When Girlfriends Break Hearts (25 page)

“Makes two of us.”

“Three of us,” Lara added.

Robin.

It was quiet for a brief moment before Lara said, “Have you thought about talking to Robin? She really wants to see you. She’s just too afraid to come right out and ask again.”

I nodded my head slowly.
 

“She wants to make peace. If you’re worried she hates you or something, trust me, she doesn’t. She’s beyond sorry and she really wants to repair things. However she can—”

“Yeah, yeah, actually I’m going to go talk to her after next weekend.” I then told Lara about having lost Pamela.

“Oh Sophie, I’m so sorry.” She reached her hand across the table and gave mine a squeeze. “I can’t imagine…”

“Thanks. It’s been hard…. Really hard, actually. You can’t really prepare for something like this, you know?” I let out a one-breath chortle and raised my eyes to the ceiling.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
 

“It’s been really hard.” I started to choke on my words. “Really horrible and hard. And then having this fight with you…”
 

My eyes became damp. “And all the crap with Robin. And Brandon. And just
everything
.”
 

Finally, the tears escaped. “It’s just been a really crappy few weeks. God, everything just came pouring down at once. And this thing with Pamela… That wasn’t supposed to happen. That was just…it just really sucks.”
 

I looked over at Lara, her own eyes filled with tears. “It’s really hard. I miss Pamela
so
much. I miss her so damn much.”
 

Lara squeezed my hand tighter. “And I’ve missed you, Lara. I miss Robin. I miss all of you girls. I don’t like fighting and not having you a part of my life.”
 

Lara got up out of her seat and enveloped me in the familiar and warm hug that I had missed for far too long.

“I’m sorry, Lara. Please forgive me for being such a horrible brat about all of this.”

As Lara forgave me and begged again that I forgive her I felt at peace with so many things—so many wrong things that had been going on in my world. And I felt the burn of the necessity to make things right with Robin.
 

I realized that in my constant search for control—control over my life in an effort to reach contentment—I was not only losing more control, but I was inching closer to unhappiness. No good in life (and certainly no contentment or peace) can come from trying to control everything.
 

By pulling myself out of two friendships, I was trying to keep myself from hurting. Trying to protect myself. But trying for too much control essentially led to
no
control. Shielding myself from friendships for fear of being hurt again or hurt even more in an effort to be happy was actually making me miserable. Funny how the world works, really. You think you’ve got something figured out, then you’re given lemons…then you find another way.

Lara and I spent time talking about anything as heavy as the drama we had been through and everything as light as how tasty the cupcakes were. It was as if, sitting there in her familiar and warm living room over cupcakes and coffee, we were old friends again. It felt like that day I ran to Lara’s apartment my freshman year in search of comfort and big-sister-advice about another asshole in my life. It felt like every
Bachelor
TV night over hot cocoa. It felt like every time we gave each other wardrobe recommendations before the big night of parties along fraternity row. It felt like every great memory we ever had, and every great moment that we were yet to have, all wrapped in one. Lara was back. Lara was one of the pieces to the new path…the new puzzle…the new life that I was slowly building. And it felt really, really good. Even better than the delicious cherry chocolate cupcakes (and those were pretty damn good).

Chapter Twenty-Four

While I could not one hundred percent understand why Lara had kept the secret of Robin’s one-night affair with Brandon from me, I figured there would only be complete understanding if I were actually put in that situation. We all too often say, “I would
so
do that,” or, “I would
never
act like that,” but do any of us ever really know until we’ve experienced it? No. None of us really knows how it feels to be cheated on unless our partner deceives us. No one really knows what we’d do if our best friend came to us with a huge, relationship-ending secret. No one knows what they would do if they found out that their best friend slept with their boyfriend.
 

Before I finally decided that forgiveness wasn’t just fair, nor was it just the most obvious answer, nor just the most civil and moral, I decided that forgiveness was the
only
answer. The only way to repair my friendship with Robin was to learn to forgive and love.
 

The love of a friendship—of a true and lasting friendship—is unconditional. Everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes even the biggest of mistakes that we think are beyond forgiveness or reparation are the very mistakes that make a friendship that much stronger—that much more unconditional and that much more true. And certainly that much more worth having.
 

Nothing great or truly worth the effort in life is easy. The most rewarding experiences are not the free and effortless ones. They’re the ones you have to work for. Fight for. They’re the ones that you least expect. The ones that leave you scratching your head and turning to your left and your right, seeking where to go from here. They’re the ones that leave a faint path of light behind, leading you to the place where you can be peaceful, content, happy. The relationships and friendships that are worth fighting for are those you might actually find yourself
having
to fight for.

This train of logic ran through and through my mind, and I began to wonder if I ought to forgive Brandon too.

I kept arriving at the same answer. I no longer loved him. All he’d be now was a “once was.” We had some great times together. A lot of great times, actually. At one point we really had something special. But that was gone. There was no getting it back, and neither of us wanted it back. Brandon wasn’t Lara or Robin reaching out to me. And I wasn’t reaching out to him, asking for or accepting forgiveness.

Each time I tried to reconcile the issue in my mind I had come up with the same answer. There was no forgiving or forgetting something that never would be anything anyway. Robin and Lara and I had a future together. We were to be friends as thick as thieves for…forever.
 

It pained me a bit to realize that my only “forever” was with a group of girls, rather than a dream boat of a man who I would some day call my husband. But in time I’m sure I’ll find Mr. Right. Until then, and even long
after
I do inevitably find myself on eternal cloud nine with Mr. Right, two kids, and a dog, complete with a white picket fence…long after I would find that life had turned out more than alright and my café / bakery was a booming success…long after all of that I would still have my group of girlfriends. They’d always be there for me, even through the tough times. Especially through the tough times. And always through the great times. I had relationships—friendships—that were real and endearing and worth fighting for.
 

***

Finally feeling as if I was only inches away from the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, I sent Robin an email asking if I could visit her some time next week after the funeral. Unlike my email to Lara, this one was a little more long-winded. I filled Robin in, albeit briefly, on the passing of Pamela and the funeral arrangements. I let her know that I was on better terms with Lara, although I was sure she knew of that already as they were practically sisters. I told her that I really wanted to see her and talk to her. That it was time we finally put everything behind us, no matter how difficult and how long it took.

Her response, not more than a handful of minutes later, was a short but sweet “most definitely!” Things couldn’t have worked out better. Next Wednesday I’d finally see Robin again and we’d hopefully begin our journey towards forgiveness and a rekindled friendship.

“Oh God,” I thought out loud. “This is going to probably be the hardest thing I’ll have to do.”
Well, that and say goodbye to Pamela tomorrow.
 

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Pamela. Sure, the baked goods had been prepared. Pamela’s favorite carrot and zucchini cupcakes, with a thick helping of cream cheese frosting, had already been baked, iced, boxed, and were ready for delivery tomorrow morning. The full menu of catered foods was nearly finished, and what wasn’t complete would be piping hot and ready to serve just as the party began. As far as I knew the funeral procession and garden party details were all organized by Pamela’s children and the garden was finally finished. Tomorrow would be the day I would finally say goodbye…and thank you.

***

Trying to get a full night’s rest was simply not going to happen, so I didn’t even bother trying. Pamela’s funeral was set for ten o’clock sharp, with the party following at eleven. I had to be at
Katie’s Kitchen
early in the morning to make sure everything was set to go.
 

My mind racing too much to sleep, I gave up the battle and threw myself into more paperwork.

I had received over the week the signatures I needed on necessary investment paperwork from the family members who were rooting for me all the way. I spent the night typing out the necessary letters to the bank, and organized a few transfers of monies to have quickly on hand in the event I’d need to make any big-item purchases or the first few months’ rent on a property. Not to mention the basic marketing and advertising costs that’d I’d have to account for. I wanted to be ready if the time jumped out at me to start buying things and get things really rolling—things beyond paperwork. The list, if thought about quickly and in general, was rather overwhelming. Almost too overwhelming. And tossing in the towel almost seemed like a wise idea. But when I slowed down, did a few yoga breathing techniques, and took it one check box at a time, it wasn’t so terrifying.
 

I prematurely, for fun, sent some emails out to a few realtors regarding some storefronts I found while skimming over online property ads. A few looked appealing and worth inquiring about. I was curious. I sent an email to John, letting him know, again, how proud I was of him for landing the big job in London.
 

I shared with him my idea of possibly taking advantage of his prime, temporary real estate and heading over to London for couple of weeks while he was there. Or maybe make it a big pit stop during a European vacation over the summer. The idea was enticing enough, although I would have to take into account the progress of starting my own business. My world, and options, were wide, though. I just wanted to be open to the idea and it felt freeing, and comforting, to know that I could essentially go wherever the wind took me. I wondered if that’s what Emily felt like all the time.
 

First things first, of course, and after I burned the midnight oil checking off business “to dos” and delved a bit more into my historical book,
Team of Rivals
, my eyes succumbed to their weariness and I got a few hours of sleep before I had to face what would most certainly prove to be one of my toughest days ever.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The morning of Pamela’s funeral was the most beautiful morning Seattle had seen the entire year. The sky was a heavenly blue, with only a few wispy clouds, and the temperature was a mild and comfortable mid-sixty. The softest of breezes swept along, enough to sway the garden wind chimes, letting them sing cheerfully. The lawn of the church and cemetery grounds was freshly cut and the sweet nectar scent brought along a familiar olfactory memory of warm summer days. A chorus of birds chirped in the trees overhead as Pamela’s body was laid to rest. They seemed to be saying that Pamela was alright. She was happy, pain-free, and looking down at all of us as we wished her physical body goodbye and welcomed her comforting spirit that would live on always.

The funeral was intimate and poignant. Each song played by the church pianist, each tribute and eulogy given and read by family, and the procession to the cemetery were equal amounts consoling and melancholy. Looking around at the few dozen of Pamela’s family and closest of friends, not a single one clad in black, made my heart feel a little better.
 

Pamela had requested not long after she discovered that she had cancer that everyone who attended her funeral could not wear black. “Black is such a dreary color,” she often told me. “You wear too much of it, Sophie. You need some color in your life!” Brightly colored dresses, floral prints, and pastel and colorful blouses dressed the women, while the men sported anything from light khaki pants to lemon-yellow polo shirts. Not a dark color was in the house, save for a few men who chose to wear a suit, but only because they opted to spring for a bow tie—a colorful one at that. And many of the women, in following with Pamela’s garden party attire, outfitted themselves with fascinators and hats you’d only see at the Kentucky Derby or a grand British affair. The wardrobes in honor of Pamela’s wishes were indeed a comfort.

I had actually picked up a new number, completely with Pamela in mind, as my wardrobe had nothing more colorful than soft grey. I went risky (for me) and found an adorable soft lavender knee-length dress that was perfect for springtime and the warm weather, and I accessorized it with the most darling cream hat with a small bird cage veil that had strings of dainty pearls. It was very Audrey-esque and quickly became a must-include-in-as-many-outfits-as-possible accessory. Pamela would have heartedly approved.

The party decorations and the garden itself were simply exquisite. Pamela’s drawings had finally metabolized into a dream come true and the string of colorful Chinese lanterns that covered the deck and garden area were magnificent. Everything had been tastefully done. Even a few Chinese papier-mâché umbrellas in the bright pinks, yellows, teals, and oranges had been placed about the garden, and a few even hung upside down around the deck area overhead.