When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (33 page)

“But John? I don’t know,” he says.

“Conner, what would
you
know? You barely know the guy.”

“And you know him any better?” He has a point. Sophie may be my best friend, but I’m not exactly up to date on the life of her big brother.

“No,” I say. I stop to look at a duvet with thin, silvery-grey flowers printed at the base. “I don’t know him that well, but Sophie does, obviously. She’s the one saying it now. And, for what it’s worth—and I totally know it’s a stereotype—but Sophie and I are factoring in that he’s an intelligent, handsome lawyer who lives in
San Francisco
who can never fully commit to one woman.”

Conner chuckles and continues to play with the scanner like a child. “That seals the deal, then, huh?” He’s still laughing when I gesture towards the duvet I’m now holding, half expecting him to roll his eyes about the pattern choice and half expecting him to say that we already have a bed set and don’t need another.

It’s the latter that he jumps on, saying, “The one we have is perfectly fine, Claire. Let’s put stuff on this list that we really need.”

I make a pouting face and shove the bagged duvet back onto the shelf. Choosing to return to the topic of John’s sexual preference, I say, “Well, I don’t know for sure, but Sophie did say that she’s fairly certain now.”

“How?” He gives me a puzzled look. “Just because you talked to that queer co-worker of hers who has a thing for him?” He takes the lead, turning the corner into the pillow aisle.

“Don’t say ‘queer,’” I reprimand. “It’s gay.”

“Gay. Queer. Heterosexually challenged. Whatever.”
 

I roll my eyes and give him a shove in the side. Sometimes Conner can act so dense.
 

“Just because you talked to—”

“Oliver,” I add robustly.

“
Oliver
. And because this
Oliver
has the hots for John, you think John’s automatically gay?”
 

I nod enthusiastically and Conner only snickers. He gives the cart a thrust forward.

“That,” I say stubbornly, trailing quickly after him, “and the fact that Sophie said John broke up with his recent girlfriend.
And
, Conner, get this—she was a
swimsuit
model. Okay? Guys like John, if straight, don’t just go break up with swimsuit models like that.”

Conner makes a funny face, and it has to be one of surprise. I mean, what kind of guy dumps a model? And a swimsuit model, at that?

“She could’ve been a real bitch,” Conner suggests.

I love this man. Sometimes he can be a real pain in the rear—brushing off chores, or even thinking that dating a super model would be pretty hot, or using insensitive words like ‘queer’ and ‘heterosexually challenged.’ Other times—most of the time—he’s incredible. So grounded. Like when he just looks at me, or kisses me, or laughs at some goofy thing I do or say.

“Know what I mean?” he continues. “John seems like a smart guy. He probably doesn’t want to get tangled up with a bitchy girl. Maybe she was shallow or stupid. Who knows?”

“We’re breaking out all the stereotypes,” I say with a smile. “You’re sweet, Conner.”

“I’m being honest here.” He’s about to turn the next corner when I tell him to hold up. I yank the cart from him and pace back a few steps. There are some memory foam pillows I’ve been meaning to take a look at.

“He was with her for a couple weeks,” I say with a pillow in my hands. “
Weeks!
How well could he have known her?”

“Ouch.” Conner winces. “A couple weeks? Either she was
really
bitchy or dumb, or he just might be gay.”

I laugh rather too loudly, because the people across the way have looked over at us.

“See!” I say quietly to him. “He might be gay. Sophie agrees with me; it just doesn’t add up, all the women—
models!—
and in short spurts. Guess he just needs his time to come out.”

“You might be on to something, Claire. If a guy can’t even hold out for a few months with a model? Hmm.”

“Sophie said he’s wanting to plan another trip to Seattle soon, to visit,” I say with a hint of suspicion in my voice. “And…” I sing. “…I told her she should give me the opportunity to hook him up with someone.”

“Oh, Claire,” Conner groans.

“Think about it, Conner! That guy, Oliver! He and John could
so
hit it off! Or I could totally find someone else for him!” Oh, playing Cupid is
so
much fun. They should have a round on Jeopardy. I’d so ace it!

“You don’t even know for sure if John swings that way, babe,” Conner says, incredulous.

“Well,” I fluff my hair, “minor details. If Sophie and I get confirmation that he is
 
gay then I can hook him up.” I turn the pillow around, then give it a toss, then a squeeze.

“Confirmation?” Conner laughs to himself and shakes his head. “What are you, checking in for a flight? Leave the man alone, honey. I’m sure he’s plenty capable of hooking himself up with someone, gay or straight. Clearly the guy doesn’t have any trouble finding hot women.”

“We’ll see,” I say more to myself than Conner.

I turn the pillow his way so he can read the text that emphasizes,
Contouring!
Flexible! Scientifically Proven!

And there’s that twisted expression again, followed by the predictable, “We don’t
need
new pillows, babe.”

I groan and toss the pillow back, this time making Conner surrender the scanner. I scan the barcode and enter a quantity of two. I’ve read that a memory foam pillow will change the way you sleep, which will, in turn, change your life. Naturally we need some.

“You know,” I say, “we
are
supposed to be putting things on this list that aren’t necessarily necessities. That’s one of the perks of a wedding, babe. Some things can be extravagant or dreamy. Like these pillows.” I toss the scanner back at him, and he’s grinning. “What?” I’m afraid to know.

“Come on,” he says, pulling the end of the cart down the remainder of the aisle. “We’re going to the electronics section.”

“Oooh!” My eyes light up. “A paper shredder? You know I didn’t mean to jam the other one—it didn’t specifically say
not
to feed it CDs.”

“Nope. A new XBox. Do you
know
how old mine is?”

Chapter Twenty-One

I did
not
see this one coming.

There’s no way I could have seen this one coming.

Not behind the polished, manicured nails. Not behind the shine of an iPad. Not behind that bright-toothed and pink, lip glossy smile.

The day was going fairly well up until about six o’clock that evening. I had a really great day at the hospital, and Cranky Craddock wasn’t as cranky as usual. And, get this—he actually applied his cream by himself the night before. He even had a conversation with me for a whole two minutes! I’m pretty sure getting to watch the
MASH
reruns that were playing on a television marathon had something to do with his good mood, but I take what I can get!

Allison called just yesterday to tell me everything is all set for the rehearsal dinner; first we’ll have a practice ceremony at the church, then dinner at Carpaggio’s. Everything is flowing smoothly, she reported, and all that she needs from me now is for me to go to a place called Party Emporium to choose my dinnerware and linens.

“If you need help in coming to a decision,” she said, “photograph your favorites and email them to me. I’ll respond within twelve hours. Promise.” Everything is going very well on the wedding front.

Neither Mom nor Dad have called with another increased headcount, so that is awesome news! Although, that doesn’t mean things aren’t growing; but as far as I know we’re still standing strong at two-seventy-five.

Allison assures me that so long as we don’t exceed the three hundred count, we should be perfectly fine with things as they stand.

With everything going swimmingly, how could there be a wrench thrown in?

Conner brought in the mail a minute ago and slapped it on the dining table after our evening walk through our favorite park with Schnickerdoodle. There were very few golfers out at the hole where the Broadmoor Club meets with our park of choice, which was a bit surprising seeing how tonight is such a gorgeous June evening. Just a tepid seventy-seven degrees, the sun still up and shining golden rays. If tonight isn’t a golfing kind of night, then I don’t know what is.
 

I was just about to feed Schnickerdoodle, when a white envelope with bold, navy print, made out to me, caught my eye among the pile of mail. For some reason I couldn’t hold myself back and wait a single minute to rip into it, even with the dog whining.

That’s when the avalanche hit!

I cannot believe what I am now reading!

I pull the legal-sized piece of paper completely from the envelope, mouth hanging open.

Law Offices of Gildroy, Gipps, & Bishop

Seattle, Washington

I can feel my eyes widen and widen as I take in each following word.

Dear Ms. Claire Linley:

RE: Contract By and Between
Claire Linley
and
MC Design and Coordination
dated 15 January 2014 (the “Contract”)

You are hereby notified that you are in breach of Sections 2 and 3 of the Contract.

I drop the paper from view and immediately shout, “Conner!” My voice is blood curdling. His quick shower has just finished, but I still call out loudly, “Conner!”
 

Oh no. This isn’t happening. This is
not
for real.

“Babe?” Conner exclaims. His soaking wet head quickly pokes around the corner. “You all right? You hurt?”

I turn around and thrust the paper forward for him to read, my hands beginning to tremble. “You’re never going to believe that bitch.”

Conner’s eyes jet over the paper, and then, when the gravity of the situation sinks in—the awful, stinking, horribly bitchy realism—he says, “Oh shit.”

He walks further into the dining room, clutching a towel around his waist with one hand and taking the letter in the other. “She can’t do this!”

“Well, apparently she did. She
has!
” I rub at my temples. This can’t be happening. There is no way in hell this is happening.

“We’re being sued,” Conner says, stating the obvious—the horrible and awful-sounding obvious.

I try to snatch the paper back, but Conner pulls away. He mulls over its contents, his lips gently moving as he silently reads.

“What do we do?” I cry out. I look down at Schnickerdoodle, who’s no longer whining but sitting at my feet, ears perked up high, as if he’s trying to weigh in on the situation too.

Conner lets the paper flutter down onto the table, and he heads back towards the bathroom.

“Conner! What are we supposed to do?”

I think I can feel tears about to come. If not now, then when? This is the perfect time to cry and have a breakdown!
Me?
Being sued? Innocent me? All this because we fired someone from the job? That’s what it’s about, surely. Melissa’s pissed because we fired her, and now she’s suing us!

Conner stops mid-way down the hall and turns. He doesn’t look panicked, nor does he look angry. Not even scared. Instead, he looks kind of like he’s aged a few years.

“Conner?” I whisper, fearful. “This has to be about us firing her.” I bite down on my lower lip, almost to the point where I fear it will bleed, and I quickly stop.

“No shit that’s what this is about.” Now there’s the anger. He roughly runs a free hand through his wet hair, ruffling it rapidly. “Let me think on this one.”

“Should I call her? Maybe explain? Make nice!” I don’t know. These are only suggestions. Poor ones, perhaps, but I don’t know what to do.

“Let me
think
.” He shoots me a look of warning and mutters something inaudible, retreating to the bathroom. “Don’t do
anything
until we think this through, Claire!”

I cross my arms and furrow my brow. I feel so helpless, but I also feel like the complete cause of this current state of chaos. If only I’d just kept my big mouth shut, sucked it up, and gone through with using Melissa and her stupid company for our wedding. I mean, I made it this far with her.

So I may not have known what to really expect the day of, hence me cutting out the risk and giving her the boot. And so Melissa may have been grating on my nerves with her stuffy faux perfection and her grating sorority girl attitude. But had I known that this would lead to a lawsuit, I never in a million gajillion years would have asked Conner to sit down and help me send that damn email.

Schnickerdoodle is back to whining, and his hind legs are quivering.

“Sorry, baby,” I tell him. I fetch him his supper and try to come up with a helpful plan of action. If Dad finds out about this…if Mom hears the word “lawsuit”…if this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back…

Conner was really angry back there. It’s rare that he gets really riled up or flustered or flat-out angry. Then again, he’s probably never been threatened with a lawsuit.

“Ugh,” I groan, sliding down the refrigerator until I hit the cold the kitchen floor. I look to my right at the dog. He’s chowing down at record speed. “What have I gotten us into, Schnicker?”

I’m about to drop my face into my hands when the light bulb goes off. “I’ll call Lara!” I leap to retrieve my cell phone and search for her name. I bet she knows someone who can help! I’m sure she knows all about litigious things working in such a big-name advertising agency downtown. Surely they have lawyers on staff. Surely they deal with a bunch of legal troubles.

Why didn’t I think of it before? I seem to being saying that a lot lately, but why didn’t I?

“Isn’t Sophie’s brother a lawyer?” Lara asked in an obvious way after I broke the bad news to her while in tears on the kitchen floor. “That’d be a lot easier than me asking around the legal department here.”

Of course! John! Certainly he could be of some help.

“Conner!” I practically scream from the kitchen once I’m off the line with Lara. I pull myself up off the cold floor and race off to the master bathroom. “Conner!”