When Girlfriends Break Hearts (19 page)

One thing was for sure: Pamela’s bright and shining star was illuminating my life—opening my eyes—to a world that was wide, and beautiful, and ready for me. Ready for what, I had no idea. But I was ready. It was finally time to let go, let love, and just let live.

Chapter Seventeen

Monday morning was filled with mixed emotions. It was great to get to spend time with Pamela, just the two of us chatting about the big party she was planning on having soon. We ran through a variety of menu and dessert options and naturally we sampled a few desserts that I had brought along for the visit. Pamela knew that her favorite carrot and zucchini cupcakes that I had designed—and, if I may say so myself, perfected—were going to take center stage on the dessert table. But to make sure of the other sweets on display I insisted, and she did not deny, on a fun round of taste-testing. Besides, what woman doesn’t like nibbling on cupcakes, tortes, and puff pastries over a cup of Earl Grey and chit-chat?

But it was emotionally trying to see Pamela in the condition that her body had rendered her against her will. She had already begun taking the regimented doses of pain medication, which left her feeling lethargic.
 

We chatted about the party food and desserts near her bay window, so she could enjoy the sun’s warming morning rays while watching the landscape artists wheelbarrow soil and river rocks about her garden. She had spared no time in beginning her garden project—of course, not that she was able. And planning her grand garden party was no different. Within a couple of hours we had the entire menu planned.
 

I didn’t want to leave, although work at the kitchen was awaiting my return and I knew I had a busy day ahead. But it felt impossible to leave; I almost felt afraid that if I left I might never see Pamela again. Though her doctor had given her four to six weeks, Pamela could very easily have only a few short days. I hated the vulnerability and uncertainty, and, worse, the inevitability of it all.
 

During my drive back to work I ran through what Pamela told me. She said that forgiveness was a powerful tool of the wise. She said that “with forgiveness we can put the past to rest…far behind us. And we can live today to its fullest, and look forward to tomorrow.”
 

We spent a good deal of time chatting about my situation with Robin and Lara, and I guess Brandon obviously played a part in it, too. But I was getting to the point where I could care less about his role in the ordeal. Robin and Lara were the focus. I was starting to see that I could forgive and forget about Brandon. He would eventually be one among my short list of ex-boyfriends. Lara and Robin were another story, though. That situation wasn’t so simple, and their friendships were not something I really wanted to kiss goodbye. Despite what had happened.

“You’re a strong woman, Sophie,” Pamela said, her eyes weary with sleep. Her medication begged her to take a nap. Her warm hands enclosed around mine and she smiled her soft and sweet smile. “Be that strong woman and forgive. You know that’s the key to happiness, right? Lots of people say ‘Aw, there’s no
key
to happiness.’ But you know what?” She pulled herself up a little out of her cushioned recliner and leaned towards me.

“What?” I asked softly, smiling at the kindness and pure joy that still managed to radiate from her mellow and aging face.

“
Forgiveness
is the key. When you forgive, everything’s alright in the world. I think if you do that, Sophie, you’ll lead a very happy and content life.
Forgiveness,
forgiveness…” She leaned back into her chair and closed her weary eyes.
 

“I’m going to sleep now,” she whispered. “I’m feeling quite sleepy.”

I stood up and gave her a light kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Pamela.”

Her eyes opened and a smile overtook her face. “Don’t forget that.
Forgiveness.
”

I returned the smile and said, “I have a lot of forgiving to do, I know. A lot.” Pamela closed her eyes again. “I know what I have to do though. It’s just going to take a little time. But you’re right. I need to forgive.”
 

She nodded, eyes still closed.

“You rest now. I’ll be in touch.” I looked down at her—angelic, at peace, a forgiving soul I would miss so very much.

“Thank you for everything, Sophie,” she called out as I began to clean away the dishes.

“Thank
you
, Pamela.”

***

A late lunch that afternoon at
Café Baudelaire
, not too far from
Katie’s Kitchen
, one of my favorites and oft-frequented, was just what I needed after the rather bittersweet and emotionally charged morning. I didn’t feel very hungry; the amount of baked goods and desserts I snacked on with Pamela had done a fine job in curbing any lunch time hunger. Opting for a light cafe latte and a glass of Perrier with a small wedge of lemon at the cozy corner café was the right fit. I had meant to give my older brother John a call for some time; this presented the perfect opportunity.

Whenever I had something troubling on my mind, which had been the usual as of late, John could always be a reliable source for venting. Like a typical male, he never had
too
many words to say, and often I chastised him for not having enough. But the words he did say were usually spot-on.
 

I had not yet turned to John regarding my latest tales of despair. Besides, I knew that John would tell me what I didn’t want to hear—what Claire had encouraged, what Pamela had suggested, what I had ringing loud and clear in my ears. He would essentially tell me to get over myself, stop being such a bitch, and kiss and make up. He’d tell me, “You’ll work it out, Sophie.” That was my brother John.

But since I had started to sort things out, ever so surely, and since taking the necessary steps to forgiveness were on my very large to-do list, I decided now was as good a time as ever to return Jack’s missed calls (he had rung again the day before while I was taking a shower).
 

“Hey, John,” I said rather loudly into my receiver. The couple, possibly enjoying an enviable first date, looked over at me. I quieted down. “What’s up, big brother?”

“Anna Sophia!” he exclaimed loudly. “It’s about damn time. I’ve been calling you. Don’t you ever pick up your phone?”

“Yeah, well, you know….”

John instantly regaled me with his latest, exciting news of his upcoming trip to London (the reason for his determined calls). He worked at a prestigious law firm in San Francisco, managing accounts and clients in the international business sector, particularly clients who had stakes and dealings in both the U.S. and the U.K. His persistence and hard work were always inspiring and one of the many pieces of the inspiration puzzle that encouraged me to go after my entrepreneurial dreams.
 

Growing up, John hung on every last law-packed word of exciting court cases of our grandfather, a successful lawyer in our hometown of Santa Barbara. And since high school John had known that he wanted to study law for himself. Then his penchant for travel landed him in international business law.
 

Occasionally Jack’s firm would send him overseas to England to meet with a client for a couple of weeks at a time, now and then for a few short days. He loved the international flair to his career, not to mention the frequent flyer miles that he used on lavish weekend trips—always with his latest girlfriend, always short trips.
 

John was a busy man. And he wasn’t a player, shamelessly bouncing from girl to girl, despite his long list of exes. He had always been in and out of relationships for as long as I could remember. Some more serious than others, but none ever lasting longer than a year or so. I think Jack’s focus on his career and his frequent travels made it difficult for him to become involved in a deep and meaningful relationship that went beyond a brief weekend cruise or last-minute jet off to Paris or Milan.

Since John had recently hit thirty his relationships had grown shorter, and fewer. Whenever I asked him who the lucky girl was, he’d dismiss it as “just fun,” or “nothing serious,” or “probably going to break it off soon.”
 

Generally he was willing to talk with me about personal topics and open to serious conversations. But when it came to women, at least since the big 3-0, he was rather vague and distant. He reasoned that since nothing serious was going on in the relationship department for him, there was really no point in talking about it. There was always something better or more exciting to talk about, like what he had for breakfast that morning. He had told me recently that settling down wasn’t something he was looking for at the moment, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever be something he’d want. He wasn’t closed to the idea, but let’s just say none of his love interests should hold their breath.
 

Naturally, during this conversation I asked how Mira, his current girlfriend, was doing, and how she was handling the news of his big, upcoming trip. Jack’s next trip to London was for a complete case study and onsite support. The case would be taking him overseas for eight to ten months. Possibly a year. I highly doubted that Mira, a girl who seemed to be more infatuated with John than he with her, would handle it with ease and understanding.

“Yeah, we broke it off,” John sighed. “It was dead end anyhow, and I knew she wouldn’t like me leaving for so long.”

Classic John. Sometimes I wondered if he was scared of commitment. But I wasn’t sure about that. I just think John was dedicated to his career and had worked so long and so hard for it that he simply couldn’t imagine putting one hundred and ten percent effort into anything
but
his career. Especially at the expense of it.
 

After John excitedly shared the details of his new case in the land of “powdered wigs,” as he said with a chuckle, I spilled my latest events, keeping the details to a minimum. Now I was slowly closing in on acceptance and forgiveness, I could tell the news without sounding bitter. Without balling.

As expected, Jack’s answer to the blowouts with Lara and Robin was to “kiss and make up.” His words, and mine, precisely.

“Yeah, that’s easier said than done, you know?” I reminded him, taking a sip at my cooling latte.

“Best things in life aren’t easy, sis.” He had a point. A very good point. “Besides, you guys could never
not
be friends. You girls are all up each others’ butts.” Another good point. “You can’t stay angry at them forever, Sophie. You know that.” I did know that. Why had it taken me all these weeks, and all of this pain, to finally see that?

“So when you making up?” he asked, breaking my train of thought.
 

“Oh,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve, uh, got a lot on my mind with Pamela…”
 

Jack’s condolences regarding Pamela were warming, and his wise words of advice for that particular piece of news that I had wasn’t nearly as matter-of-fact as that for Lara and Robin. But he was kind and apologetic.

“I’m making her favorite cupcakes for her garden party,” I said. “It’s going to be wonderful.”
 

Talking to John was therapeutic and another subtle reminder that important and endearing relationships are worth the fight. We can’t always control what happens between one another (God knows I’ve tried), but we can control how we react to the universe’s progression of events—the good
and
the bad.
 

I couldn’t control what happened between Robin and Brandon, but I could try to put back together my relationship with her. I couldn’t control the secret Lara chose to keep from me, but I could forgive her for hurting me, and respect and admire her loyalty to her best friend. And I couldn’t control Pamela’s passing. I couldn’t prevent it. I couldn’t aid it. I was helpless against the monster that was claiming her life. But I could love her and remember her and honor her. I could help make her last days on Earth beautiful. And I could look at the short lease on her life and be reminded of how dear and fleeting a life truly is. I could make the most out of mine—affecting positively those who touched me, like Pamela. Loving in return those who, even in the rashest of decisions and darkest of moments, loved me nonetheless, like Robin and Lara. Like Claire, and Jackie, too. And Emily, wherever that silly girl had wandered off to.

“I’m going to head back to work now.” I cradled my cell phone between my ear and shoulder, carrying my dishes to the front of the café. I mouthed a silent “thank you” to the barista and headed towards my car.
 

“Don’t run off to London without seeing me, either,” I told John.
 

“Oh, I won’t,” he said. “That’s not for another six months or so. We’ve got plenty of time to see each other before then.”

“Sounds like a plan, then,” I said. “I love you, John.”

“I love you, too, Sophie. I’ll drop a call in a week or so. See how you’re holding up. And, Sophie, try and pick up your damn phone now and then.”
 

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, pulling out of my parking space. “Later.”

I tossed my cell phone on the passenger seat and smiled to myself, turning the volume of the radio up a few notches. “My Girl” was ringing through the speakers, one of the very reasons I had tuned in to the oldies station. It was upbeat, happy, and made me smile. I hadn’t really been doing much of that lately, and as the sun peeked out behind the storm clouds that were interspersed across the grey and mixed blue sky, I actually felt…happy.

Chapter Eighteen

Early May was putting its best foot forward. The parks were a supernatural green, the gardens were a rainbow of colors, the sky was a vibrant blue with scant a cloud in sight. The waterfront had its usual seafaring scent about it, but with an extra shot of delightfully welcoming spring dew and morning freshness. The weather forecast predicted clear blue skies and warm sun throughout the day. The work forecast predicted a slew of orders requiring fresh produce, fish, and herbs from Pike Place Market, arguably one of my favorite locations in the city.