The Fallback Read online

  With another deep breath, I heft open the door and fill my arms with clothes before striding toward the house. I wrestle my keys from my purse as my feet voice their discomfort from the restrictive leather of my favorite heels. That woman in the parking lot of my apartment building flashes through my thoughts. Her leggings, sweatshirt, and tennis shoes are more tempting than a glass of wine right now.

  I struggle for only a few moments before the door clicks open, and I shove thoughts of clothes and shoes and wine aside as my shoulders fall with the reality of my situation. Affording an apartment by myself near my old apartment is out of the question. Chicago is too expensive even for the wage I receive with my job at Glitter and Gold. Time, experience, and the fact that my events generate a high percentage of new clients have me earning what would be a comfortable salary in a smaller city.

  Unlike the walls of my apartment, which were artfully decorated with rare pieces of art Gabe and I had procured over the years, Felicity’s house is covered in frames and stretched canvases that are filled with pictures of their family. Smiles, laughter, hugs, filthy feet, and dancing paint a colorful collage of memories that make her house feel warm and comfortable yet foreign because they’re pictures of her family and her life, and though I’ve always been a part of it, I suddenly feel like an interloper.

  I swallow my discomfort and head up the stairs to the guest room, and as Felicity promised, the room is clean, the bed freshly made, and a clean set of folded towels is waiting for me. I drop the pile of clothes on the end of the bed and peer around. It’s amazing how twenty-four hours can make everything look so different.

  I manage to get the contents of my car into the guest room and pizzas ordered before Felicity and the kids arrive home. Dan arrives as we’re setting the table, and once again my neck feels hot, my heartbeat erratic. Dan began dating Felicity when she moved back home nine years ago. I like him and have always felt comfortable around him, yet embarrassment clings to me like a second skin as he offers me a warm smile, the edges of his lips dipped into a frown, revealing his sympathy. I look away because there are few things crueler than pity.

  Theo and Gemma smile broadly at me from their booster seats, vying for my attention. They’re used to my presence, but I’m still waiting on pins and needles to confirm my new reality. But tonight, they’re preoccupied with telling me stories about their favorite cartoons and what they’ve recently learned about butterflies at the museum.

  After dinner, Dan retrieves an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses that he sets between Felicity and me. Then he helps Theo out of his seat. “Bath time,” he announces.

  “I want Mommy to come,” Gemma says.

  “Tonight, Mommy is going to spend some time with Aunt Books.” Dan reaches for Gemma’s small hand. “And because Mommy won’t be there to measure the bubbles, I’ll need your help. And we just might accidentally add a little extra tonight.”

  Her five-year-old body bounces with glee as she claps, trotting off without a second thought. Dan looks back as he reaches the doorway and winks before disappearing with both kids.

  My chest feels warm, expanding with the clear devotion and love Dan once again shows. He exemplifies the perfect husband and father, and I’m grateful my best friend has found what love is supposed to be about. Someone who will put her and their children first and works hard every day to both show and tell them how much he cares. The warmth in my chest becomes an ache as I think back over the years of watching the two together: his hand on Felicity’s lap, his lips at her hairline, the flowers that would randomly be delivered for no particular reason. It takes a few seconds to recognize the ache is jealousy, wondering if I’ll ever find someone who will call in sick to take care of me or let me sleep in every Saturday morning while he quietly plays with the kids downstairs and makes my favorite breakfast.

  “You okay?” Felicity asks.

  My attention cuts to her blue eyes that are carefully assessing me. “Gabe’s mom texted me today,” I tell her. “She wanted to know what I want for my birthday.”

  Felicity’s eyebrows jump with surprise. “What did you tell her?” Her voice is pitched.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t respond.”

  “I wouldn’t have either.”

  “She was pretty,” I admit, dropping my gaze to my plate, where my vegetable pizza still sits. “The woman he’s been having an affair with.”

  “No, she’s not,” Felicity says. “At least not in the way it counts. Her heart and her soul have to be hideous to do what she did.”

  “Or maybe he just loves her more.”

  Felicity shakes her head, refusing to even entertain the idea. She stands and moves to the stove, where she opens a drawer and withdraws a corkscrew that she carries with her to the table and begins opening the bottle. The cork pops, and Felicity carefully untwists it, her gaze focused on me. “This breakup does not reflect on you at all. He made a mistake. Regardless of what his feelings were, he didn’t handle things correctly. Period. There is no competition between you and this other woman—here never was. Don’t allow yourself to fall down that rabbit hole. He’s not worth making you question and doubt yourself.”

  She grips my hands when my eyes again fall to the table again. “Brooke, you are gorgeous, smart, successful, and you did nothing wrong.” She dips her chin to follow my gaze when I start to look away, waiting until I meet her stare. “Nothing”—she emphasizes the word—“wrong or anything to deserve what he did. Don’t wear his burden.”

  I nod. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just so much more difficult than I could’ve imagined.”

  “I know,” she says, squeezing my hands. “But you’re going to get through this, and things will get better. I don’t know if everything happens for a reason, but I do know that everything we experience teaches us something. Prepares us in some way to experience more. This might not have been the plan, but sometimes the fallback can be even better. I mean, look at me. If I’d stayed at school in Boston, I never would have met Dan. It’s difficult to see the positive side of this right now, but eventually we’ll see it.”

  “Did Barney teach you that?” I ask with a grin.

  Felicity pulls her chin back. “Hell no. Barney would advise you to go hug Gabe and tell him everything’s okay. I still think we should take everything in the apartment and burn it … or at least trash the place.”

  I laugh—it’s real and genuine. Felicity grins and releases my hand, reaching for the bottle of wine. She fills both of our glasses to the top and then raises her class in the air. “To moving on,” she says.

  “To moving on.” I clink my glass with hers and then sit back in my chair, letting the memories of yesterday and my time with Gabe drain through a fine sieve, depositing thoughts and images of him into a cellar I vow to avoid.

  I will move on.

  I will be okay.

  6

  My eyelids are peeled open by tiny hands, the harsh light of the overhead light blinding me.

  I’m fairly certain this is what an alien abduction might feel like, except in my case the alien is a five-year-old and I came here of my own accord.

  “Good morning, Aunt Books!” Gemma sings. “Are you awake yet?”

  “Do you do this to your mommy, too?” I ask, my voice gravelly from sleep.

  “Not anymore. She gets cranky when we wake her up.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” I roll to my side, and Gemma loses her balance from being perched on my chest, causing her to topple beside me. She giggles. The sound is refreshing and a distraction from the negative trance that has been following me for the past three weeks since my breakup with Gabe.

  “Want to go watch cartoons?” she asks, resting her head on my outstretched arm.

  I knew privacy would be a stretch when Felicity offered for me to stay here, but truth be told, I don’t mind. The noise and attention have provided a healthy distraction for me when I’m not at the office, and now that Catherine finally has her car
back and I’m not having to leave extra early to pick her up, I’m finding that I enjoy this quiet time in the morning with Gemma before daylight reaches the rest of the house.

  “Want to go with me to pick up some doughnuts first?” I whisper.

  Her eyes grow impossibly round, just like her mom’s, making me laugh. She bobs her head up and down with matched exaggeration.

  “Go get some socks and a sweater,” I tell her, flipping the covers off.

  “Okay!” Gemma races out of the room.

  Three boxes remain packed, sitting at the bottom of the closet, but most of my clothes have been unpacked, neatly put away in the dresser and closet. Each morning I still feel like a guest as I get ready for work, but I no longer work so hard to stay out of the way. I now try to help by pouring the kids’ cereal, finding lost stuffed animals, settling debates over which cartoon they’re going to watch, and unloading the dishwasher from the previous night. It helps me to stay busy, and feeling like I have a purpose has me feeling like less of an interloper.

  I pull a sweatshirt on over my pajama shirt and trade my shorts for a pair of sweats before digging a pair of socks from a drawer. Gemma bounds back through the door, still wearing her My Little Pony pajamas but with a red-and-blue Spiderman sweatshirt she recently insisted she needed and a pair of rain boots though it’s been dry. She looks like a ragamuffin in the cutest way possible. She grips my hand without waiting for me to offer it to her, our already-close relationship becoming an even tighter knit. We’ve been hitting up all the doughnut shops within a fifteen-mile radius to find our favorite, and this morning, as we seek out another stop, my phone rings and my dash informs me Catherine is calling.

  “I have to take this really fast, okay?” I ask, reaching to hit the answer button on my steering wheel.

  Gemma nods, showing me she’ll be quiet with a quick zip of her lips.

  “Good morning, Catherine.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not,” she tells me. “I had to let someone go after receiving multiple complaints over the past couple of months, and I need your help with trying to make sense of her things.”

  My first thought is that she finally fired Serena. The poor woman can’t seem to find her butt with both hands, let alone manage the few events she’s been assigned.

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  “Carey,” she tells me.

  I don’t think Carey has been with us for two months and am fairly certain this might have been her decision rather than Catherine’s, but I don’t mention that. “How many events were on her calendar?”

  “Only four, but two were weddings for June, and that’s just a few months away. I don’t know what stage they’re at. Neither are high-budget, so I’m assuming they just need some help with minor details, but I don’t understand anything in this silly database you talked me into getting.”

  The silly database she’s referring to has saved our asses countless times, allowing us to access and track each event our company accepts. It houses information about bids for venues and caterers, payments, notes, and even provides reminders when correctly utilized, but I don’t tell her this either.

  “When I get in, I’ll look through her files and give you the status of each event and reassign them.”

  “I also need you to touch base with Serena and make sure the Gilbert wedding is going smoothly. We can’t afford to lose them.”

  We can afford it. I didn’t realize how wealthy Catherine is until the first time I had to stop by her house to deliver her dry cleaning. Prior to that, I’d assumed she was in debt up to her carefully manicured eyebrows from buying expensive shoes and clothes. Years of working with her and running random and often inappropriate errands that have nothing to do with my job or title has taught me she’s flush and is likely able to remain that way because she’s cheap and constantly warning us that losing clients will bankrupt us.

  “I spoke with her yesterday, but I’ll follow up again today. I got her in contact with Julia over on the east side of town to do flowers because the bride wants purple tulips and they’ll have to be specially ordered.”

  “Julia’s a good choice.”

  “I’ll go through and make sure everything else is on schedule,” I tell her. “And I’ll follow up with you when you get in.”

  “I won’t be in until late. My oldest is taking me to brunch this morning.”

  I don’t know Catherine’s children, but I dislike them both. I’ve found myself on multiple occasions wondering why I was doing something rather than one of them. Then she sends me her grocery list with an urgent flag attached, and I realize it’s because they’re likely just as bad as she is.

  “Take your time,” I tell her.

  “I’ll talk to you later, but call if something urgent happens.” She hangs up.

  Catherine’s abrupt endings to conversations used to irritate me—now I’m almost grateful for them because they provide a quick and painless ending.

  I glance in my rearview mirror to where Gemma is buckled into her booster seat. “Thanks, girlfriend. Sorry that took so long.”

  Her small shoulders rise, brushing it off. “What kinds of doughnuts does this place have again?” she asks, and like that, all is right in the world again as we continue our drive while discussing our shared love for sugar-laced sweets.

  I make it to the office shortly after our receptionist, Andrea. She’s been with the company for two years and shakes like a leaf whenever Catherine’s around, but she’s reliable and good at her job.

  “Morning, Brooke.” She greets me with a shy smile. Because I also make her nervous for some reason, as do strangers, loud noises, and shadows.

  “Good morning, Andrea.” I pass by her desk and descend down the short hall to my office where a large stack of files on my desk greets me.

  “Andrea,” I call, sticking my head out of my office.

  “Yes?” She turns around in her chair, fear visible on her face.

  “Do you know where all these files on my desk came from?”

  Andrea swivels in her chair before standing. She’s old enough to be my mom, which makes her discomfort around me even more uncomfortable.

  “Sue Ellen quit last night, and Catherine instructed her to leave all her things with you.”

  I stare at Andrea for a moment, attempting to process how this happened. Sue Ellen has been with the company for three years and was adamantly against the database, much like Catherine, so she’s refused to input anything, which Catherine allowed.

  “She quit?”

  Andrea nods. Her blue eyes set behind gold-rimmed glasses are round, silently telling me there was a scene. I’ve come to expect this. Aside from me, Sue Ellen was the most senior associate here at Glitter and Gold. Between the hours, random tasks, and Catherine’s lack of leadership, our attrition rate is terrible. I quickly learned not to bother making friends with my coworkers—struggling to recall their names and which events they specialized in was hard enough.

  “Thanks,” I tell her, turning back into my office. “And this is why we should all be using the database,” I mumble to myself as I eye the files again.

  I should sit down and get started on inputting these files. I should be checking the database to see which four events Carey had been tasked with and check on their progress. I should follow up with the Gilbert wedding to ensure things really are progressing with it like Serena assured me they are—but I don’t.

  I stand up and grab my khaki-colored jacket and purse and head for the door.

  “Can I pick you up some coffee?” I ask Andrea as I pass by her desk.

  “That’s … that’s okay.” She can sense my frustration, or maybe it’s the stomp of my heels that has her stammering. It’s something she does whenever she gets nervous.

  I pause, considering words to ensure her I’m not upset or the raging lunatic I sometimes am convinced she believes I am, but doing so would require a cleared desk, another doughnut, and a large cup of coffee, so I opt for coffee and head o
utside.

  One of my favorite things about working for Glitter and Gold aside from the planning, which is like a medication to my OCD tendencies, is the location of our office building. We’re just on the outskirts of Chicago, close enough that I can easily take the L train or a bus to get anywhere of distance and can walk to some restaurants and shops that have become favorites.

  The Daily Grind is my favored coffee house, and it sits just three blocks from Glitter and Gold, allowing me a brief reprieve from the office as I follow the sidewalk until the scents of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lead me the rest of the way.

  It’s busy, which isn’t surprising. Everything in Chicago is busy. I head to the back of the small shop decorated with steel, cement, and industrial details that fit the space and eclectic group of people who work here. I’m scrolling through my calendar, allotting time for the unforeseen work I now need to do, when something makes me look up. Maybe it’s a familiar laugh, a conversation I’m subconsciously hearing. I have no idea what draws my attention to the door, but as soon as it happens, I freeze. Standing just inside the entrance of the Daily Grind is Gabe with his arm tightly wound around the brunette’s shoulders as they smile at each other.

  7

  The shop is small with only the one entrance and exit, and the line is long with only one person having joined behind me since I entered.

  My heart pounds painfully in my chest, distracting me from everything else around me as I watch from the corner of my eye as they walk toward me, also distracted. But rather than by embarrassment or the desire to flee, it’s by each other.

  I dip my face, focusing on my phone again, working to occupy myself and hopefully discreetly camouflage myself with the dozens of patrons inside.