I abruptly wake up thanks to the racking sound of my alarm clock piercing deeply into my skull. I come to a sitting position and silence the damn thing, slamming my right hand on the off button.
My head is spinning, I feel kind of ill, and as soon as my comatose brain regains consciousness I remember why, which definitely isn’t a good thing. In fact, as my memory comes back I experience a stream of increasingly awful emotions. It starts with a choking pain, immediately followed by fear, anguish, and a strong wave of nausea. Ouch, heartbreak sucks!
I lie back on the pillows, trying to abate my squeamishness. Sugar, my black and white rescue cat, decides this is a good moment to jump on my belly and meow for his breakfast.
“Not now, baby,” I say, pushing him aside. “I need five minutes before I get up.”
No. No. No. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to go into work either, not today, please, not after what happened. I’m not ready for it. I will look awful, and I’m being optimistic.
I spent the whole night crying. My eyes are going to be horrendously red and puffy, and my skin will probably be ghastly, in-between a putrid mustard and greenish coloring. There will be no mistaking my utter state of distraught. Damn! I can already picture the evil grin of triumph on her face. Of course, she’s going to mask it as one of her best I-want-world-peace beauty pageant smiling faces, pretending nothing’s wrong.
Don’t you hate it when you know someone to be vicious, but you’re the only one who can see it because they pretend to be the most kind and caring person in the world? Well, she’s the kind of two-faced poser who manages to make you feel like the wrongdoer even when it’s her delivering a sucker punch to your stomach. She does it with such grace and poise that you don’t even feel entitled to argue or be angry.
I have a horrible feeling she knows exactly how badly this hurts for me. Now that I think about it, many of the little nasty remarks she’s been making in the past months about the guy she was dating begin to make sense. I had a feeling that she was taking my unconcerned responses as a personal affront. Maybe she thought I knew! Well, from my reaction yesterday it must have been pretty clear that I didn’t. Wait a second, how long has she been doing it? When did she start? Did she say dating? Did she use the word boyfriend?
Oi.
At the thought, my heart skips a beat and I gasp for air. Wow, this hurts…this physically hurts! I have a huge ball of pain in my chest that expands all the way down to my stomach. I can hardly breathe and I feel terribly dizzy. Lying back on the pillows is not helping. My heart is beating so fast I can’t suck in air, and I feel trapped. Yeah, trapped in my horrible, disastrous life.
I need to calm down. I’m just having a panic attack! Aha! Mark the roots of a problem and then find the solution. What did Dr. Oz say? Ah yes, I simply need to take deep, profound breaths: air in, air out, in…and out…
Gradually my respiration returns to normal and I feel able to inhale and exhale properly. I have to decide what to do. Clearly, I can’t go to work in this state. The mere thought makes me sick. Well, more sick than I already am! Wait, sick…I am ill! This is my way out. I’m going to pull a sickie. Genius!
I haven’t taken one illness leave in the five years that I’ve been with my company. Surely no one is going to suspect me, and it’s not going to affect my career too badly. I mean, it’s just one day. Yes! I just need the one day to calm down, regroup, and think of a strategy for what to do next. Of course, she will know why I’m not there today. Oh, screw her! She can think whatever she likes.
Where is my cell phone? I need to put on my glasses, because without them I am basically blind. Usually I do that on autopilot before even opening my eyes. You know, that way I can pretend I can actually see, but I guess today my routine went out the window. I grope the nightstand, grab the glasses, and put them on.
Ah, this is better. I scan the bedside table for any trace of my cell but it’s not there. Instead, nicely perched next to my table lamp, there is an innocent looking Sugar. I follow his not-so-innocent gaze to the floor and finally spot my mobile lying discarded on the carpet. I grab it before I change my mind and dial the office’s number, all the while shaking my head at my vindictive cat.
“Good morning, you’ve reached Crispy Koob Corporation.” Instead of hearing Michelle’s voice, the company’s receptionist, I am redirected to voicemail. “Our offices are open Monday through Friday, from 7 a.m. to—” I end the call.
This is weird. The answering machine is never on during the week; they only turn it on for weekends and holidays. Hold on a second. What day is it today? I look at my phone’s screen and there it is, the sweetest writing I have ever seen:
Yes! Yes! This means I have not one, but two full days before I have to face the world. This is so much better. I’ll have time to recover, think a little, and craft a plan.
Duh, why am I always this dumb? What made me think it was a weekday? As my self-questioning goes on, I spot the culprit standing right there on my night table—the abominable alarm clock. Why the hell did it wake me on a Saturday? I never—and I swear never—turn on my alarm clock on weekends. I mean, sleeping in is the best part of the weekend, so why…
Bizzzzzt.
The doorbell rings, interrupting my train of thought. Who’s at my door this early on a Saturday morning? Surely it’s not going to be any of my friends; they all went away on a couples’ weekend. I was supposed to go, but I wasn’t really in the mood for being the only single person in a romantic cabin lost in the woods amidst three perfect examples of fairytale-like happily ever after. Of course, in that moment, I thought that was the worst possible scenario for me. I certainly didn’t foreshadow what heinous threats would await me in the city.
Why didn’t I go? Anything would have been better. Anything. Now I wouldn’t be in so much pain; I would still be in oblivious bliss. Well, ok…maybe I wouldn’t exactly be in very high spirits, but at least I would not find myself in desperate, hopeless awareness! What do they say? What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over, right?
Anyhow, back to present. Who can it possibly be? No one ever visits me unexpectedly. I don’t have intruding neighbors. The landlord never shows up, unless of course you’re late with the rent (even if it’s merely by one day and definitely a genuine mistake on your part, as you forgot there are only twenty-eight days in February). And the handyman is a fugitive in hiding, unfindable for the life of you…so, who’s left? Awk, I gasp. Could it be…? My stomach does a double flip. No, I won’t even allow myself to go there. Those things only happen in movies, not real life…
Bizzzzzt. Bizzzzzt. Bizzzzzzzzzzzzt.
The buzzer goes off again in such an annoying way that any hope that might have been rising in my heart is promptly dissipated, as only one person in the world could think that buzzing people this way is funny. My mom.
Now it all comes back to mind. Why my alarm clock was on, and another reason why I said no to the weekend gateway. I promised my mom to accompany her to the flea market. The flea market? Really? I am in this state of misery for a stupid flea market?
I ponder telling her that I don’t feel well and that I don’t want to go. But if I do she will come up anyway to check on me and she will plant herself in my apartment for the rest of the day. Maybe it’s better if I just go, be done with it in a couple of hours, and have the rest of the weekend for myself.
I get up, crawl all the way to my tiny entry hall, and push the intercom button.
“Hi Mom, did you find any parking?”
“Hello, dear. Yes, I got lucky. I’ve found one of those two-hour off-street parking.”
I live near Lincoln Park in the north side of Chicago, finding an available car spot on the street is a rare stroke of luck.
“Great. I’ll be down in just a sec.”
“Do you want me to come up?”
“Actually, I didn’t really have time to make coffee, so would you mind going to the Starbucks across the street and getting it for the both of us? I’ll meet you there.”
“Ahhh, always trying to get any second of sleep you can, huh? Alright, I’ll see you there. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
“No, Mom, I just need five minutes. I promise.”
Since I’m nowhere near ready, the second I release the buzzer button I rush back into my room to dress at top speed. My mom was right in saying I always try to sleep until the last minute; I’m definitely not a morning person. On the bright side, after years of waking up late I have acquired the useful skill of being able to get ready as fast as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Anyway, the coffee shop across the street is always super busy on Saturdays, so it will take her at least fifteen minutes to order, pay, and actually have the coffees ready, which is plenty of time for me.
I select my favorite pair of stretch jeans, a classic plain white t-shirt, and an old pair of Converse. This is one of my all-time favorite casual looks; it makes me always look good and it never goes out of style. I don’t have time for a full shower, so I quickly wash my face and other body parts, brush my teeth, and arrange my brown hair in a bubble bun. I have to say a small, ridiculously poor-looking bun, as I have such thin hair that not even folding my ponytail over twice accomplishes much of a volume. I don’t have the time to do a sock bun, which usually helps a little.
Of course, Vanessa has great hair! Long, silky, and voluminous. Bitch! Oh, forget her! I’ll deal with her later. Let’s see, deodorant, a bit of perfume, clothes, shoes…et voilà, I’m ready to go.
“Meeeoowww.” Oops, just one more thing to do. I select one of Sugar’s premium feline meals and serve it to the prince of the house, who shows his appreciation by purring loudly.
Before exiting, I grab my maxi bag and the biggest pair of sunglasses I own to try to conceal my puffy eyes. I don’t hope to maintain the secret from my mom for very long because she’s going to notice. Somehow, she always does. I just want to postpone the interrogation for after coffee.
As I shut my building’s heavy glass door behind me, I spot my mom coming out of the coffee shop holding two big cups in her hands and looking around for me. Despite the situation, a big smile spreads across my lips and a surge of affection rises in my chest. I love my mom. I wave and run toward her. I hug her tight and gladly take my cappuccino.
“Darling, what’s wrong? Have you been crying? Something happened?” she immediately fires worried questions at me.
Ouch, I should have known I didn’t stand a chance, not even for five minutes.
“No, Mom, I’m ok. Don’t worry,” I state unconvincingly.
“So you haven’t been crying?”
“Yes. I mean, no! I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She is silent for a moment. Then she sighs, deeply inhales, and asks the question. “Is it still about James?”
I flinch at the “still” in her question and say nothing in response, bracing myself for what’s coming next; something I know only too well, because I’ve already heard it. Not just from my mom, but pretty much from everyone I know. In fact, here it comes pronto.
“Sweetheart, it’s been more than a year. I know it has been hard, but the time has passed for you to move on.”
I keep my silent treatment going.
“You are young, smart, and beautiful—you will find someone else. You just have to stop thinking he was the only one for you. It’s just silly. The world is full of—”
And here I snap.
“I am not silly,” I almost shout. “He was the love of my life—he is the love of my life. You don’t forget the love of your life. Not in a year, not even in ten years. You never forget. NEVER!”
It’s her turn to be quiet. After my little outburst, we walk in silence until we reach the car.
“I’m sorry, darling.” She stands beside her door, not opening it. “I didn’t mean to say you were silly or to hurt your feelings.”
“No, Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap that way. It’s just that everybody keeps telling me how I should feel…and well, I just feel the way I feel, and I can’t do anything about it.”
“Ok, I will not do it again. But would you please tell me what happened this time? Did you see him?”
“Yes, I did see him.”
“How was he?”
“He had his hair shorter,” I reply evasively.
His soft curls were no longer visible, I think with a pang of longing. She probably had him cut it.
“Did you talk?”
“No, he was…he was busy,” I say, my voice slightly cracking.
Silence on both sides. She’s giving me time to elaborate.
“Was he with a woman?” she finally asks, when I don’t offer anything further.
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “And that’s the worst part—I don’t just know her. I see her every day and I hate her!”
“Oh hush, darling, you don’t hate anyone. It’s such a horrible thing to say. And just because this person is going out with James, it doesn’t mean you have to have all this, well…animosity for her.”
“Oh, Mom! Would you please stop being ever trusting in humanity? Not everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. And Vanessa most certainly doesn’t!”
“Vanessa? Not that nice girl you work with.”
“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” I say, exasperated. “She isn’t nice, or sweet, or even polite…she just pretends to be. She’s pure evil, and I hated her way before I saw her with James!” I notice her wince at the word “hate.” “Yes, Mom, hate. Because that’s what it is.”
“I find that hard to believe. When we met her she seemed so genuine.”
“Well, yes, she’s very good at pretending,” I reiterate.
“What did you do when you saw them?”
“I panicked,” I admit, flushing. “I froze in the middle of the street, turned around, and ran away.”
“Did they see you?”
“I’m pretty sure she did.”
“So, do you think there’s something serious between them?” Mom asks.
“Mmm…that, I don’t know. But I’m sure she’ll fill me in first thing Monday, enjoying every minute of it,” I whine. “And she’s going to flaunt it in my face every single day after that. She has already tried, only I hadn’t noticed because I didn’t know.”
“Oh darling, I am sure she can’t be that bad.”
“Mom, haven’t you been paying attention?” I ask rhetorically. “I told you she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“Ah well, anyway, what do you plan on doing, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know yet, Mom, and I don’t want to think about it right now. Can we just enjoy the market and not talk about it anymore?”
“Sweetie, I’m sure everything will turn out all right,” she says with a big, loving smile, finally opening the car for us to get inside and head toward the market.