When Girlfriends Step Up (8 page)

“Exactly. Like, we’ve been civil with each other in the past. Nothing unusual. But lately he seems to be upping the charm. And I’m doing the same, too.” She finished painting her last toe. “I don’t know. We talk almost every day in the break room. He even asked me to join him for lunch one day—with him
only
—but I turned him down because I had a report I had to finish.” Lara could read my doubting face. “And that was the truth, Robin.”

“Had you not had the report, would you have gone to lunch with him?”

She thought for a brief moment before answering with, “Probably.”

“So there’s attraction on your end?”

“Hell yes!” Her response was quicker than anticipated.

“Whoa,” I said. “So you’ve got it bad for this guy. What’s his name?”

“Paul.” Lara’s blue eyes, no joke, started to look a little dreamy.

“Do you think you and this
Paul
will go out soon?”

“Go out?” she asked, surprised. “Oh, heavens no! Oh no. No!”

I asked her why the proposition seemed so appalling, and all she could say was that she was sure he didn’t feel anything like
that
about her, even if there may or may not have been some flirting going on. She said she needed to be sensible and come to terms with the fact that she was destined to be, like me, unlucky in love. I found the whole thing rather confusing.

“You know me, Robin. Always Mr. Wrong, never Mr. Right. That’s the story of my life.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, taking the lead to share my own office romance, or crush, or whatever was going on (if anything at all). “This guy at my office, Bobby, I think I’m making myself crush on him just because he’s offering me coffee and making sure he says ‘hi’ to me every morning. As always, I’m blowing it out of proportion I’m sure. Thinking he’s actually interested in me…” I chuckled. “Oh well. He’s got a girlfriend anyway. And it seems pretty serious.”

Lara shook her head, then changed the subject. “What do you say to some
90210
? Think that’s coming on soon. Or would you rather I pop in an old
Sex and the City
episode? Or we could watch
Pretty Woman
. Oldie but goodie.” She pulled her hair back into a neat and small ponytail.

“We need the inspiration; unlucky in love over here. Put in
Pretty Woman
.”

There we sat that night, cuddled together under a big blanket on the sofa, watching Julia Roberts work the screen. Our nails freshly painted, the Brandon dilemma left for another day, and my ultrasound appointment on the horizon. Lara and I may have been unlucky in love—on the constant, unsuccessful hunt for Mr. Right—but we were unlucky in love together. We were both concocting imaginative love affairs with our office boys, and we were all right with that, I suppose. At least we had each other…and Julia to give us some encouragement. Love can be found in the strangest of places, so perhaps there was hope for us after all.

Chapter Five

“Comfortable bed?” Lara asked the next morning, while she poured some milk into her dry cereal topped with freshly cut peaches.

“Heavenly,” I said, taking one last look at myself in the hallway mirror before I headed out for work. “Thank you so much.”

“Any time, girl.”

I started towards the front door and Lara called out, “Aren’t you going to eat some breakfast? You’ve got to make sure you’re eating right. You’re eating for—”

“I know. I’m eating for two now.” I gave her a smile and headed out the door. “I’m going to grab a muffin at a café. I’ll call you later. And thank you again, Lara. I really enjoyed last night.”

She waved goodbye, her cereal spoon in hand. “Later, girl!” she mumbled through a mouthful of cereal.

Before I pulled out of the apartment parking lot I stole a glance at my cell phone, hoping that Brandon had called or texted. Nothing.
 

That’s it. Enough is enough.

Before I drove off, I rushed out a text to Brandon and typed,
Robin here. PLEASE call me!!!
Maybe that would get his butt into gear. And if it didn’t, I’d call again. Today during lunch. Same story, hopefully a different outcome.

The drive from Lara’s apartment to my office was a breeze. Most certainly an improvement in time efficiency and mileage compared to when I drove my usual route from my apartment in the U District. The girls had been pestering me for years to move closer to them and out of the U District where we’d all gone to college. Since graduation they’d all moved into various areas of Seattle—Fremont, Queen Anne, Madison Park, and even wealthy men’s upper class penthouses in Downtown and Waterfront, but that was usually Jackie’s terrain as she was often on the move depending on Cupid’s arrow. I, however, chose to stay in the familiar apartment at Pacific Green Hills near campus. It was still relatively close to work, but seeing how brisk a dash I’d made from Lara’s apartment I started to second-guess my living arrangements.

Once the baby came I’d have to seriously consider a new living arrangement anyhow. A small one-bedroom and one-bathroom apartment in a rather loud part of town, college students all over the place, probably wasn’t the ideal setup for a woman with a baby. I decided against even thinking about a move; the overwhelming stress of it was more than I needed on my plate at the moment.
 

“In early today,” a colleague said to me as I walked through the office’s front doors a good hour earlier than my usual time.

“Lots of work to do,” I said cheerfully, charging off to my office. My creative muse was back and doing well, I had a great night’s sleep under my belt, and I’d figured out last night while shaving my legs what special touch the mystery novel cover needed.

I was cruising like a rock star at work, getting many small to-dos off my list, returning a few phone calls, even sending off my first draft of the mystery novel cover to the editor. The title’s font needed to be changed from burgundy to eggplant, and some added depth and shadows across the moon in the background needed to be created, and shifted slightly more behind the novel’s bold and enticing title. The changes got my approval. Now it was up to the editor. I was hopeful that the adjustments (if there were to be any) would be minor and easy to fix.

“Want to join us for lunch?” Bobby asked, peering his head around the corner and through my office door as he’d been doing quite often lately.

“No,” came Janet’s curt response.

Bobby made a contorted face at me, then grinned. “How about you, Robin?” He clearly had not invited Janet, but he was too much of a gentleman to bring attention to the fact.

Unlucky in love. Mr. Wrong. Mr. Right.

My mind went back to the conversation Lara and I had the night before. Was Bobby, like Lara’s co-worker Paul, actually flirting with me? Or was he only bringing our acquaintanceship into a new realm—a very friends-only-ish realm? Or was it all my imagination? Or was I secretly pining away for Bobby? The entire scenario was so convoluted.

“I’m heading out to grab some Chinese with some of the gang from editing and reception. Want to come?”

Hmph. Not convoluted. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t and I’m misreading everything. Bobby’s just a nice co-worker.

I quickly thought about my lunch plans. I wanted to give Brandon another call, so I politely declined the invitation, but said, “Maybe next time.”

“What is
that
all about?” Janet asked once Bobby left.

“What’s what about?” Couldn’t she mind her own business?

“You and Bobby seem to be awful closey-close lately.”

I made an incredulous expression. “I don’t know what you’re ta—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Robin.” She rolled her eyes. “‘Can I get you some coffee?’ ‘Here’s your print out.’ ‘Want to grab lunch?’”
 

“So what?”

“You don’t think it’s peculiar that he’s being ridiculously nice to you all of a sudden?”

“I don’t follow.” Honestly, what was she getting at?

“Don’t be so blue-eyed. He’s only being saccharine-sweet to you so you’ll choose him to be a part of your team if you get the PM position next spring.”

What was she talking about? Why would Bobby feel the need to butter me up if I got the PM position? And why wouldn’t
he
try for the position himself?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Janet, but I think you’ve got your information twisted.”

She walked up to my desk. “Don’t play coy. You know very well he’s not trying for the position. He wouldn’t want to be the lead for some stupid, half-wit chick lit author’s cover anyway. He’d rather play up to you now, sit right under you, Miss Big PM, then snag up all the credit he could on the job. Use that to take the next best thing.” She paused. “That is
if
you get the position. And there’s no guarantee of that.”

How dare she! What nerve…

“Why wouldn’t he be ‘saccharine-sweet’ with you, too, then?” I countered. “If his plan is to cozy up to the potential PM, why wouldn’t he do the same to you? You’re obviously pursuing it.”

“He knows he can’t get away with simple-minded shit like that with me. I’m the
real deal
here, honey.”

I wanted to stand up and shout out, “Bitch!” But that’s not me. That’s what I dream of doing to pushy brats like Janet. I would never actually gather the nerve to stand up to her. I could lose my job if I did that. Well, maybe not lose my job, but you never know. I could probably kiss the PM position away, at least. And the raise. No, I’d let Janet think she was all that and then some and carry on my way.
 

Don’t let her get to you. Don’t let her get under your skin.

“Whatever, Janet. I’ve got work to do.” I turned my attention back to my computer screen, momentarily pretending to be busy with my emails, scrolling through my inbox.

When Janet didn’t leave and kept looming near my desk, I said, “Besides, there’s no certainty I’ll get the position. And there’s no certainty that Bobby wouldn’t get it or wouldn’t try for it. There’s not even a certainty that our firm will get the contract with this author. So we’re only wasting our time making conjectures. We’ve got enough work to do as it is.”

She pivoted on her long, nylon-clad legs, and resumed her seat at her own desk. “Only looking out for a fellow woman in the workplace,” she said, the falsity of her statement oozing from her pores. Who was she kidding?
 

“Men will do anything to get to the top of their career,” she said.
 

I wanted to retort with, “And women don’t?”, suggesting that she take a long, hard look in the mirror. But, of course, I didn’t say such things. I never do. I went back to busying myself with my inbox before realizing there was indeed real work that needed my attention.

‘Saccharine-sweet’ with me? What nerve! Bobby wasn’t doing anything slimy like that. What did Janet know? Just because she was a vindictive bitch, willing to do anything to claw her way to the top, didn’t mean that the rest of us were. God, sometimes…

I was eating the sandwich that I’d picked up from a nearby café, once again choosing to dine in the solace of my parked car, when my cell phone rang.
 

Probably Sophie checking up on the old Brandon report.

My third lunch in my parked car, solo, was a habit that was getting really old really fast. I needed to contact Brandon ASAP before I lost my mind from this dull routine, or before I became that creep-o lady who drove to the park and watched its visitors from inside her car, eating her sandwiches, and making phone calls, always looking stressed or sad or angry.

The number on my cell phone was at first foreign. Perhaps the doctor reminding me of my appointment? Or needing to cancel it? Then I realized it was Brandon’s number.

“Shit.” I looked out my rearview mirror. Why? I don’t know. For answers? Looking back hoping this was all a dream? That none of this was happening. Here. Alone. In my car with a half-eaten sandwich in my hand, the other half in my churning stomach. I looked down at my stomach, my cell phone still ringing.
 

I’m not alone. I’ve got you, sweet baby.
 

Then I gathered my thoughts and answered the call that I’d been waiting for for what seemed like an aching eternity.

“Hello,” I squeaked.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end replied. “Brandon here.”

What the hell now? I had prepared as best I could for this moment, but really, there’s no amount of preparation that could have truly prepared me for what I was about to do.
 

God, this is awful.

“You called,” he said. So point-blank. So…emotionless.

“Yes. Like a dozen times.”
 

Short. Keep it short and strong.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been crazy busy at work lately.”

I fluttered my eyelids and stuck out my tongue.
Such a douche bag.

“Well I’m glad you finally found the decency to call me back after nearly two weeks.”

“Has it been that long?”

Another flutter, and this time I gave him the bird.

“Like I said, so busy at work—”

“That’s nice and all,” I cut him off. “Look, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” I tried my hardest to stay in control and direct.

“Shoot.” He was cool right now. Just he wait.

And then I told him. I let it spill forth without giving him room to retort or deny.

“I’ve taken the tests. Several tests. Each one positive. I’m pregnant, Brandon. There’s no doubt about it. And I’ve got an appointment already with a doctor. I’m going to see the baby for the first time. And don’t think for a minute it’s not yours. There isn’t anyone else. There wasn’t anyone before we shacked up that night…no one within any reasonable time, that’s for sure. No one since. It’s yours, Brandon. And I thought you should know.” I could feel myself starting to lose my calm after the words fluidly poured forth without an ounce of hesitation. “And—and, well, I wanted you to know. To see—”

His words in response to becoming a father were ice: “I’ll send you some money for an abortion.”

“What? No. No. You didn’t hear what I said. I’m having a baby. Brandon, I’m
keeping
the baby.”