What a Girl Needs (6 page)

This offends me. I’m a fixer. Granted, I may screw things up while trying to fix them, but I want a shot. “Brea, you’re ticking me off. You’re treating me like I’m some random stranger. What’s wrong?”

“Quit being such a drama queen.” She clicks her seatbelt into place. “I’m not ready to talk about it just yet. We’ll connect later. I promise.”

As we emerge from the parking garage into the dazzling San Jose sunlight, the boys are quiet except for the boy “noises” they’re emanating. Miles has his teeth tight as he spits out Star Wars’ light saber sounds while Jonathan emits choo-choo whistles while pushing his train across his legs.

Brea’s got a hair clip clamped in her mouth as she steers the minivan with her knees. She shakes her curly mop of hair and clips it in a high ponytail. She’s the poster child for distracted-driving.

So I’m shut down, just like that. Brea always was the one who could handle everyone’s drama and keep the remote coolness of Martha Stewart with a dash of Rachael Ray’s enthusiasm. I’ve always been too much for some people to take, and I can’t help but wonder if my absence has made my best friend one of those people. Maybe the boundaries people create are necessary walls to keep me away. Maybe I’ve gotten worse being in Philadelphia and spending most days talking to the dog and random strangers in Starbucks.

Before we hit Highway 101, the boys have dozed off in their carseats, with their toys clutched to their hearts. We drive up the Peninsula toward San Francisco to the town of Palo Alto and the home I used to share with Kay. I use the term
share
loosely because Kay had a certain way of doing everything. Ways, which I will never understand in this lifetime, but that involve a lot of order that makes no sense to my brain. Everything has a place and everything is in its place. Unless I was there.
I tried
, I really did, but things just didn’t come naturally to me the way they did for Kay. She taught me a lot though, about entertaining, about cleaning up as you went along, and that life was just always going to be harder for a mind like mine. In essence, it was Kay’s world. I just lived in it.

After a few short minutes of casual church updates that keep real issues at bay, Brea pulls alongside the curb outside Kay’s house on Channing Street and waits for me to exit.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I ask her.

“The boys are napping. I don’t want to wake them before their appointments.” She shrugs and unsnaps her clip, unleashing her wild curls. “Kay never was much into kids. I doubt she’d appreciate them tearing through her house.”

“Kids are messy.” I laugh. “It’s the same reason Kay never had much use for me.”

She gives me a half-grin. “So text me and let me know your plans or if you need a ride over to your mom’s.”

“You’re the one with the life here, Brea. When can we get together? I’d like to have more than the trip home from the airport.”

She looks at her watch. “I’ll text you.”

“Where have I heard that before?” I grin. “I have a gift for you too, not just the boys.”

“I’ll get it later.” Brea presses a button and the hatchback yawns open and I hear my suitcase tumble to the street below. “Sorry about that. It must have shifted.”

I get out of the car, take a glance at the angelic boys with their grips tightly on their gifts, and smile toward Brea. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

I walk to the back of the van and pick my case off the asphalt. By the time, I stand up again, Brea has pressed a button, closed up her car and driven off—as if she’s just abandoned an unwanted puppy. I watch her taillights glow as she turns off the street. Looking at Kay’s bungalow, I wonder if it’s true what Thomas Wolfe wrote,
you can’t go home again.

I guess that you can go home again—after all, I am here. The question is, will anyone want you once you get there?

‡

K
ay’s bungalow is
a quaint little house on a tree-lined street in one of Palo Alto’s most sought-after neighborhoods near Stanford University. Everything about its simplicity and familiarity makes me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time and as if Philly never happened. I’m suddenly a single girl dreading the latest Friday “open mic night” at a local coffee shop with the rest of the church singles’ group. The thought makes me shudder and I have to remind myself it’s all a flashback.

I’m married. I’m married. Seth and rejection are in my past.

If only that were true. I lift my suitcase across the grass, rather than drag it across the stepping-stones that lead to the small, brick porch. There’s a single white iron chair – a symbol for all things lonely, and the irony is not lost on me.

I sit down, when the chair buckles underneath me. I nearly bang my head against the wall when I realize the chair is just for show—it’s not strong enough to actually hold someone, a fact I’d clearly forgotten.

Let’s just say no one has rolled out the welcome mat for me just yet. I call Kevin before I knock on the door.

It wasn’t terrible being single.
In fact, I wish I’d taken more advantage of it and truly relished the time with myself. I’m not
that
bad. So why do only the hard memories come bubbling up to the surface from my subconscious? I had value when I was single. Isn’t that what being married taught me?

Kevin’s assistant answers and tells me he’s in surgery. Typical.

“Would you tell Kevin that I arrived safely in California when he’s finished?” I ask her.

“Of course, Ashley. Have a great time! Bring home some sunshine—without this awful humidity, would you?”

“I’ll do my best.” It’s terrible that I’m upset Kevin’s in surgery because I can’t whine to him about Brea tossing me out of her car like the morning newspaper. Sometimes, whining is my favorite sport, which probably doesn’t make me the most pleasant person to be around. I toss my phone into my Burberry bag (a leftover from my working days) and try to figure out what’s missing from the sorry, lonesome concrete stoop.

The Fourth of July decorations aren’t up, for one thing. Kay’s more accurate than the Mayan calendar, which I’m sure isn’t saying much now that their calendar did not end in our destruction. The point is the same. Kay’s fastidious about flying the individual flags of celebration. She’s so obsessed in fact, that she usually sucks the fun out of any holiday. The porch is bare and I have to check the house numbers to ensure I’m in the right spot. I am; so I stand up and press the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approach.

I’m completely caught off-guard when Matt Callaway opens the door, in nothing more than khaki shorts, a tool belt and his bare chest.
Um, yuck.
He’s a hulking figure who is still handsome despite rapidly passing middle age and having the personality of the smarmiest pyramid salesman. Silicon Valley ages a person. The hours are brutal—but then again, Matt could be looking at me and thinking Philly and joblessness ages a person. Matt possesses a dark, full head of hair graying at the temples and a wicked sense of mischief that I never could understand. He and Kay were dating at my wedding, but that was years ago, and I assumed he’d faded away like the brown from his head. The only thing Matt had ever been consistent at was dating inappropriate women. Kay did not fall under that heading.

“Matt?”

His gaze travels up and down my person critically before he speaks. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“Nope. It’s today.”

We stare at each other awkwardly and it’s clear neither one of us wants to make small talk. We’re both authentic enough to know we needn’t pretend we like one another.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Aren’t you still practicing patent law? Or is this your shot at being a Chippendale dancer?”

“Very funny. Still the same ol’ charming Ashley, I see.” He stands in the doorway preventing my entrance. “I’m helping out Kay with some handyman work in the backyard.”

“Why?” I clear my throat. “I mean, when did you suddenly become handy?”

“I’m that kind of man and I’ve always been handy, not that you ever bothered to notice.”

“I noticed you were dating a large cache of my friends back in the day. I guess I missed the part about you being handy.”
I was too busy noticing you being a jerk.
I inhale and try to reset my attitude. Anyone can change. I would hope I’ve evolved since we last met.

“You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” he repeats.

“Nope. Pretty sure it’s today. I know because the plane wouldn’t have let me board if I had the wrong date on the ticket.” I stare around him, into the backyard and notice a mess of boards in the backyard blocking the doorway. “What kind of handiwork are you doing? Kay approved that mess?”

“Just little stuff. She had a fan out in the bathroom and I’m building a pergola in the back. She’d like to host more barbecues, and it gets hot back there without a cover.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re building a pergola? Is the patent business that slow?”

“No, why? You looking for a job? My office could use someone. When my partner found out you were coming, he was ecstatic. We’ve found this new niche, and we’re on fire. Where are you working?”

My heart flames with excitement at his words and I forget all about the pergola. I want to ask him everything about business, but my pride prevents me from saying a word. “I’m not really looking for anything,” I lie. My words surprise even me. Pride’s an ugly trait.

“Too bad. The patent business is fast and furious with all the software and social media sites popping up right and left. It’s like another Dot Com bubble for us patent attorneys. I can’t believe you’re not in on it. There are these trolls buying up patents left and right, then they sue small start-ups for patent infringement and put these companies right out of business.”

“No kidding? That’s new. They’re buying the patents?”

“Which, as you know, means they can put them into use that day. They buy them, start litigation and the battle for intellectual property is on.”

My teeth clench at the injustice and I want to jump out of my skin with questions, but I put my game face on. “What’s the patent office doing about it?”

“Nothing yet.” Matt adjusts his tool belt then steps out onto the porch, like I’m a Jehovah’s Witness and he’s trying to keep me out of Kay’s house. “You know how well they understand the technology. It will take them time to catch up.”

I ball my hands into small, tight fists. His words bring everything out in me that made me want to be a patent attorney. The rights. The doing battle for inventors and creators. I’m practically foaming at the mouth to get in on it, but I know if I’m overeager, Matt will drop the subject like yesterday’s news. “Have you been to court with any of them yet?”

“It takes less than an hour of the judge’s time for these morons to get shut down.” He steps back and opens the door wide enough for me to step over the threshold. “So what are you working on now?” He glances at my suitcase. “Besides your shoe collection, I mean.”

“Oh, you know.”

“You shouldn’t have sold your share of this house to Seth.” Matt shakes his head. “You burned the ships. Lot of people make that mistake, and then there’s no getting back into Bay Area real estate.”

“I did burn the ships.”

“You’re not the kind of woman who just becomes a housewife. Hadn’t you noticed that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not a criticism. It’s just you don’t bake or cook, you’re sloppier than me from what I remember, and Kay mothered you when you lived here. All I am saying is if I were going to recommend a patent attorney, you’d top my list. But a housewife? We can’t just change who we are by moving.”

“How is that not a criticism?”

“Maybe it is, but my motive is pure.”

I cross my arms. “I doubt that. Let’s not forget you are a lawyer.”

“As are you, Ashley. You always seem to attribute every piece of ugliness about the law to me, without taking any credit for it being your own profession.”

My eyes scan the room behind him, and the loss of this house looms large for me. Matt’s tossed-aside T-shirt and flip-flops are strewn across Kay’s pristine floor and it seems I’ve been replaced.

Matt goes on, “My brain is in constant motion. That’s why I love the busy work around Kay’s place. It gives my brain time to ruminate on how to beat these monsters at their own game. You need that downtime, you know? To strategize.”

I sigh. He may as well have said he’s getting free Prada with each paycheck. “The timing’s all wrong for me. I’ve been out of the game too long.”

Admittedly, I want him to say it’s not true. But looking to Matt Callaway for comfort is the first sign I’ve completely lost my mind.

I should mention that Matt and I have a dark history. He hurt Kay once. And let’s just say she’s more forgiving than I am. If I had my way, he’d never darken her doorway again. Kay thought they were a couple back when, but he began dating my sister-in-law Emily while she was here for my wedding.

I never forgave him for making Kay look like a fool, not that I was his biggest fan in the first place. It didn’t help that Matt’s ancient next to Emily. She’s just twenty-nine now, and Matt’s rapidly flirting with fifty. The fact that he’s still in Kay’s universe doesn’t add up. It’s hard to meet people in the Valley, so I chalk it up to Kay’s insane level of patience for people. Maybe she’s just throwing him a bone as a friend. But it doesn’t add up.