Courage doesn’t mean you don’t get afraid. Courage means you don’t let fear stop you.
–Bethany Hamilton
Bethany
People always use the same old adages when you’re going through a breakup.
He wasn’t good enough for you.
There are other fish in the sea.
This, too, shall pass.
Those people are morons.
Brent is good enough for me, when he’s not being an idiot who thinks that I could betray him. And there might be other fish in the sea, but none of them are him. And time heals nothing. It just makes the ache less acute.
But this is why I’m glad my friends are not those people.
“Did you watch the press conference?”
“I couldn’t. It hurt too much. I’m still angry.”
“He looks like a shit sandwich,” Freya says, trying to make me feel better.
“If a shit sandwich was also slang for a hot-ass football player,” Ted says.
We’re video chatting. I’m on the couch in my PJs and Ted and Freya are together on the other end of the call, squeezed into the frame of my laptop.
“You’re not helping, Ted.” Freya nudges him with a shoulder and rolls her eyes at me.
“What? It’s true. He would look good covered in dirty baby diapers. Bethany, you look like balls.”
“I feel like balls. Tiny, sensitive, lumpy balls.”
And Brent hasn’t even tried to call me. Not once. I mean, we didn’t really break up, did we? We just had a fight. A fight that is all his fault and he hasn’t even called to apologize. Or come over.
“He did look tired,” Freya says.
Ted snorts. “Well, he’s dying, so I guess that will do it to you.”
“I can’t believe he has this horrible thing and you knew and somehow it got leaked. Who do you think told?”
“I have no idea. I just know it wasn’t me.”
“Well. We believe you. You’re a crap liar.”
“I know!” The words are punctuated with my righteous anger. Righteous anger that has spiked and deflated a million times over the last few days. “Brent knows that, too, and still he thinks I would do something like this. For money. Look at me. I haven’t dyed my hair in six months, I’m wearing a dirty shirt, and I’m eating expired ramen. If I had sold his story for money, I wouldn’t be sitting here like this, now would I?”
“Are you going to move back home?” Freya asks.
“No. I have a job interview tomorrow. I’m not giving up. I sublet this place from Gwen and promised to stay a year. I did send her an email to give her a heads-up, just in case. But I can’t leave now.”
Negative thoughts swirl in my head like crap down the sewer. What if I can’t find another job? What then? It’s not exactly easy in the Big Apple, thousands of people arriving every day, searching for their dreams. What do I have to offer?
This is the same thought that’s been plaguing me about Brent. What do I have to offer? Nothing.
No wonder he hasn’t called.
“I know how you can feel better.” Freya holds up one finger and sticks it into a hole created by her other hand. “I won’t even judge you. You’ve earned it for reals.”
I laugh. “You know, I actually haven’t slept with anyone in over a year.”
“Right. Like you totally didn’t go home with that guy after that concert downtown last year.”
“I did go home with him. I slept on his couch. He was too hammered anyway. I drove him home and he passed out.”
Freya blinks slowly. “You’re being serious.”
“Why would you do that?” Ted asks. “Why not just go home?”
Here it is. I have to tell them the truth. “There’s something I should tell you guys.”
“Oh my God. You’re pregnant,” Freya gasps.
“What? No.”
“You’re an alien.”
“Freya, focus.” Ted smacks her on the arm.
“My mom is an alcoholic. Like a bad one.”
They share a glance and then look back at me. “Yeah. We know.”
I rock back on the couch. “You know?”
Freya leans toward the computer, her expression softening. “It was pretty obvious that one time I tried to bring you chicken soup when you were sick. She kept yelling, ‘Hi ho, Silver,’ because I brought the bowl with the black and white cow print.”
Ted laughs and then claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Not funny. We didn’t say anything because we knew you were embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about it. So we just called you a slut to make you feel better.”
“Well. I was a slut in college.”
Ted nods. “Yeah so was I.”
“Not me,” Freya says.
“Prude,” Ted and I say at the same time.
We dissolve into giggles.
I want to hug my computer screen. Then I do.
“Ew, boobs,” Ted says.
I pull back. “I miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too, skank face,” Freya says.
The next day I’m flying around the house getting ready for my interview. There are clothes everywhere. I’m half-dressed and panicking.
I’m going to be late.
I’ve finally settled on an outfit and I’m buttoning my shirt when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hey, Natalie.”
She’s standing in the door in surprisingly bird-free clothing, black T-shirt and dark jeans, with a sheepish expression. “Sorry to bug you. Can I use your bathroom real quick? Martha’s been in ours all morning and I really have to go.”
“I’m running late, but go ahead.”
“I can lock the door as I’m leaving.”
“No worries, I’ll wait.” I turn to grab my laptop case, throwing a résumé in the pocket.
“Well, you don’t want to be late and miss out on the job.”
My hands still on the zipper of my bag. “How did you know I was late for an interview?” I turn around and face Natalie. I’m sure I didn’t mention it. I haven’t seen or talked to any of my neighbors in days.
Just like I’m pretty sure I never mentioned my love of tater tots to her. Or to Steven and Martha.
Our eyes lock and then the pretty brunette smiles.
It’s not a nice, easygoing, you’re so funny smile, it’s an oops I screwed up and now I want to kill you smile.
Bad news.
Tense energy crackles between us like lightning about to strike.
I spin on my heel and race for the door but the heels I’m wearing slow me down. A hard yank on the back of my head jerks me off my feet. I crash hard on my back, the air knocked out of my lungs.
Natalie stands over me.
“I wish there was another way. This is my last chance to search. I really wish you hadn’t lost your job. Then you wouldn’t be here and none of this would be happening.”
Like this is my fault?
Bitch.
I can’t talk yet, still struggling to get air in my lungs. She has something in her hands and my eyes flick to it. It’s the lamp.
Oh no.