‘Jennyyyy!’
A tall, shaggy-haired man was standing in front of our building, screaming my friend’s name at the top of his voice. Before she could react, I grabbed hold of her jacket and yanked her into the stairwell of our neighbouring building.
‘Shit, should we call the police?’ I whispered, fumbling for my phone as he reached down to pick up a crumpled can from the floor and launch it at our window. Instead of smashing the glass, the light, aluminium projectile flew two feet up into the air and then came right back down and hit him in the face.
‘Oh Lord,’ Jenny sighed wearily and pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘It’s Craig. So yeah, you should probably call them.’
‘That’s Craig?’
It had to have been months since I’d seen Alex’s bandmate and those months had not been kind. Stills had been on hiatus for a while, even before Alex and Graham took off on their South East Asia adventure, so I hadn’t spent any time with Craig in an absolute age, but whenever I did see him, he always asked after Jenny. I got the feeling he hadn’t quite got over her ending things between them – she was the closest thing he’d had to a proper girlfriend in all the time I’d know him, which was in itself a sad statement. He’d hardly been in the running for boyfriend of the year when they were dating, or to be more accurate, when they were drunkenly hooking up, screaming at each other in the street, not talking for three weeks at a time, and then drunkenly hooking up again.
‘He does this sometimes,’ she said, starting back up the steps. ‘I’m not usually here, but my neighbours have complained. He’s totally going to get his ass thrown in jail if he doesn’t cut it out.’
‘He looks as though that’s where he came from,’ I said as I followed her into the street. ‘This is not a man living his best life.’
‘Craig!’ Jenny barked as he bent back down to pick up his can and promptly fell over. He was wasted. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘You got engaged,’ he said, pointing an accusing finger in her general direction from his comfy-looking spot on the filthy pavement. I looked down and saw a rat peeking out from behind a pile of abandoned cardboard boxes. Fantastic, we had an audience. ‘You’re engaged, and you didn’t even tell me.’
‘I was waiting to send you a wedding invitation,’ she replied, equal parts annoyed and tired. I was equal parts concerned for Craig and concerned for my ice cream. ‘We haven’t been together in more than three years, Craig, what are you doing?’
‘We’re meant to end up together,’ he said, slurring his words. He was so drunk for how early it was, I was almost impressed. ‘We were the endgame, babe. We’re Ross and Rachel, we’re Carrie and Big.’
‘Is he Carrie or are you?’ I whispered over her shoulder. ‘Because I know he’s definitely not a Ross.’
‘Oh, hey, Angela,’ Craig muttered as he crawled around on the ground and tried to find his footing. The main problem with falling over drunk when you were over six feet tall was how incredibly hard it became to stand back up again. ‘How’s it going?’
‘I really think you should go home,’ Jenny said, hoisting him up to his feet and holding him in place until he looked somewhat steady. ‘Do you want me to get you a taxi?’
‘No,’ he protested, pushing her away and pulling her closer at the same time. Craig had never been on the best of terms with a razor but his usual stubble had been replaced by a slightly rubbish ginger beard and his hair needed a good wash. As did his clothes and, I realized as I got closer, his entire body.
‘I love you, Jen,’ he insisted, slurring his way through his declaration of love. ‘I know I’m drunk but that’s because I’m mad, dude. You got engaged to some other guy and you weren’t going to tell me? And I know why, I know why you didn’t want me to know.’
‘Enlighten us, please,’ Jenny said, her forehead puckering slightly.
‘Because you love me,’ Craig said with a sloppy smile. ‘You still love me and you knew if I knew that you knew that I knew you were engaged, you wouldn’t be able to do it. You wouldn’t be able to get married to this chump, this asshole, this – this—’
‘Mason,’ she finished his sentence for him. ‘His name is Mason. And that’s a super-fun theory, you asshat, but now it’s time for you to go home. If you keep screaming in front of my apartment, the neighbours are going to have you arrested.’
‘Your neighbours love me!’ He shook her off and turned in a sharp pirouette, wobbling in place for just a second before he collapsed into a giggling heap on the ground, right next to the rat. ‘Mrs Kleinmann used to give me cookies when you went to work. I think she wanted to bone me.’
‘Goodnight, Craig,’ Jenny called as I opened the front door, let her in, and quickly closed it behind us, leaving Jenny’s former lover lying in the street. ‘Get home safe.’
‘Do you think he’s all right?’ I asked, following her up the stairs.
‘I think he’s fine,’ she replied, searching for her own keys to open the apartment door. When she turned to look at me, her eyes were bright and her cheeks were pink. ‘What a dick. What a douche. As if I’m in love with him! Like, I totally understand why he’s still in love with me but wow, as if I’m in love with him.’
‘As if,’ I echoed as we walked inside and flipped on the lights. Pregnancy and parenting books were piled high on the coffee table, competing for space with bridal magazines and tear sheets from wedding dress catalogues.
‘I was the best thing that ever happened to that man and he blew it,’ Jenny went on, sailing past her little library. ‘He doesn’t get to show up now and announce we’re meant to be. Who does he think he is?’
‘He thinks he’s Craig,’ I replied. ‘Remember? He’s a massive wanker who loves himself and never thinks about anyone else. That’s why you broke up with him.’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ She trotted right over to the window, pulled up the corner of the blinds, and looked out onto the street. I couldn’t see Craig, but I could hear him. He was still there. ‘Wanna watch a movie?’
‘Why not?’ I replied while I stashed my ice cream in the freezer. I looked back to see her still staring through the window. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘You choose,’ she said in a faraway voice, biting her thumbnail while she watched her ex flail around in a pile of garbage. ‘I’m easy.’
‘Hopefully not that easy,’ I said as I took myself off to the toilet.
Craig was a semi-unemployed drummer in his mid-thirties, who shared an apartment with four other dudes and had seemingly forgotten how to use a washing machine. Mason was a handsome, award-winning journalist who owned his own Manhattan apartment, believed cleanliness was next to sexiness and had put a chunk of ice on her finger, so big I had to keep checking it for polar bears. Even with her track record for self-sabotage, there was no way Jenny would do anything as stupid as even entertain Craig’s nonsense.
Or at least, I didn’t think she would. I came back into the living room bearing a bowl of ice cream to see her beaming at him through the window, a Puerto Rican Juliet to Craig’s grubby, hipster Romeo.
‘Oh, bugger,’ I muttered to myself. ‘We’re going to need a bigger bowl.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Good morning, roomie,’ Jenny sang as she pushed my bedroom door open at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning.
After Thanksgiving at Erin’s, we’d spent the entire weekend planning her wedding. If Sadie was throwing the wedding of the century, Jenny would have the wedding of the millennium. I was more than a little bit relieved when she decided to stay over at Mason’s on Sunday evening to discuss potential colourways and honeymoon destinations – I needed the night off. Monday had passed in a blur the way all Mondays did – press day was press day was press day – and finally it was Tuesday. Finally, it was time for my meeting with Joe.
‘I’ve got herbal tea for you,’ Jenny said, placing a loaded tray on the edge of my bed. ‘I’ve got avocado on multigrain toast with a poached egg, and I’ve got your
prenatal multi-vitamin.’
‘And what have you got for you?’ I asked, sitting myself upright while Jenny presented me with a breakfast tray complete with a single pink rose in a tiny vase.
‘Leftover pizza.’ She rammed half a slice of cardboard- looking pepperoni pizza into her mouth before I could protest. I didn’t want to know how old it was. ‘You need your wholegrains and your protein and your good fats. This is, like, a complete meal here.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t know if I can eat that much first thing in the morning,’ I said. My stomach turned at the sight of the poached egg and I felt myself go green. Ever prepared, Jenny grabbed the little bin from beside my bed and shoved it in front of my face right before I hurled. I dabbed at my mouth with the cloth napkin on the tray and winced. ‘Morning sickness, officially the least fun part of being preggers.’
‘Shit. You’re really, totally pregnant,’ she marvelled in a muffled voice. I looked up to see her holding the bin in one hand, stroking my hair with the other, the remains of the pizza slice held between her teeth. It would take more than a vomiting pregnant woman to come between Jenny Lopez and her appetite.
‘The ten pregnancy tests you made me wee on last week weren’t enough proof for you?’ I asked, lying back down. ‘You actually need to see me puke?’
‘That was mainly for the LOLs.’ She looked into the bin, pulled a sour face, and then set it down on the floor at the side of the bed. ‘I still can’t believe I got you to pee on every single one of them.’
‘I’ve never seen you look happy to see a pregnancy test before,’ I said, pushing the tray away and forcing myself up in bed. ‘Maybe my mum was right, there is a first time for everything.’
She grabbed the napkin from my tray and hurled it at my face. It was nice to be home.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re pretty good at being pregnant,’ she said, pushing the bin away from the bed with her foot. ‘Kind of assumed you might freak a little more.’
‘Me too,’ I admitted as she climbed under the covers beside me. ‘Whenever I really stop and think about it, I sort of panic. Because the idea of having a child is mental. But when I’m not throwing up or fighting constant and complete exhaustion, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be. Weird, but not bad.’
‘Then it’s the opposite of planning a wedding,’ Jenny said. ‘Thanks for all your help this weekend, by the way.’
‘You didn’t really give me much choice, did you?’ I replied, shuddering at the memory of Pinterest boards flashing before my eyes.
In three short days, Jenny’s wedding had gone from a small, private affair in Hawaii to the society event of the season. I’d talked her down from booking the Plaza, but we had still spent a good four hours debating whether or not they needed to host welcome cocktails, a rehearsal dinner, and a thank you brunch. A week ago, the only things she needed at her wedding were me, Erin, Mason, and a steady supply of champagne, now we were looking for a venue that could hold 200 people and would allow her to bring live doves in for the ceremony.
‘Are you sure Mason is down for all this?’ I asked. ‘He did seem awfully keen on Maui.’
‘Mason wants whatever I want,’ she replied happily. ‘Maui would be fine, but a wedding should be a celebration of love and I want to celebrate with as many people as possible and in a way that does our relationship justice. We’re not barefoot on the beach people, Angie.’
‘No,’ I said as she waved her ring at me. Again. ‘But I’m not sure you’re St Patrick’s Cathedral ceremony, silver service dinner for two hundred, releasing live doves as you say “I do”, people either.’
‘I am,’ she replied with complete conviction.
‘But is Mason?’ I asked again. ‘It is his wedding too.’
‘You’re so funny,’ she laughed. I wasn’t sure why. ‘Mason wants whatever I want.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Mason wants to spend thousands of dollars on a flower wall?’
‘The flower wall was so beautiful,’ Jenny replied, climbing out of bed and picking bits of lint off her leggings. ‘I’ve got to go, I have SpiritSprint in twenty minutes.’
‘You’re very brave,’ I said, reluctantly following her out of bed. I had a big day ahead of me. ‘I don’t think I could show my face back there.’
Tying her hair up into a huge pineapple on top of her head, she rolled her eyes skywards.
‘I’m going to a different location,’ she admitted. ‘We’re kind of banned from the Union Square place.’
‘We are?’ I asked brightly. ‘Oh, good.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be super sad about it.’ She bent over and touched her toes, bouncing lightly up and down. I attempted to do the same and gave up when my back creaked as my fingertips struggled to reach the tops of my feet. ‘Good luck with your meeting today. Let me know how it goes or if you need me to kill someone for you.’
‘It’s nice to know I can depend on you,’ I said, throwing my napkin at her as she left. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she shouted from down the hallway. ‘Now get your pukey butt in the shower. You stink and you have to wash your hair. Like, have to. Dry shampoo is not an option.’
You just couldn’t put a price on a friendship like ours.
After setting hourly reminders on my phone, I arrived at the restaurant Joe had chosen for lunch fifteen minutes early. I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad sign that he’d suggested we meet outside the office. On the one hand, who didn’t love a free meal? But on the other, what if they were removing all trace of me from the building the second I stepped outside?
‘Ms Clark?’
A neat waitress in a white shirt and black tie appeared with a too big smile on her face as I approached her podium in my smart Sandro shift and Jenny’s black-patent Louboutin Mary-Janes.
‘Let me show you to your table, Mr Herman is already here,’ she said, gesturing for me to follow her down the steps and into the brightly lit dining room of Union Square Café.
My pulse fluttered as I tiptoed through the tables. How was he already here? I was so early! Damn that man and his timely nature.
‘Joe,’ I said, accepting a socially acceptable cheek kiss then sitting down. He really was very tall. Too tall. No one needed to be that big unless they were a professional wrestler or part of the circus. I wondered if he had to buy his trousers somewhere special.
‘Thanks for meeting me down here,’ he said, nodding for the waitress to fill up my water glass. ‘It’s the only problem with Spencer: there are no good restaurants in Times Square.’
‘You didn’t fancy Red Lobster?’ I quipped as I accepted a menu.
Joe looked back at me with a blank stare.
‘I’m joking,’ I assured him quickly. ‘I never go there, obviously, it’s terrible. Eurgh, chain restaurants. Who would eat at Red Lobster?’
He didn’t need to know the staff at the one on 7th Avenue knew me by name and always rewarded me with extra biscuits for being such a regular customer.
‘I know this place is a publishing cliché, but I love the chicken salad,’ Joe said, smiling at the waitress.
What kind of a man ordered a salad when he was eating out on expenses?
‘I’ll have the chicken salad as well,’ I said. I copied Joe’s smile but the waitress couldn’t quite manage the same cheery response. ‘Sounds delish.’
He was right, Union Square was a publishing world cliché, a famous restaurant full of good old boys on three-martini lunches, wining and dining each other with everyone eyeing each other across the room. I’d been for dinner once before but never for lunch, and now I understood why. I was fifteen years and one penis out of place.
‘A glass of wine?’ Joe asked, scanning the wine list. ‘The Chenin Blanc always pairs well.’
I looked around the restaurant. Every single person at every single table had a drink in front of them.
‘I actually have to proofread some pages when I get back
,’ I told him tapping my temple as I spoke. ‘Better keep a clear head.’
No one told you the first skill you needed to perfect as a new mother was lying through your back teeth, and fast.
‘We’ll stick with water then,’ he replied, handing back the massive ring binder-cum-wine list back to the waitress. It was almost bigger than she was. ‘Shall we get the difficult part of lunch out of the way so we can enjoy our food?’
‘Difficult?’
I crossed my legs under the table and knocked my knee against the hard wood. Joe flinched but ignored the loud bang.
‘Not difficult,’ he replied, shaking out his napkin. ‘I meant to say, let’s get work out of the way before the food comes. I’m not as good with words as you.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ I laughed nervously before gulping down half my glass of water. I couldn’t tell if it was hot in the restaurant or if it was just me. My deodorant was already working overtime.
‘As you know, we’ve already made changes in the marketing team,’ he said, pulling his iPad out of his leather briefcase and tapping away at the screen. Tablets and smartphones really had ruined the entire concept of lunch. I briefly considered spilling my water on it but the last thing I needed was to give him more reasons to sack me. ‘And the new streamlined teams are already showing some real progress.’
I did know. When he said ‘streamlined’, he meant slashed to pieces. It was horrible, watching everyone stare at their phone as call after call came down from HR and person after person left but did not come back. No wonder the new team was doing so well: they were petrified they would be fired if they didn’t.
‘We’re going to be implementing a similar strategy across the sales teams in the next two weeks,’ Joe said, handing me a spreadsheet.
No good had ever come of a spreadsheet, it was one of life’s absolutes. No one ever kept a spreadsheet that charted happy things like the number of kittens in the Tri-State area or the various talents of the Hemsworth brothers. That needed keeping track of. What if you wanted to know which one was the tallest, which one played guitar, important things like that? There wasn’t always time for Google.