When Girlfriends Break Hearts (6 page)

“You told me all you had to say…
apparently
.” I made sure that last word was exaggerated, indicating that I did not buy into his half-assed reasons that our relationship ended because a feeling just “went away.” “So now I’m going to go.”
 

I slipped my last shoe on. “Please don’t ever call me or contact me in any way. We’re done and I think the best way for me to
completely
get over you and move on is to make a clean break.”

His stare was blank. No expression that I could read. No response.

“Okay then,” I said to the silence. “Have a nice life.”

I grabbed my cell phone from the bed and turned to leave with some dignity intact, frazzled though it might be.
 

“Sophie.”
 

I stopped, but resisted the urge to turn back.
Keep control. Just keep control and leave.

“Sophie.”
 

I remained silent and didn’t budge.

“Sophie, last night—”

I interrupted, my back still coldly turned against Brandon. “—was great. Only a fling. A great one, but only a fling.”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” he started. “Last night…I wasn’t completely honest.” I heard him get out of the bed and pull some pants on. Then I felt his hand on my waist. I quickly turned and backed up, squirming out of his unnerving hold.

“What are you talking about?” I blurted. “What do you mean ‘completely honest?’”
 

“About why I wanted out.”

“And?” I pressed harshly.

His face was abruptly overcome with agony. Of remorse. Of guilt.
 

“I couldn’t be with you anymore.” He paused. “I had hurt you and couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Brandon, look, I know,” I started, cutting him off with a hand. I had heard it before. “I know that you would have hurt me if you had stayed in the relationship and blah-blah-blah. Quite frankly I’m over your stupid song and dance about how you
fell
out of love with me. I came here for closure.” My voice was rising. “I came to gain control of the situation and finally put an end to us. I
get it!
We’re done. No more. And now I’m leaving. For good.”

Then, just as I was turning to leave, he said it.

“I cheated.”

The worst word in the relationship dictionary. The most venomous word that few if any couples can overcome. I couldn’t believe it. Last night he denied that there was another woman. I guess a cheater isn’t exactly an honest person.

“
What?
” I breathed, turning to look him dead in the eyes.
 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “Somehow it happened and I couldn’t help myself and…and…it all happened so fast. It was such a mistake. I’m so sorry. I’m so,
so
sorry, Soph.”

I had one reaction. Only one reaction. I acted on pure protective instinct: I slapped him hard across the face.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry, Soph.”

“
Don’t
call me that.” Not the greatest comeback, but it was all I could mutter in response to the horrid news.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And I knew right away that it was a mistake. A
big
mistake. And I couldn’t stay with you knowing what I had done, which is really why I had to break it off. You wouldn’t have wanted to stay with me after that, you know?”

“Oh, don’t try to put this on me in
any
way,” I said loudly. “What you did was wrong and you felt guilty about it so you
quit
.” The words were starting to pour now. My blood ran hot and my rage rocketed through the roof. “It was easier for you to quit on us and toss in the towel. You cheated on me and all you could do was leave me. Leave me! You weren’t even going to tell me! Your guilt was eating you up so you finally broke it off. You’re so pathetic.

“If you didn’t have the
fraction
of a conscience that you have you’d still be with me, dragging me through this pathetic excuse of a relationship, running around with other women. Right?” I shook my head. “You’re pathetic, Brandon. You know that? You’re pathetic.”

“I know what I did was wrong; that’s why I broke it off.” His voice was almost more pathetic than the situation. “You’re right. The guilt was eating me and it was pulling me away from you, so I finally decided enough was enough.” Now his voice rose too.

“No,” I shouted. “No, you pulled away from me the moment you slept with someone else.
That’s
when you decided enough was enough and that you didn’t love me anymore.”

“I’ve thought about that. And that’s another reason why I decided it was best to leave. If I really loved you, Sophie, if I really and truly loved you, would I have done that to you? Would I have felt the need to be with someone else? If I could do that to you then I must not have loved you. I must have needed something more or something…else…in my life, and you couldn’t fill that void. I didn’t want to live a life of lies.”

“Well you set up that path for yourself. No one forced you to cheat, Brandon. You set yourself up for this mess.”

“I can accept that.” So rational, so calm—it made me so angry!

“I can’t listen to this any more.” I pivoted, heading for the front door. “No, wait. Answer me this.” I angrily pulled on my cardigan from the coat rack and flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Who’s the bitch, and was she worth it?”

His head was bent and he lifted his eyes slowly to me in an almost dramatic way. “That’s why it’s been so difficult to tell you, Soph,” he said meekly. “That’s why I was torn up since the affair. How do you tell your girlfriend you slept with one of her best friends?”

The room suddenly started to spin. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was weak at the knees.
Who? Who would do this?
I had a strong circle of girlfriends who had come together in college, and all of us had been thick as thieves since we graduated. I couldn’t imagine that any one of them would do something like this. Did I believe Brandon? Could this be true? Did one of my best friends
really
betray me?

With the room still spinning wildly, I rested my hand against an entryway wall to maintain balance and managed one small word. “Who?”
 

“Robin.”

Robin Sinclair was one of my closest girlfriends. I met Robin when I met Claire—at freshman orientation at college. Robin was often just as much my partner in crime or sister as Claire was. She was like my sister…but a sister who had stabbed me in my back.

“I don’t believe you.”
 

“It’s true, Sophie. I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“You’re right. You’re a cheater and a liar, but why would you lie about this?”

He didn’t say anything. And he didn’t have to. What he had told me was true. Deep down I knew it. He knew it and Robin knew it.

“When?”
 

“About a month ago. It was just one night—”

“One night is more than enough. When? How?”
 

“Her colleague’s house party.” Brandon dug his hands deeply in his jean pockets. “We were drunk and one thing led to another.”

“That night you told me to go have fun with the girls?” I said, piecing that evening’s events together. “When I went to the club with Claire and Emily and Jackie…and I stayed at Claire’s that night. Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I tried to quickly work out the sequence of events in my head. “And
that’s
around when you started to pull away and become really distant.”
 

I couldn’t believe it. Was something still going on with them?
 

I instantly tensed and shot out, “Are you still seeing her?”

“No. It was one night. Literally just one drunken night and a huge mistake. We both swore we wouldn’t tell you…we couldn’t tell you. I told her I wouldn’t tell you and she said she’d keep quiet. She didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t either.”

“Yeah, well, you guys did a bang up job on that, didn’t you?”

“I had to tell you, Soph. I know you don’t want to hear it or believe it, but I
had
to tell you.”

 
I held back the tears that were finally on the verge of pouring forth. “I’m glad you told me. And I hate you for this.”
 

“Don’t hate Robin for this,” he said. “It was my fault.”

“It takes two to tango, Brandon.”

“Neither one of us wanted to hurt you.”

“
Doing
this is hurtful. Didn’t you think about that?” I was livid. There simply were no excuses. None at all. What Robin and Brandon had done was unforgivable. And Robin had it coming for her now.

“I’m sorry,” was one of the last things he said to me, but not before he added, “I know what we did was wrong, but maybe it happened for a reason. You and I are not supposed to be together.”

“That’s rich!” I cried. “Sly way of justifying this crap you pulled on me. Real rich.”

“I wish it didn’t happen like this, Sophie. I’m really sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.”

I opened the front door, more than ready to leave this apartment once and for all.
 

“I came for closure and to gain some control over my life again.” I paused. “I have closure now. And I never want you to be a part of my life again. Do you understand?”

Brandon nodded.

“And don’t ever think of fucking me or any of my friends ever again.”

I stepped into the brisk morning air and slammed the door, feeling both an onrush of relief and a wave of despair. My boyfriend had cheated on me and I was hurt. Yet a best friend had deceived me and I was devastated.

Chapter Seven

My next move came in the heat of the moment, born of anger, irrationality—despair. I was at my wit’s ends and needed to lash out, seek answers, and somehow pull my life out of its downward spiral.

Gripping my steering wheel tightly, I did a California roll through the stop sign that separated what used to be my and Brandon’s neighborhood from the main streets of the upscale Queen Anne district. I drove up and down the steep hills that rose above the scenic Elliott Bay to one side and Lake Union to the other, rolling through each and every stop sign.

I owe all of my poor driving habits to my big brother, John, who relieved my fearful parents of the “teaching to drive” duties. They taught their eldest son to drive and earned a few premature gray hairs doing so. They were more than thrilled when John offered to step up to the big brother plate and teach his little sis how to manage the road.

Call it a California thing, or maybe just a lackadaisical thing in this world of rush here and run there, but one of the first no-nos that was “okay to do” that John taught me behind the wheel was the California roll. Resident Santa Barbarans, John explained that barely stopping at a stop sign and carefully rolling through it, with the foot just lightly depressing the brake, looking responsibly left, right, and left again before releasing the brake and proceeding through the intersection at increasing speed, was just “what we do at stop signs in Cali.” Unfortunately, that no-no has remained a habit, leaving me with two warnings and a ticket.
 

Rolling through stop sign after stop sign, each one distancing me from Brandon’s apartment, was not the product of an age-old habit that morning, but rather distraction and anger. Now I wanted someone
else’s
answers. And apologies. Although I wasn’t sure if any amount of apologies or begs of forgiveness would be sufficient to overcome these hurdles.

The moment I fled Brandon’s apartment, leaving him to wallow in his self-pity or misery or whatever he was feeling (I hoped it was extremely painful), I knew precisely where my little Prius and I were headed. My new destination was a short fifteen minutes or so across town, just over the I-5 and into the U District—the home of Robin, my so-called
BFF
, whatever the hell that even meant anymore.

I can’t believe this is happening,
I thought to myself over and over as I irresponsibly switched lanes frequently.
You think you know someone. And what did I ever do to deserve this? I’ve done nothing but be there as a friend. As a best girlfriend….

Yet as I approached Robin’s apartment complex, my anger transformed into nervousness—even fear. How was I going to approach Robin with this news? Perhaps she’d know as soon as she laid eyes on me. Would I even have to segue out of a casual “nice to see you” conversation and into the elephant that would undoubtedly be in the room?

It was too late to think any more about the possibilities—the inevitabilities. I was at her apartment.

Robin had lived in this complex, in a small one-bed and one-bath apartment, since her senior year at college, not too far away from campus. She had lived with our good friend Lara Kearns for awhile on campus, but when Lara graduated a year earlier than the rest of us, Robin decided to spend her senior year in residence off campus. Robin was susceptible to moodiness, which us girls chalked up to her being artsy. It wasn’t unusual for her to turn down a night out on the town in favor of some quiet time at home curling up with a good book, or, her favorite hobby, dabbling in watercolors and getting lost in her sketchbook. Living solo to have time to herself was signature Robin.

And four years later Robin still called this apartment community, with boisterous neighbors and young students, home. All us girls never understood why she maintained her inexpensive residency at Pacific Green Hills. It made sense when she was in college, and its proximity to campus was convenient.
 

But Robin now had a blossoming career at a small publishing company as a graphic designer. She was a hard worker, a very talented artist, had great grades in college—always keeping above an impressive 3.75 grade point average. A sweet internship during her last semester had turned into a promising career. We all knew that her salary wasn’t Ramen noodles, and though it wasn’t duck a l’orange, it was more than enough money for a young, single woman who was making a name for herself.