The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (8 page)

“It’s your responsibility to know what’s going on around here,” Celia says. “And your little detour to Bergdorf’s yesterday doesn’t help your cause.” She blinks a few times and flattens her lips into a straight line. “I’ll call security. Goodbye, Candace.”

She leaves. I’m feeling numb and confused as I gather my few personal belongings with John standing by watching. Arthur from security arrives, complete with pitying look.

“Sorry about this, Miss Cooper,” he says as he takes me by the arm.

“Not your fault, Arthur. But thank you.”

Once I’m out on the street, I’m not exactly sure what to do. Now that I’m unemployed, it seems frivolous to take a cab back to my apartment. I decide I’ll walk instead and call Holly on the way. It’ll be good for me, especially since I haven’t been to the gym in...God, I have no idea when I last went to the gym.

Which reminds me of my overpriced gym membership. My insanely expensive apartment. My designer fashion addiction. It hits me all at once what I will have to give up now that I’ve been canned. This crap day is only getting worse.

“Hello?” Holly picks up after the first ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say.

“Oh…hey.” She sounds kind of moody, and I can’t blame her. What I did was really awful, running out without saying goodbye. “Did you get my message?”

“Um, no. I just saw that you called.” I know I should tell her about my job and all that’s happened, but I’m reluctant. I’m not ready to toss all my eggs into the bakery basket, yet. Which seems ridiculous, since it’s currently my only option.

“Listen…” She lets out a big sigh as if what’s she’s about to tell me is painful to admit. “I know it’s not your responsibility or anything, but I just want you to know Mom and Dad cancelled their trip. They’re going to stay here and run the bakery. I’m still moving back to help them, though. And Colin will stay on, too. But Mom is the only one who can bake, so…”

My stomach clenches and my heart constricts. I wish they had waited a couple more days to cancel. It’s only Tuesday, after all. It hasn’t even been seventy-two hours since I left Connecticut and ruined everyone’s lives.

“Candy?”

I shake myself of the daze I’m in and realize I’ve stopped walking. I’m standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk as people elbow me and smack me with their bags as they try to get by. “Yeah, I’m here,” I say as I walk again. “Look, it’s been pretty crazy today and—”

“Yeah, I know.” Holly sounds resigned. “I’ll let you go, I just wanted you to know—”

“No, you don’t understand, Hol.” I brace myself to deliver the news. “I’ve been fired.”

There’s a pause, and then, “What?” She sounds indignant. “How dare they! Didn’t they just give you a promotion? And now they’re sacking you?”

It’s nice my sister is so supportive, but wasn’t she just berating me for making Mom and Dad cancel their trip? “It’s a long story. But look, I’m rethinking the bakery thing now.”

“Rethinking? Does that mean you want to do it?” There’s hope in Holly’s voice.

“It’s going to be a big change for me,” I say.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever run a bakery myself,” she counters.

“I mean, I don’t know the first thing about baking.”

“Mom will teach you. I’m sure you can do it, Candy.”

“You have to redecorate the house if we’re going to live there.”

“I’ve already started picking out paint colors.”

I chuckle and then take a deep breath. “All right, I’m in.”

“Really?” Holly sounds the slightest bit skeptical. “Are you sure this time? You know, you really let us down before.”

“Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry. I wish I had a crystal ball so I could have seen what a sleezebag my boss would turn out to be.”

Crystal ball.
I can hardly believe my meeting with Madame Antoinette was only a couple weeks ago—it feels like it’s been a year. But my mind shifts clearly to our conversation.
A career change will find you baking
. I hear those words over and over in my head, but I can’t quite believe them. I can’t believe she predicted this.
Madame Antoinette is never wrong
.

Oh, my God.

Holly is talking but I have no idea what she’s saying. I can only think about the fact that what’s happened, what I’m about to do, is truly meant to be. If it wasn’t my destiny, Madame Antoinette would not have been able to see it. Right? In my muddled brain it’s all making sense, and it lights a fire underneath my Prada-clad feet.

“Hey, listen. Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be there by the end of the week. I just have to take care of a few things here first. And for God’s sake, tell them to rebook their cruise!”

Seven

Okay, so I know I seemed all gung-ho for this, but now that I’m trying to pack up my apartment, I’m having second (okay, fourth) thoughts. It is no easy feat to pack a 1,500 square foot apartment all by yourself. I’ve only moved three times in my life. Once from my parents’ home to my college dorm, but that was easy. I had very little to bring with me since furniture was provided, and Mom and Dad drove down all my clothes and personal belongings. The second time was into my first apartment. I still didn’t have much to move then; again just clothes and stuff. I bought all the furniture once I’d moved in and had it delivered. And the last time was when I moved here, to my modern palace in Chelsea. Of course, by that time, I was making oodles of money, so I hired packers and movers, and I tossed all my old, crappy furniture and hired Holly to decorate the place for me.

Now I’m acutely aware of the downgrade in salary, so I’m not willing to hire anyone to do this job. A huge chunk of my savings will be going to pay for the buyout of my apartment, since my building won’t allow me to sublet. How about that? I give them three years of on-time payments and immaculate living, and they won’t let me sublet for the last three months of my rent. I could probably fight it, but I just don’t have time. Not with all the packing I have to do.

I look around the apartment. Where to begin? I have five boxes set up, ready to receive my books, kitchenware, clothes and other random items, when my phone rings. I should be annoyed at the interruption, but I’m actually quite relieved. It’ll give me more time to come up with a game plan.

I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Hey, Hol!”

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Um, packing,” I say, as if she should have known that. “Why?”

“Great! We’re on our way with the truck. Is everything almost all boxed up?”

I stare at the empty boxes. “Yup! But I already rented a truck for Friday.”

“Candy, you couldn’t possibly move all that stuff by yourself. Besides, we need your furniture for Mom and Dad’s.”

“What? Why my furniture?”

“We’ve both just taken major pay cuts. And Mom and Dad’s house is three times the size of our apartments. We have to use our own furniture to do the redesign. Come on, don’t be selfish.”

“I’m not being selfish.”

“This is it, this is it.” Holly’s voice becomes distant as she talks to the person in the truck with her.

“Who is that?” I ask.

“Sorry…hang on a sec, Candy.”

I look around and assess the apartment while she gives directions to the person who I assume is driving. It’s fine. I have at least two hours before they’ll be here. That should be plenty of time to get most of it done.

“Okay, you there?

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“We’re just getting on the West Side Highway, so we’ll see you in a minute!”

What?
“Wait,” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “You’re here already?”

“Yeah…gotta go. I need to help Colin navigate the traffic.”

Colin?
“Wait, Holly—”

The phone beeps three times. She hung up on me. Crap.

I start throwing things into boxes with very little care to cohesiveness. Plates are thrown in with makeup. Hair products with books. I’m just trying to make the place look…emptier. By the time my doorman alerts me to my “visitors” I’ve filled all five boxes, and I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. All I needed was a little kick in the pants.

There’s a knock at the door followed by Colin’s impersonation of a tough guy from Brooklyn. “Movers!”

I giggle at his horrible accent—clearly he hasn’t spent a lot of time in Brooklyn—and open the door. He and Holly are standing there, arms around each other’s waists, beaming at me. Holly is decked out in what she thinks are “grubbies,” but I know the cargo pants and t-shirt cost her no less than a combined $400. Colin, on the other hand, must have raided the sale rack at Walmart. Still, he looks incredibly hot with his tight white v-neck t-shirt and dark wash jeans.

Holly is holding out a box of Dunkin Donut Munchkins and Colin has a box o’ coffee. “We brought nourishment.”

“I didn’t know donuts were considered nourishing,” I say, but neither one is paying attention to me now. They’ve walked past me into the apartment and are staring dumbfounded at the five boxes sitting in the middle of the living room.

“Candy, you said you were all packed.”

“I am,” I say defensively. “There’s hardly anything left.”

Colin is opening all the cupboards in the kitchen, and I feel the panic rising to my chest. They’re a lot fuller than I realized.

“Um, those things were next!” I shout, running to meet him in the kitchen. “It’s really not that much.”

He pulls a few things out and chuckles. “What did you do? Raid the William’s Sonoma warehouse?”

“Do you have something against high-quality kitchen appliances?”

“No,” he says. “But most of these boxes haven’t even been opened.”

I shrug. “You never know when you’re going to need a…” I look at one of the boxes. “An electric cold cut slicer.”

“Really? Can you think of one time it might come in handy?” he asks, and I’m starting to really dislike his cocky attitude toward my choice of appliances.

“Perhaps I want to host a party and at the last minute I decide I want to make an anti-pasta tray, but all I have are…” Hmm, what’s it called when the meat is still in its whole form? “Large flanks of ham,” I finish, proud of my quick thinking.

Colin’s lips are twitching with amusement and I don’t appreciate it very much. But in the end, he doesn’t laugh. He only says, “All right then. I suppose you do need a cold cut slicer.”

He’s being facetious, but I pretend he’s not and simply say, “Thank you,” before pulling the panini press, deep fryer and vacuum food sealer from the next cabinet over. Hmm. Perhaps Colin has a point. I’m a high-end appliance whore, aren’t I?

“Okay, you two. Stop assessing the goods and get packing. I want to finish this today.”

Turns out, Holly is not only a professional decorator, but she’s a pretty amazing packer and organizer, too. After four hours of her cracking the whip, the truck is loaded and my apartment is empty. The elation I felt when we closed the door on the U-Haul dwindles as I stand in my empty living room, staring out at the Hudson River. My heart twists, and I do my best not to cry. It’s just an apartment, after all. It’s not that big of a deal, and I should feel lucky I have a home to go to now that I’ve been fired. I wouldn’t be able to renew the lease here in three months anyway.

But three more months would have been better than no more months. It’s that thought that turns me into a blubbering mess. I turn all nostalgic and start doing things I never thought I’d do, like kiss the hardwood floors and stroke the doorjamb as if we’re two lovers being torn apart by our feuding families, never to meet again.

By the time Holly and Colin come up to look for me, I’m huddled in a ball inside the sleek, porcelain Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom.

“Oh, boy,” Holly says. “The last time I saw her like this was when Mom made her donate her favorite Gucci sweater to the Project Winter drive at our school. Never mind she hadn’t worn that sweater in two years.”

“It was my first piece of designer clothing!” I wail in defense of my tenth-grade meltdown.

“Any suggestions?” Colin asks Holly as if I had said nothing.

My sister sighs. “You may have to carry her.”

I’m mortified by this suggestion and through my sobs, I say, “I can walk.”

They both take a spot on either side of me, grab my arms and help me out of the tub. I don’t want to leave. I want to cling to my beautiful life for as long as I can. So I take a cue from a three-year-old and walk as slowly as possible, digging my heels into the hardwood on occasion. Colin and Holly are patient but persistent, and within a few minutes, we’re at the front door. I take one last blurry look at my beloved apartment before allowing them to lead me out the door. This might be the crappiest day of my life to date.

~*~

The rest of the day goes by in a haze. I’m so depressed I can hardly muster a “Hi” for my parents when we arrive home. Thankfully, everyone leaves me alone, and I escape to the basement where I watch reruns on TBS for the rest of the day. I’m not sure what’s going on with the truck or my belongings, but no one bothers me about it, so I assume they have it under control. And it’s a good thing, because I love this episode of
Everybody Loves Raymond
. It’s the one with the bacon fat where Frank goes off on Marie.

My phone rings just before the end of the episode. It’s Lucy. I called her a few days ago to tell her what happened, but she wasn’t available. We’ve continued to play phone tag, but I’m sure she’s heard about my sacking around the office. I don’t feel like taking the call, but I don’t want to leave her hanging any longer.

“Hey, Luce,” I say, unable to muster any sort of enthusiasm in my voice.

“Oh my God! Candace, what the hell happened? Where are you?”

I sigh. I hate to relive the whole thing. “Oh, God, Lucy. It’s been an awful week.”

“Clearly. You’re the talk of the office. No one can believe they fired you so soon after your promotion. And what’s this about a sweater?”

I roll my eyes, though I’m not at all surprised Monica blabbed about my lunch hour sweater purchase. “Yeah, well, the sweater is the least of my worries. Listen, do your best to steer clear of Clyde, all right? He’s a real piece of work.”

“Clyde? What did Clyde do? I heard you were sacked because you forgot to show up to an important meeting.”

“A meeting I was never informed of, and I have my theories about why. Clyde said I could keep my job, but I was going to have to…get my hands dirty to do it.”

“Candace, you were the youngest executive ever at Bell North. I would have done anything to keep that position!”

“Anything?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Even give a blow job to Clyde?”

Silence. I knew that would shut her up.

“You’re kidding me?” she finally says. “That’s what he wanted you to do?”

“Well, he didn’t come right out and say ‘Hey, give me a bj,’ but it was close enough. Trust me. And when I refused, he sent Celia in to deal with me.”

“Celia must be furious with him. You were her protégé.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure Celia was happy to see me go, especially after Clyde hit on me.”

I give Lucy a moment for it to sink in. After a few seconds, there’s a loud gasp, followed by a drawn out “Nooooooooo!”

“Yup.”

“Oh, my God! This is so unfair. You should sue them! They can’t fire you for not sleeping with Clyde. Hang on, I’m getting you my lawyer’s number.”

“Wait! Lucy, no, I don’t want to do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

I sigh, amazed that I’m not pursuing legal action against Bell North. “Listen, remember Madame Antoinette?”

There’s a pause. I’m sure Lucy would rather forget all about that now that she’s carrying Steve’s child. “Yes,” she says, her tone clipped. “I remember.”

“Well, while you were on the phone that day, she said something to me. She said ‘A career change will find you baking.’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I just thought she was a kooky old woman, but…I’m in Connecticut. And I’m taking over the family bakery.”

“What?” Lucy sounds breathless, like she can hardly believe what she’s hearing.

I know how she feels—
I
can hardly believe what I’m saying. “I know I’m not usually one to believe in fate and destiny and all that, but I have to believe this was supposed to happen this way. As much as it pains me to say this, I think I’m supposed to be here.”

Lucy takes a moment. Everything is changing for both of us, and it’s a lot for anyone to try to wrap their mind around. “Well,” she says, “if you truly believe that, then I’m behind you one hundred percent.” There’s a slight pause and then she adds, “But I’m really going to miss you.”

My eyes prick with tears for about the millionth time today. “I know,” I say. “I’ll miss you too.”