When Girlfriends Break Hearts (12 page)

“Forget about them. Both of them,” Jackie said with a wave of her hand. “You don’t need them, girl.”

I looked at Claire from the corner of my eye. From the look on her face she didn’t seem to share Jackie’s enthusiasm for forgetting about one of our dearest friends, but I didn’t care. It felt good to hear from a fellow friend that it was alright to harbor such harsh feelings toward Robin now.

“Robin can be a total bitch, anyway,” Jackie continued, sipping at a fresh glass of champagne that she had waved for the bartender to send her way shortly—too shortly—after her previous glass. Jackie worked the floor and the bar like no one else. She was a pro.

“Hey, you girls want a glass?” Jackie looked to me and Claire, eyebrows raised. “It’s on me.” She held up three fingers to the bartender before we could answer.

“Land a nice job, Jack?” I asked.

Jackie had never been one to keep down a job very well. And certainly not a career. She had opted to study Communications at U Dub, because it was, as I remember she said, “the easiest major there is and I like communicating anyway. I
live
on Facebook!” She scratched by with a ‘C’ average in her courses, but with an ‘A’ plus in being the most-loved DeeGee during her sorority days of Delta Gamma. Jackie was born to socialize, which is why, she said, she got a massive tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back. “I know it’s a tramp stamp,” she explained. “But we all have a little tramp in us. I figured, what the hell. I’m a social butterfly so why not get a butterfly tat?”

Even though Jackie could be flighty and from time-to-time forget about girls’ nights, leaving us hanging, and even though she slept with what sometimes appeared to be any man with an imported sports car, a penthouse suite, and who spoke sugar-coated words from cognac-coated lips, she would never sleep with one of her best mate’s boyfriends. If any of us girls was a tramp, it wasn’t Jackie, that was for sure.

“Oh God, no,” Jackie said, faking a laugh. “Me? A job? That could pay for
this
kind of bubbly?” She shook her head. “I’m sleeping with the owner of the bar. Hank. Everything’s on the house for me.” She sipped the expensive champagne that wasn’t costing her anything…monetarily speaking.

“Jackie, you’re crazy,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “
Are
you working?”

“Girls, it’s impossible to find a job. Hell, it’s impossible to keep a job!” That was Jackie. Always in and out of jobs. Just like she was in and out of relationships…if you could really call most of them that. She said that she had studied Communications “not to land a career in some big corporate office or anything like that,” but to have something to talk about and be proud of when she met eligible doctors, lawyers, and apparently bar owners.

“I was working over at
Anthro
for awhile,” she said. “But I couldn’t handle the stress.”

“Stress?” I asked, chuckling. “Jack, it’s an hourly job that eighteen-year-old girls have during summer break. How stressful could it be?”

You could always be pretty honest with Jackie without running the risk of offending her or hurting her feelings. I think deep down she knew that she had squandered a perfectly good opportunity to take her life in the healthy direction during her college years. I think she knew that she drank a little too much, partied a little too hard, and bounced from one meaningless job and relationship to the next, always putting what was best for her far from her mind. But Jackie knew what she wanted and she lived in the moment. That was often the problem.

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I’m just not cut out for work. Ya know? I need to find myself a rich doctor or something and just live my life. This whole job thing is a real pain in the ass. I don’t know how you girls do it.”

The hours passed quickly as we caught up and I finished off the second drink I vowed I wouldn’t have. It felt good to get out a little and unwind. But come ten o’clock it was high time Claire and I headed back to hit the hay, since some of us had jobs that didn’t involve wearing tight sequined minis and giving blow jobs to forty-something-year-old bar owners.

“We should definitely do this again,” Jackie insisted as Claire and I slipped our coats back on and got ready to head back to the car.

“How about this weekend? A
real
girls’ night with no curfews?” Claire offered.

“Sounds like a plan!” I said.

“Great. We’ll get all the girls together and make it a night out.”

“Yeah, but without the bitch,” Jackie added. She was right. Robin was
not
to be invited. As far as I was concerned she didn’t exist. She was
not
one of the girls.

“Jackie,” Claire said in a small, whining tone.

“It’s a no-ho night, k?” Jackie set her empty champagne glass down and followed us to the exit. “Just girls who
don’t
fuck each other’s boyfriends, all right?”

Jackie meant well, but sometimes her choice of words were not exactly appropriate. She instantly noticed the pain that spread across my face.

“Sorry, Sophie,” she apologized. “That was insensitive.”

“It’s okay,” I dismissed. I didn’t want to get into the topic again. “Saturday night? Sound good?”

Claire and Jackie emphatically agreed and the date was set.

As Claire and I got into a cab, Claire said, “Don’t take Jackie completely seriously with the whole Robin thing, Sophie.”

“I know.” I shrugged it off; I was slightly offended at Claire’s cursory remark.
 

“She doesn’t exactly have an unbiased view in the whole thing.”

“I got it, Claire,” I said curtly. “I got it.”
 

It didn’t really come as a surprise to me that Jackie had sided with me so quickly. She wasn’t particularly close to Robin, but the reason laid in her resentment or jealousy towards Robin’s relationship with Lara. Lara and Jackie were friends before Claire, Robin and I were in the picture. They were very close friends, in fact, but when we arrived on the scene, and Robin and Lara hit it off particularly well, Jackie’s jealousy came shining through. She often found it difficult to accept the close relationship that one of her best friends, Lara, had with the new girl, Robin. If there was ever moment like the drama that had become my life for Jackie to find a reason to scorn Robin, she would. I am confident that deep down inside Jackie would never wish anything bad on Robin, but jealousy can be an evil shadow.

I kept Jackie’s history with Lara and Robin in my mind as I absorbed what Jackie had said that night about the situation. Things
were
getting complicated and I was getting fed a lot of Kool-Aid—but I found that ignoring the entire thing, busying myself with yoga and making the time to hang out with some of my
true
girlfriends, was making me a feel a whole lot better. Perhaps the road to recovery was really not that far away.

Chapter Thirteen

“Don’t call her, Claire! She is
not
invited!” My voice was raised, something I rarely, if ever, did with Claire. But she was angering me. How could she even think to invite Robin to our girls’ night?

It was lunch time on Friday and the both of us had decided to take lunch at home. We were in the kitchen, maneuvering quickly around each other as we each prepared our own meals. I wanted a simple PB and J and she had a hankering for a crisp salad.

“I wasn’t going to
invite
her, Sophie.” She rinsed off a handful of lettuce leaves. “I was just thinking out loud. Since we were talking about getting all the girls together for a night out…naturally I thought of Robin….”
 

“Please don’t say her name.”
 

“Well, naturally I thought about
her
.” Claire was getting an attitude. “Not to invite her but to just talk. I still consider her a friend, Sophie.”

I knew that much, even though it burned me up.
 

“I know, I know. Whatever,” I said. “That’s not the point. I just don’t want her invited. I don’t want her to be a part of the evening. If you want to see her, then go plan something separate. Quite frankly I don’t even know how you can stand to see her. Even
talk
to her. She’s a backstabbing whore, Claire. You know if she did this to you I would have nothing to do with her.”

“I know, Sophie. But I can’t totally walk out of someone’s life. I’m not in your situation so I don’t know exactly what I’d do, but I don’t want to completely close the possibility of a friendship off.” She began to chop a carrot. “And I don’t think you should, either.”

“What?”
Was she serious?

“I understand you’re still really upset about everything, but don’t you think it’s a little rash to
completely
end a friendship? A friendship that’s never had any bumps in it before?”

“Bumps?” I set down my peanut butter-smeared knife. “Bumps? She
slept
with my
boyfriend
, Claire. That’s not a bump.”

“Okay, okay. I honestly think, though, that down the road a bit maybe you’ll realize that a friendship, in whatever form, with Ro…with
her
…is not such a far-fetched idea. She’s one of your best friends, Sophie. Friendships like those don’t dissolve over one event. One horrendous event, yes, I know. But seven years have to mean
something
. Seven near-perfect years! Lots of memories and good times….”

“Well, seven years with Conner is a lot too, huh, Claire? But if I screwed him you’d probably call it quits with him.
And
me. Am I right?”

She didn’t say anything. I must have struck a nerve or shed light on the lunacy of her argument.

“I don’t want to argue.” She drizzled some olive oil and red wine vinegar over her salad and approached the dining table. “I want peace between you girls. I won’t invite her for tomorrow and I didn’t plan on it. I just think that maybe you should consider the possibility of talking to her again. At some point. And I think you should consider the likelihood that I, even Jackie…all of us…will still be in touch with Robin. She hasn’t died.”

“She’s dead to me, Claire. I’m through with her. Like I’m through with Brandon.”

 
“I’m only mentioning it because I really think it’s something you’ll have to come to terms with at some point in time. That’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s all.” I angrily jabbed at the peanut butter. “The last thing I need is you telling me to kiss and make up with that backstabber. What’s next? I should make up with Brandon?”

Claire was silent. She was never one for confrontation, and her bringing up the fragile matter was a surprise in itself. But she strove for peace among everyone. I knew that she wanted for Robin and me to make up. My best response to her urging a possible reconciliation or facing my problems was just the opposite—to deny that anything was possible, and that my problems were being put behind me. All that was ahead was healing. And healing did not mean dealing.

After a long moment of silence, I changed the topic. “I’m thinking of doing a double session tonight. Staying late at yoga, so don’t wait up for me with dinner.”

“Double yoga? Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“Claire, I don’t need a mom.” I said it softly, but the words hurt. I could see it on her face. “I’m sorry,” I instantly apologized. I hated hurting Claire. “The whole talk of what’s-her-face and everything just really got to me. I’m sorry, Claire.”

“You’re hurting and I see that.” She spoke gently. “I only want what’s best for you and I don’t want to see you hide from your problems. You’re doing more yoga than I thought humanly possible.” She picked a carrot out of her salad and crunched on it. “You don’t want to talk about any of it. You don’t want to deal with it—but you can’t run away from everything. No matter how much it hurts.”

“It’s how I’m coping. It’s all I can do. And besides, I like yoga.”
 

“Just trying to look out for you. The best way I know how.” Claire smiled a weak smile.

“I appreciate it, but yoga’s healthy and there’s nothing wrong with a few back-to-back sessions. No biggie. It’s a great way to clear my mind and forget about everything.”

“That’s just it, Sophie. You’re forgetting about…
everything.
Running away and forgetting.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The conversation was over. There wasn’t anything more I cared to say that wouldn’t somehow wind us up in another argument. So we finished our lunches in relative silence. Not awkward; more somber.

There was probably something to Claire’s mothering about how I was hiding from my problems in countless exercise sessions. But dealing with two breakups simultaneously was something she couldn’t relate to, and it was something new to me. I didn’t know what else to do, so trying to bury my problems was medicine for the pain.

***

Work went fabulously well and my back-to-back yoga classes went even better. I got to chat briefly with Pamela and she encouraged that I go easy on myself, as well as on my friends. She agreed that a night out with the girls was probably the best recommendation for the weekend. “Have fun and live a little,” she encouraged.

My body sore, and my mind well rested and in a state of peace—which was a miracle at this point—I pulled up to the dark driveway of the quaint house that had really become my home. I knew that at some point, and probably relatively soon, I would need to find a place of my own, but Claire and Conner were both very supportive. Setting out to find an apartment and facing the reality of living solo for practically the first time in my life was not exactly a smart or healthy move for a girl in my condition. I was most grateful for their limitless hospitality. I certainly didn’t deserve it, especially when I thought about my quarrel with Claire.

When I walked through the front door I was greeted by a few yips from Schnickerdoodle. He ran up to me and sniffed around my feet for awhile before scampering back onto his daddy’s lap. Conner was asleep on my sofa, his socked feet propped up on the coffee table. Schnickerdoodle woke him.

“Hey, Sophie,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”