Life as We Know It (Love Not Included) (Volume 4) Page 2

  “Penelope, I know you are struggling for what to say, so I will say it. I think it would be best if we took a step back.”

  Wait. Who thinks this?

  “I’m not sure I am really following you, Henry. Those charges were years ago, and the pot wasn’t even mine. If you read the report it would clearly say…” My argument dies a little when I notice him checking his watch, like he is in a hurry. He’s not even listening to me.

  “Henry?” I fight back for his attention.

  “Oh yes, sorry, Love. It’s just that I am almost late for a meeting. Cassandra really stresses the importance of not being late.” If he says Cassandra one more time I might flip this table. There is a reason the saying “bat shit crazy” was invented. And if I seriously hear that one word, three-syllable phrase come out of his mouth again, I’m going to choke it back into him.

  “So what are you saying, Henry?”

  “It’s best that we go our separate ways right now, Love. Once I land the Senate spot, we can revisit this relationship, but right now, it is just not best for my career. You understand, of course, right?”

  Oh, I understood all right. I’ve learned to watch my profanity in front of Henry because he is so conservative. I’ve learned to smile, bow and curtsy at almost everything for Henry because that’s what I thought he wanted. Right about now, the only thing I can do is nod. Because it’s safest. For Henry.

  “Good, Love, I’m glad. Listen, I have to go.” He lets go of my hands and stands. He adjusts his fancy two-thousand-dollar suit, which I’m sure Cassandra probably picked out, and walks to the side of our table. He bends forward and presses a kiss onto the top of my head. Of my head! And then kicks me with his final blow.

  “Since I’m running late, can you wrap up our tab with Jake? Thanks, Love.”

  With that, he steps away and walks out of the café.

  No flippin’ way did that just happen.

  Feck no.

  Get outta freakin’ town.

  Trust me. I can go on.

  I numbly get up from the table and walk over to the register. I see a smiling Jake ready and waiting to hand me our tab.

  “Hey, Ms. Summers. Ready and waiting, if you can just sign the receipt, I will put it on Mr. Berkshire’s tab.”

  Now remember, I am half in shock, so I’m not sure where this next move comes from. “Thanks, Jake, I appreciate that. Mr. Berkshire was in a big hurry, but he needed to put in a prompt order for his office. He was very specific to make sure that everyone in his office received coffee today. So that’s…fifteen caramel mocha lattes, no…make that twenty, add a Danish onto each of those coffees and just in case there is anyone who’s…” I bend forward and whisper, “Lactose intolerant. I know Henry is. Why don’t we throw in the same number of green teas?”

  Jake looks a bit out of sorts. “Oh, um, are you sure?” I am spitting out a ridiculously large sized order. “Yeah is that okay? Mr. Berkshire would hate to have to pull his business from this place to find another barista. I know there is another coffee sho—”

  “Oh no no! Ms. Summers, we can do it.”

  “Fantastic!”

  He writes down my order and rings it up at a whopping two hundred and thirty-seven dollars. I sign the tab and smile at Jake, as I give him a forty-five percent tip.

  “Thanks, Jake. You’re the best.” And with that, I walk out of the café and into the busy New York traffic.

  Son of a bitch.

  I CANNOT BELIEVE I wasted all that time talking nice about that no good, piece of—

  HONK HONK!

  “The sign says walk, asshole!” I yell at the car who thinks that the Walk sign, telling him to therefore stop, does not apply to him. I make it across the street, thankfully in one piece, and head toward my office building. I’m in utter shock at what just transpired back there. If I am correct, that pompous ass just broke up with me. He verbally just broke up with me, in a nutshell, because I didn’t fit his mold of the perfect media arm candy. Or in realistic terms, his pathetic slut manager pulled my record. And don’t you begin to judge me! So what? I was a bit of a wild child. Who didn’t like to let loose in college? Okay, so I’m using the phrase “let loose” too loosely. I was super wild! Crazy! I partied and had fun and drank and loved dancing and laughing. And for what!? To give it all up just to impress a suit!

  I am livid.

  I have done a lot in my life to make sure I please the people around me. Mainly in my job or with Henry. And for what? To get broken up with over a caramel double mocha latte!

  Shock.

  I am in complete shock.

  I feel like I just got fired from my relationship. Right? Did I just get fired? I walk into the office and head straight to my cube. I sit down and toss my purse to the side and it lands in the garbage can, of course, because I have no game, but I don’t care. I look around my cubicle at the photos I have neatly plastered on the wall. My life as I know it. The lie that I want all my coworkers to see as pretty and perfect. Perfect little photos of Henry and me, looking cute and happy and PERFECT!

  I’m normally not one for scenes, but I may be the first person at West and Mills to go postal in my job setting. We had plans. Nothing I cared about, sure, but we HAD PLANS! What happened to meeting to talk about our vacation!? Speaking of vacation, what the FUCK!? We were two seconds away from booking a seven-day cruise to the Bahamas! Shit. Does that mean I can’t go to the Bahamas anymore? Focus. I’ve been dumped. Stay on track.

  I sit at my desk staring off into space. Anytime someone important walks by, I start jabbing at the computer keys like I’m hard at work. Little do they know I’m hard at work scheming up the perfect way to murder someone!

  It finally strikes five o’clock, and I hit the road. I take the back stairs because if I had gone out the front, it would have been inevitable that someone would try and grab me, forcing me to stay later to talk numbers and fuck that. I pull out my phone and dial the number for the one person who I know will have my back on this. And it’s Patti, my best friend—the one person who may hate Henry more than me right now.

  Insert Patti Henderson, my female soulmate. The vilest foul-mouthed blonde bombshell you will ever meet. Patti and I met in college. While I was getting my degree in “suck it” numbers, she was getting her degree in Communications and Marketing. That wouldn’t surprise you, though. She is crazy outgoing and can sell ice to Eskimos. On the outside she is beautiful and successful, but on the inside she is feisty and out of control. Put us together and we make an explosive pair. And I mean that literally, not figuratively. You’ll learn why later.

  Ever since college, we’ve stuck together, building our friendship lovefest. The best friends of best friends. Hey, people didn’t call us P-squared for nothing! Therefore, I know when I make this call, it’s going to set her into happy spasms, then set her anger mode off. She won’t do just one. She will do both equally, at the same time. Like a pro.

  “Hey bitch, what’s up? I was just going to call you. Mind control!” Patti hollers.

  Bffs, I tell ya.

  “Yeah, yeah. So I have some interesting news for you, but before I share, how was your day, Dear?” Like I said soulmates. And in a different life, I’m pretty sure we were secret lovers. Maybe minus the fornication part, though.

  “Oh man, home girl, it was crazy! I had to meet this intern news reporter from work for a spotlight piece, right? A meeting set up by Jeff, my boss, who said this dude would be a good lead for this hot media piece I’ve been working on. Turns out, he so wasn’t. What he was, was an intern, working in the mailroom, who tricked Jeff into getting the appointment with false information so he could meet me and see if I was interested in going out sometime! Can you believe that shit!?”

  I actually can believe it. Patti is a complete knock out. Blonde, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. She works for Fox 5 News in Manhattan as the Social Media Director. You know how social media runs the world nowadays, it’s not about someone sitting down and reading
an article. It’s about social viewership, imaging, and visual engagement. She works behind the camera, targeting demographic groups for specific news pieces and conceptualizing and creating eye catching images for all social media junkies to see. Nevertheless, being propositioned, whether it’s for a date by another employee or the Network trying to get her in front of the camera instead of behind it, is a regular thing for her.

  “Any who, I told his ass I do not date people I work with. I’m a professional.” She smacks on her gum, while softly laughing at her professional comment.

  “But didn’t you just date Bill what’s-his-name from news casting?”

  “Totally not the point. Plus, he didn’t count. He had some serious performance issues, so he had to go. Either way, I told the kid to beat it, went back and had it out with Jeff. He felt so bad, worried I was going to quit or something, that he offered me the social media piece on the startup and success with Instagram’s founder Kevin Systrom! How awesome is that!?”

  It is awesome, because she’s been working her tail off for the past year to get the more exclusive media spots. If this interview goes well, she will put herself in the running to snag the lead media piece for Forbes magazine.

  “So that’s my day, which means I’m in major need of a drink. You have a tea party with the Duchess tonight or can you hang out?” The Duchess is Patti’s nickname for Henry. Like I said, she is not a fan. Patti was the first person to call me out when I started my “reformation” as she would call it. She didn’t waste any time telling me I was changing who I was for a man, and that was a number one no-no. I babbled on about how silly she was being and that it was just love. I also want to go back in time and kick my own ass.

  “Well, you’re in luck because tonight I certainly do not have a tea party with the Duchess.”

  “Killer, but why not? Is Sir Henry booked through the pointed nose with appointments? Busy ironing the kinks out of his stuffy attitude?” She laughs. In the beginning, her remarks would bother me, but at one point I realized this was her way of rebelling against a relationship she didn’t agree with. I was hurt at first that she wouldn’t just be happy for me, but in time I realized she just wanted me to stay true to who I was. Ugh, I hate when other people are right.

  “Well, I wouldn’t know. You see, Sir Henry dumped me today, due to my less-than-stellar criminal record, so I couldn’t tell you what he is up to tonight.”

  There are a few seconds of creepy silence so I’m not sure if Patti heard me or if she has croaked over in shock.

  “Hello?”

  “Yep still here. Sorry, I thought I blacked out there for a moment. Please repeat?”

  Ugh, yeah, she heard me. “You heard me. The king of Snobsville has left the building. Says I’m not good for his campaign. He wished me well and sent me on my way.”

  When you know your friends, you know your friends, and if I could see her now I guarantee I would be witnessing smoke coming out from Patti’s nostrils.

  “Are you pulling my chain here, Pen?”

  “Nope. True life, Pats.”

  Patti squeals, causing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

  Then swears.

  Like I said, elation into anger. Built into one.

  “Okay so you’re telling me that that douche of a man dumped you? Miss Penelope Summers, my bad ass best friend, because he thinks you do not make the cut for his upcoming campaign?”

  “Yup,” I say while dodging a bicyclist. Geesh people today need to slow it the hell down.

  “Okay… Okay… Okay…” She keeps repeating herself. I think I might have broken my best friend.

  “Patti, take a deep breath.” I hear her inhale and breath out. “Shit I’m sorry. I was in a bit of shock there for a second. My anger was crossing over my shock with this news and I had a bit of a malfunction. Okay so… First off, I’m sorry. Well I’m not, but I feel like that’s the appropriate thing to say at a time like this.”

  It is. And so am I. I spent two years of my life on this guy. I loved him. I mean, it’s been two years. Where else were we going to go? I assumed that one of these days he would have casually popped the question like he casually does everything else! We would have had a simple ceremony because he is a simple man and that would be that.

  Welp. Guess not.

  Moving on.

  “I thank you for your condolences,” I respond in humor.

  “Okay. So before I start going off the handle here, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so—I’m not sure—I don’t know. I think I’m still in shock, to be honest. I mean he just broke up with me. I thought we were meeting to go over the final details of our vacation. I thought on that vacation he might even have proposed to me.” I hear Patti grunt. I’m pretty sure she prayed at night hoping it never got that far between Henry and me.

  “Okay so, how are you feeling? Are you okay? Have you cried? Do you have any depressing thoughts of jumping in front of a moving vehicle?”

  “Patti, we live in New York, no matter where I’m walking I run the fear of being run over by a moving bike, vehicle—” Just then, I get shoulder tackled by another pedestrian.

  What the fuck!

  “Thanks, asshole! Seriously what is wrong with people in this city?”

  “Honey, we live in New York. What do you expect?” she jokingly mimics me.

  “I expect a sorry, an excuse me, can I please get the fuck outta your way.”

  “Oh girlfriend! You chose to have us move to the wrong city for that.”

  And I do only have myself to blame. I was the one who got the first job offer. We made a pact, Patti and I. We would move to wherever the first job either of us was offered was located. Together. And guess who got the call first?

  This girl.

  We moved to New York on a sweet job offer from West and Mills, moving bonus included. For the first three and a half years we lived like queens. Well as in Woodside, Queens, New York. A tiny two bedroom pad, but unlike most apartment complexes, it came with a bonus. A pool. Score for us. Too bad good things always come to an end because Patti got a promotion this past year, forcing her closer to the city. Her job required early hours and lots of travel so our long commute into the city wasn’t cutting it. Go figure it happened seventeen seconds after we renewed our yearly lease, leaving me to live in our sweet pad all by my lonesome for the next ten months. At least I still have Chelsea. “Okay so back to the subject at hand. Henry the douche has relieved you of your services, correct?”

  “Yep,” I reply.

  “Well then…” she trails off, leaving me in a stage of curiosity. She’s acting very calm. And it’s kind of eerie.

  “Patti, you’re kind of creeping me out.”

  “Yes, I’m sure I am. I’m creeping myself out. Okay so, I think you should just come over…WAIT, no. I’ll come over to your place. I know you. You’re gonna get home and start to dwell, and then blow me off. I’m getting off the subway and cabbing it to your place.”

  “Seriously, there’s no need. I’m fine, really.”

  “No way. I am not missing this moment. I will spend two point five seconds consoling you on your loss, and then we are seriously doing some hardcore celebrating.”

  “Patti,” I say in warning.

  “Celebrating, girl. Pull out your Converse,” she says and then the line goes dead.

  What. The. Shit.

  I take the Second Avenue subway line to the 59th street station that drops me just a few blocks from my apartment building. If I estimate it right, I have about twenty minutes before Patti makes it to my place. It gives me enough time to get inside, possibly cry, if I feel like it, and then dig out my Converse.

  I don’t feel so much sadness as I do anger at this point, so no tears are falling. I think about all the time I have wasted on this guy just for him to drop me once his fancy career went to the next level. I feel so used. I gave him everything and by giving him all of me, I gave up who I really was.

  Douche bag.r />
  I’m digging through my closet for my Converse when I hear the doorbell sound. Aborting my mission, because it seems almost hopeless, I head for the door. I answer to a smiling Patti and a bottle of tequila.

  “Seriously?” I have to ask.

  “Oh, I’m more than serious. This is a time to mourn and celebrate the best day ever!” A part of me wishes she would be mature for once and console me, but then again, she is Patti, and this is seriously bullshit.

  She enters my flat and heads straight to the kitchen. I allow her to do her thing because, honestly, I’m not sure both of us can fit into that tiny space. She grabs my ‘I love NY’ shot glasses we bought together the first weekend in New York and brings them to the coffee table. After plopping our asses on my couch, she turns and looks at me.

  “I’m sorry you got dumped today.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry if you’re hurting.”

  I chuckle. “Thank you.”

  “So before I take it to another level I just want you to know that I love you. And I would never say or do anything to make you feel hurt or suffer.”

  “Okaaay.”

  “I’ve been waiting for this speech for quite some time, so here it goes…”

  Oh geez.

  “Thank you, baby Jesus, someone has finally seen the light. May lightning strike upon his fake hair for breaking up with the best person on this planet, but thank the heavens above for finally freeing you of that loser suit.”

  “Patti…” I warn her.

  “No way! Girlfriend, honestly, this is best thing that can happen to you. He was such a suit, a tool, a business man just playing around with you. I love you and I know you deserve someone so much better than that.”