The Fallback Page 5

  “They loved you,” I hear Gabe tell her. “I think they were waiting to see if you were going to walk on water next.”

  She giggles.

  Gabe laughs. But then stops, and I can tell by the volume of her laughter that they’re close.

  I glance up from my phone, my shoulders pulled back. After my doughnut date with Gemma had gone longer than expected and Catherine sent me a follow-up text asking how things were going, I’d abandoned the idea of doing my hair and wearing a nice outfit, assuming I’d be holed up in my office all day where my unwashed hair and jeans wouldn’t be seen.

  Shit.

  Gabe is standing mere feet from me, frozen with his girlfriend still secured at his side. His eyes are wide, his lips a tight line. He’s dressed in his charcoal-gray suit, the one I helped him pick out and found a tailor for so it would fit like it does, accentuating his broad shoulders and small waist. I glance to his side, noting the woman is even prettier when her hair isn’t rumpled and she’s not being caught having sex in someone else’s bed. My bed. Her hair is glossy and dark, and her eyes are almond-shaped and artfully shaded to draw attention to how flawlessly long her lashes are. Even her lips are perfect, stained a natural shade of rose. My quickly swiped-on mascara and lip balm definitely don’t compare.

  “My parents are so excited to meet you,” she says, not noting his change in disposition or my presence.

  My eyebrows jump at her words, wondering once again just how long their affair has been happening.

  Gabe’s gaze drops, and I recognize the embarrassment coloring his cheeks before he pivots and leads them to the end of the line.

  I quickly open my texts, holding my phone discreetly so Gabe and his girlfriend can’t see it—though I doubt either are looking or could read it even if they were—and scroll down to Felicity.

  Me: I’m in line for coffee, and Gabe is behind me.

  Felicity: WHAT?! Did you talk to him?

  Me: He’s with HER.

  Felicity: NOOOOOO!

  Me: The line is super long, and I’m near the end. Do I get out? Do I stay?

  Me: I think I’m having a panic attack.

  I take a couple of steps forward as the line moves, listening to Gabe’s girlfriend list their plans for the weekend: a road trip to the country where they’ll be staying at a bed and breakfast before meeting her parents on Sunday.

  Felicity: Stay. You have to stay.

  My feet are already angled to get out of line and make a beeline for the door.

  Me: I’m listening to their plans to go on a mini vacation.

  Me: This is hell.

  Felicity: !!!!!!

  Felicity: I hate him! I can’t believe him! You should stay and then pour your drink down his pants.

  Felicity: Be sure to order your coffee EXTRA hot.

  Me: I should just go.

  Felicity: No. Stay. Talk to me. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Don’t alter more of your life for that dickless moron.

  Me: I’m such a mess today.

  Felicity: You look fine.

  Me: I don’t look fine. I’m in jeans, not even cute jeans! And a hoodie!

  Felicity: You look cute and carefree today.

  Felicity: Breezy.

  Me: Breezy describes the weather, not how one looks.

  Me: Why couldn’t I have run into him yesterday when I was wearing a suit and my hair was done?

  Me: He’s going to think I’ve been wallowing and brokenhearted.

  Felicity: Which is exactly why you have to stay.

  Me: I hate this. This city is huge. Why is he here, at MY coffee shop?

  In all the years we dated, I never once randomly ran into Gabe.

  Not once.

  Felicity: You guys were together a long time. You might need to consider establishing some guidelines with him.

  Me: I don’t want to talk to him.

  Felicity: Want to call me? You could pretend I’m a guy and we’re dating.

  Me: I can’t act.

  Felicity: You won’t be. We’ll make plans for us to go do something.

  Me: Like what?

  Felicity: What would you like to do?

  Me: I don’t know. I’d kind of like to try something new. Something where Gabe WON’T be.

  Felicity: We could go to brunch and go shopping?

  Me: They just talked about doing brunch with HER PARENTS!!!

  Felicity: What an asshole!

  Felicity: What about rock climbing?

  Felicity: Remember that girl we ran into that was in the parking lot? You get to wear sweatpants!

  Me: Does that really seem safe? We aren’t exactly the most coordinated duo.

  Felicity: There are bungee cords and trainers. I think it would be good for us to try something new.

  New.

  The word stands out like a billboard. Though so much in my life feels new right now, nothing truly is new. Though I’m sleeping somewhere new, it’s familiar, comfortable—known. My job, my clothes, my car, my responsibilities have remained the same.

  Me: Let’s do it. Want me to look up a class?

  Felicity: I’m already on it!

  “Good morning! What can I get started for you?”

  I look up, seeing the barista waiting for me, and with a final glance at my phone, I step forward to place my order, complete with a second drink.

  Felicity: This Saturday. Rock Climbing. 10 a.m.

  My grin is instant and unconscious and only widens when the male barista hands me my drinks and smiles broadly at me. The scent of the hot coffee makes me grateful I didn’t escape. With my chin held high, I step around Gabe and his girlfriend, who looks at me carefully, making me briefly wonder if she can place me, before I head out the door.

  Back at the office, I deposit one of the coffees for Andrea. It’s a caramel something or other with extra syrup and whipped cream, the way I know she prefers it after having tried to make small talk with her previously about a shared interest.

  She looks up from the large desk calendar she’s jotting a note onto and pulls her chin back, blinking several times as she looks from me to the drink. “What’s this?”

  “An attempt to focus on the silver linings.”

  Andrea blinks a few more times, and then slowly, her lips curve into a smile. “Well, that was very nice of you. Thank you, Brooke.”

  I give her a smile and disappear back to my office to read another email from Catherine.

  Brooke,

  Because you know where my house is and know the security, I need you to call and ask if they have the details of my yard. I need to know what size it is so I can get some quotes for a new gardener.

  -Catherine

  “Of course, because they probably quit, too,” I say, sitting at my desk and scrolling through my contacts until I reach the contact for her neighborhood. “There are so many things wrong with the fact that I have this number saved,” I murmur, hitting Send and once again becoming too involved with Catherine’s life.

  8

  Felicity: Stop ignoring me!!! #neglectisacrime

  I read the text from my best friend twice before looking at the time to see it’s already past five. I drop my head to my desk with a soft thud, padded by the disarray of papers cluttering my workspace and determined to ruin me.

  A second later, the phone on my desk rings. My shoulders fall. A throb erupts in my right temple. I take a deep breath and slowly release it with my greeting. “Glitter and Gold, this is Brooke.”

  “I knew you’d answer your phone!” Felicity’s voice is filled with accusation.

  “Your text literally just came in.”

  “That was my warning shot.”

  I shake my head and tilt the phone so she can’t hear my muffled laughter. “What are you doing?”

  Felicity laughs, then stops. “Theo, don’t put your mouth on that!” She doesn’t bother to muffle the phone anymore. “Theo!”

  I try to wait patiently. Force myself not to groan when I hear her offer Theo a
dozen different toys in place of whatever he’s attempting to chew on and move my attention to the file I was inputting before she called.

  “Dan texted.”

  I mumble an understanding.

  “He was asking about bringing a guy from work over for dinner tonight. What do you think?”

  “Does Dan usually ask for permission to have playdates?”

  “What? No. To meet you, you loon.”

  “Felicity, no.”

  “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “Just look at his social media page,” Felicity tells me.

  “No, thanks.” I shake my head, though she can’t see me. “I’m not interested.”

  “You don’t need to be interested. You just need to at least be interested in being interested.”

  “It’s only been a few weeks,” I remind her.

  “It’s been eight weeks,” she clarifies.

  “And I’m buried in work.”

  “You’re always buried in work and have been since you started working there. It’s been a decade.”

  I drop my face into my palm. “You promised no blind dates.”

  “Which is why I’m giving you a courtesy call.”

  “This isn’t feeling like a courtesy call—it feels like an ambush.” My attention shifts back to sorting through the plethora of papers spread across my desk.

  “Seriously, Brooke…” She remains silent for a moment, drawing my attention back to her.

  “I just…” A dozen excuses bounce around my thoughts, reasons about how I’m not ready to kiss another guy or even meet one, let alone trust one.

  “I’m not saying this guy is the one. I’m not even saying he’s going to be the first one you make out with, or sleep with, or anything else. But he does look like a nice guy, and he’s attractive and motivated and could be the first guy you at the least hang out with since your breakup. I promise, I would not—would not even entertain the idea—if this guy wasn’t a viable option.”

  I catch sight of my lips teased into an unconscious smile as I move my attention to how dark it’s gotten outside. “What constitutes a viable option?” My voice is teasing but my question sincere.

  “You know me, Brooke. My standards are higher than most, and you’re my best friend—my sister. I would not allow you to go out with any guy who doesn’t deserve you.”

  I glance around my desk that’s piled high with various tasks I need to accomplish before heading home for the weekend and sigh.

  “I appreciate you and how much you and Dan have done for me, but I’m just not ready. I don’t know when I’m going to be ready. Maybe in a few weeks we can discuss doing a double date with this guy, but right now my workload is ridiculous, and I don’t feel like I’m in the right place to meet a guy and give the best side of myself.”

  “I’m still going to send you his name so you can look him up. And if you’re interested, we’ll have him over in a couple of weeks.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I release a deep breath. “But I have to let you go. I’ve got a thousand things I need to get done and not enough time or energy for half of them.”

  “That’s because you’re almost thirty, old lady.” Felicity begins laughing before I can reply. Her words bring forth a dozen thoughts that sit heavily on my chest.

  “You better watch it. I’ll lace your coffee creamer with laxatives.”

  Felicity fires back, but I miss her response as Catherine enters my office already a dozen words into a conversation. Upon seeing my office phone pressed to my ear, Catherine pauses, a shadow of regret fleeting across her features.

  “If you messaged the Wicked Witch so you could get off the phone…” Felicity begins, her voice set to a warning.

  “That sounds great, Sandra,” I say, cutting my best friend off and pretending it’s a work acquaintance. “I’ll follow up with you early next week and see how things are progressing.”

  “This doesn’t end our conversation!” Felicity cries. “And don’t forget we’re ordering Chinese tonight, and Gemma says it’s your week to pick the family movie.”

  “Okay, sounds good. Bye, Sandra.” I hang up, turning my attention to my boss, who emailed me this morning to inform me she was working from home, which in her case often means going to get her nails or hair done.

  “Was that Sandra with the floral company you like in uptown?” Catherine approaches my desk, the high heels of her shoes clapping against the wood floors of my office. Her cream-colored dress is stretched tight across her frame and plunges far below her gold drop necklace. As I had expected, her hair has been freshly bleached and blown out, and her long nails shine with red polish.

  “It was,” I lie. “She thinks she can get the black orchids the Bellum wedding is looking for.”

  Catherine shudders. “I can’t believe anyone would spend that kind of money for a gothic-themed wedding.”

  While it pains me to agree with her, the skull centerpieces I ordered earlier this afternoon sent me over the same judgmental edge. What began as a classical wedding with elegant touches of black lace and medieval candelabras now has the same feel as an expensive and elaborate Halloween party. “You should see the vases she chose for them to go in.”

  Catherine crinkles her nose. “Why do people hire us to plan an event for them and then meddle with every single detail?”

  It’s even more painful to agree with her a second time.

  “I wanted to come by and see how things were going with the bar mitzvah for the Abergals. I haven’t seen a deposit from them yet. Were you able to close the deal?”

  I rack my brain, working to place the Abergal family. Over the past two months, we’ve gone from having a staff of twelve to eight, one of which still includes Serena, who has continued to drop things and create more work for all of us.

  “The family who came in last week. The ones who wanted a location with a water fountain…” Catherine’s tone is condescending and impatient as she grips her hip, making her red nails even more prominent against the contrast of her light dress.

  “Of course,” I say, turning to my keyboard and entering their name. “I sent them a list with three venues that have water fountains as well as plenty of parking for their large guest list, and all are within distance for James to cater the event.”

  Catherine pauses, her eyes rounding with consideration. “James Fells? The Kosher chef?”

  I nod.

  “That was a smart detail to consider.” If I didn’t know how benign and often forgotten her compliments are, I might smile. Instead, I wait for her next question.

  “That client who was in yesterday…” She shifts her weight, standing taller.

  I glance at my calendar, tracing my schedule from the previous day.

  “The one with the dark hair and suit. What was he in here for?”

  I brush back my long bangs and open my notes from yesterday’s calendar. “Oh, a company event,” I tell her, glancing over the details I’d typed up. “His name’s Ben Holland, and he’s having a five-year anniversary party for his company. He wants to rent a dinner cruise ship.”

  “Really?” She doesn’t look at me as she poses the question, instead glances around my desk. “Why don’t I take that one from you? I know how busy you’ve been and don’t want you feeling overwhelmed.”

  I stifle my smile with a forced cough before taking a long drink of tea that went cold hours ago. “Are you sure?” I try my best to sound concerned. I’m surprised she’s waited this long to come poach him. Regardless of her age, Catherine is always anxious and willing to assist with the attractive male clients.

  “Of course,” she tells me. “In fact, I insist.”

  “Okay. I appreciate it. I’ll reassign this file to you and ensure I have all of his contact information in the notes we discussed yesterday.”

  “Wonderful.” Catherine’s brow furrows as she looks across my desk. “What happened to your pictures of Gabe?”

&n
bsp; Since our breakup, I’ve elected to ignore numerous messages from friends I met through my ex, leaving him to explain that we’re no longer together. And though Grammy still hasn’t clarified with me that we broke up, she knows I’m staying with Felicity. My brother, Brandon, was the first person I had to tell when he texted me with an invitation for Gabe and me to attend a barbecue. I’m fairly certain he was as shocked as I was. And though it’s gotten easier to tell people Gabe and I are no longer together, the question still occasionally catches me off guard—like now.

  “We actually … aren’t … together … anymore.”

  Like many whom I’ve told, Catherine’s eyes round with surprise. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says. “How are you doing?”

  I nod, hating this question most. “Fine.” My voice comes out too high and chipper, and I’m sure she thinks I’m lying. “It was the best decision for both of us,” I add. I hate admitting that I had no say in the matter.