I have the ultimate headache, the type of headache that you get after college parties when you’ve been at a frat house all night playing beer pong and then you wake up in just enough time to take a mid-term exam.
I am a hot mess right now.

“Well, whatever it is, it
smells
like you had an exciting night,
” she says
. “I am so glad you’re visiting,
” she tells me as she looks down at my garbage bags. Karen frowns. “Is this your luggage?”

I sigh. “Yes, this is my luggage.”

“Usually people use suitcases to pack their—“

“It’s a long story!” I say, frustratingly. “Just grab a bag and let’s go.”

“OK
,
” she says, grabbing a bag. “Touchy subject?”

“Yes, it is. Can we just go now?”

“OK,
” she replies as we exit out of the train station. “So, I am happy you’re here because now you can help me with the wedding plans!” she says excitedly. OK, so here’s the thing with Karen. She’s enrolled in a doctorate program at UPenn and she studies English Literature (she’s technically been in college for 10 years now which officially makes her a “professional student” so to speak). She’s travelled the world, she has great parents who have spoiled her unconditionally, and she’s engaged to Russ, a Jewish guy that we both met while in undergrad at Temple University and we both became friends with. I remember that Russ was always asking her out and she would
always
say no, but then after awhile, I guess she figured out that he was a good guy, so then their friendship turned into a relationship. Isn’t it funny how things turn out? I can’t help but to be a little bit jealous, though. If Victor didn’t go all psychotic on me, then I’d be planning my wedding, too.

“That’s great,
” I say plainly. “Awesome.”

“So I’m trying to figure
out what type of wedding I want,
” she says. “Do I want something traditional, do I want something contemporary, do I want a crazy theme, should I go vintage, maybe even some sort of eco-friendly affair? I just don’t know …” She goes on and on about her wedding concerns, but I’m not even in the right mind to be concerned. I’m depressed and helpless! I went from having the perfect Manhattan life to moving my garbage bags full of my wardrobe to Philadelphia. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with Philly, but I just want my life back. It was exciting. It was great! I can’t imagine anything comparing to that.

“And speaking of the fiancé, there he is!” Karen says, pointing to a silver SUV parked on the street. “Russ!” she yells. “Come help us with Leslee’s stuff!”

Russ gets out of the SUV with what seems to be a scowl on his face. He looks a bit worn out … or like he just got run over by a tractor trailer and is really, really pissed. Either way you look at it, he doesn’t look happy at all.

He walks over to us a
nd I give him a hug. “Hey, Russ,
” I say. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, I know,
” he tells me looking at my things. “How much stuff do you actually have? I’m just wondering.”

“Enough to open a designer boutique of my own. I don’t know.” I smirk. He begins to rummage through one of the trash bags. “Hey, get out of my stuff!” I yell as he pulls out a purple, silk handbag. He laughs.

“Herpes,
” he laugh
s. “This bag really says herpes on it.”

I grab the bag from him and hit him on the shoulder. “It’s an
Hermès
bag, not herpes, you moron,
” I say to him. “Just put my stuff in the truck, OK?”

“How much did you pay for the herpes bag?” he asks.