When Girlfriends Break Hearts (7 page)

All of the girls were proud of her and even looked up to her and her success as a career woman. When I thought of opening my own bakery and café, I looked up to her.

But now I loathed Robin. Now the words “inspiring” and “Robin” were as far from each other as either of us were from having duck a l’orange night after night.

I pulled into a free parking space that was just a few doors shy from Robin’s first floor apartment. I could see the light yellow curtains hanging in her front window from where I was parked. Those were Claire’s apartment warming gift to Robin, and the “Martha Stewart” that Claire is, she also made matching pillow shams for the sofa.

How on earth am I going to do this?
 

My palms were wet. My stomach turned, but I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or breakfast hunger. I decided it was both.

Without any further thought, I got out of the car and approached the familiar door. Robin had hosted many girls’ nights at her apartment. Many nights we had all gotten together at her place for a bit of pre-partying before we hit the clubs. Many mornings we had woken up from an exhausting night of dancing, or from a twelve-hour marathon of
Sex and the City
, and made delectable blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Robin was one of the girls in my sisterhood of girlfriends, and her home was just as much a second home to me as was Claire’s. But now?

I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and knocked on the door. I wasn’t sure what I would say or how I would say it—or even when. No girl ever prepares for this kind of thing. I don’t really think there is a way.

Robin opened the door and she stood there, dressed and ready for the day. Even her long, blonde hair (which she claimed was natural but all us girls knew otherwise) was curled and cascading beautifully over her shoulders. It wasn’t unlike Robin to be up and ready for the day early in the morning, even on a weekend. She was always eager to get a start on the day and always looked very professional when she went to work. Even on her “off days” she’d lounge around looking professional. She always had a soft hint of makeup applied—basic powder, blush, and maybe a swipe of mascara. Always ready for something—except for this.

“Sophie,” she said. “This is a surprise.” She pushed her black plastic-rimmed glasses further up her nose, squinting into the morning sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. A few things had come to mind.
You bitch.
Or,
How dare you.
Or,
I know everything.
Instead, I finally responded with, “Hi, Robin,” purposely not answering her question. She would find out soon enough how I was doing.

“Hi.”
 

I detected a slight hesitation in her voice. Did she know?

And then it happened. She knew; I could tell by the horror suddenly on her face. The truth was out. There was no denying her secret anymore.
 

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she said, “You know.”

I narrowed my eyes and slowly shook my head. My lips tightened. My jaw tightened. I felt like slapping her hard across the face, but somehow I refrained.

Robin crossed her arms and her posture slightly caved. “Sophie—”

“How could you, Robin?” I interrupted. “How could you?” I was surprised at how calm I was.

She backed up into the living room—presumably to keep the conversation private instead of on the street—and I followed briskly behind.

“How?” I demanded, louder this time. “How the hell could you do it?”

Robin moved from the front door and headed towards the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I don’t want coffee!” What did she think this was? Some damn fireside chat? “I want to know why you screwed my boyfriend!” Any rational behavior on my part was gone.

“Sophie, I meant to tell you.” She took a shaky seat in the chair across the room. “It’s been killing me keeping this from you.”

“Why’d you do it?
How
could you do it?” I started to pace. “I mean, how does someone do something like that? My boyfriend
and
my best friend deceive me like this? I don’t understand how you can have little…no…no…how you can have
no
regard for my feelings. Or my relationship. Hell, my relationship with you! Doesn’t our friendship mean anything? How the hell does someone do something like this?” She opened her mouth to respond. “And don’t tell me you were drunk and wah, wah, wah. I don’t want to hear that crap.”

“We
were
drunk, Sophie. We were way past okay-drunk. He was drunk and saying all these things about how he didn’t know what he wanted in life.”

I quickly shot her a damning look. Was she really going to drag Brandon’s uncertainty about his future—about us—into this conversation?

“He said he was going through a tough personal time,” she continued, starting to chew her lips; an insecure habit of hers. “He said he didn’t know what he wanted in life and that he wasn’t sure about taking that next step with you.” She looked up to see my reaction. I had a cold stare.
 

“I guess I wanted to make conversation,” she said. “And I told him I wasn’t sure about my life, either. I mean, single for awhile…not sure where my career would go…wondering if I’d ever meet Mr. Right. We were just on a roll complaining about our lives and all of the uncertainty, I guess. I started to talk about the breakup I had with Joseph and how that was tough….”

Joseph was Robin’s last serious relationship; it dissolved last year. They had gotten into a series of arguments and nit-picking that eventually became lethal to their relationship. No matter; Robin eventually concluded they were going nowhere anyway. Since Joseph, she had had some dates here, some second and third dates there, but nothing that was “send me over the moon” worthy. Apparently Brandon had answered that call for her.

“Before I knew it one thing really just led to another and we ended up kissing. And then we went back to your— Err, uh, his place.”
 

“You did it in
my
bed? In
our
bed?” I was disgusted.

“It was a total mistake and we were just so hammered,” Robin cried, finally giving in to the tears that she must have been holding back from the moment she discovered the reason for my visit. “It was just that one time and the next morning we decided we’d never tell you. Figured it was for the best. Neither of us wanted to hurt you.” I rolled my eyes. I had already heard this pathetic routine.

“Sophie.” She stood up and walked towards me tentatively. “I told Brandon that I wanted to tell you. That…that…it was the right thing to do. That I couldn’t
not
tell you and continue to be your friend. And I told him he should come clean with you and maybe you two could work it out. But he swore he’d never tell and he begged me not to say a word. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Lies, lies, lies. Deceit…. You sleep with my boyfriend. You keep it a secret. And expect that nothing will happen? Shove it all under the rug and forget about it?”

“I know there’s nothing to say to make any of this right. What I did—what Brandon did—was wrong. And for that I will forever be sorry. I don’t know where to go from here.” She cried like a baby. “What can I say or do to make things alright? I don’t know, Sophie. I just don’t know.”

“I don’t either, Robin.” My fists were squeezed into tight balls. I was so enraged and beyond words or rational thought I wanted to lay one into her. I had never punched anyone before. This moment seemed like a perfect first time.

“I know I should have told you.” Robin’s shoulders heaved. “I should have come clean right away.”

“What you should have done was never sleep with my boyfriend in the first place!”

“I know. I know.” Her eyes fixed on the carpet. “What can I do to make it up to you? What can I do to fix this?”

Was she serious? She wanted to repair the disaster she had caused? This was all beyond repair. There was no going back. No apologies. No forgiveness. As far as I was concerned, Robin could rot at the bottom of my enemy list right along with Brandon. They were both vindictive people who had taken my heart and my love and my trust and torn them apart.

“You can’t do anything, Robin. What you’ve done is unforgivable.”

“Please.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I don’t want our friendship to be destroyed. I understand if you need some time to think about this. Please don’t let this ruin us. Please. What we have should be stronger than this.”

“Stronger than this? Stronger than deception? How can I trust you ever again, Robin? How can I trust that you won’t sleep with my next boyfriend? Or my husband, for that matter?”

“Sophie, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m
sorry.
Please
forgive me,” she begged. “I’m so sorry….”

“Yeah, I am, too.” I headed towards the door. “I’m sorry you turned out to be a complete bitch. I’m sorry I was ever your friend and trusted you.” I angrily swung the front door open.

Robin sobbed after me, “Sophie, please. Please…”

“You and Brandon deserve each other.”

“It was one time and never again,” she cried. “One stupid,
stupid
time.”

“One time is enough.”
 

“What can I do to fix this? I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

With one hand on the doorknob, I turned back.
 

“You can never talk to me again. Never see me. Never come to me. Never have
anything
to do with me again. I don’t want to know you
anymore
, Robin.” I closed the door, astonished at how relaxed I had been at the end. What had come over me?

It didn’t last long; halfway home I was overcome by rage, shaking and screaming in the confines of the car. In a matter of one short yet turbulent hour I had lost two of the most important people in my life. What was a woman to do? The pieces were scattered and there was absolutely no hope in sight of piecing them back together.

Chapter Eight

It was about two years ago. I remember sitting in one of my favorite cafés,
Café Variante
, enjoying a warm cup of coffee and sharing a thick piece of banana bread with Robin. I had sneaked a moment away from a particularly stressful afternoon at work and ducked out of the rain and into the busy café, filled with the comforting old-world charm knick-knacks and decor, like quite a handful of Belltown-area cafés. As it was a Saturday, Robin had the day off and called me up, insisting that I find some time to meet and chat with her about something “very important.”

“So,” I asked Robin as I chewed a piece of the banana bread, the cinnamon bursting with each delicious nibble. “What’s this very important, super exciting news, girl?”

Robin was glowing. She had been juggling a lot at work and, to make matters worse, wasn’t exactly happy with her home life. She was a “dried up well,” as she oh-so-delicately put when it came to topics of love, romance, or seven-digit-pick-ups. All she’d had in the past few months were a few dud dates. Why Robin didn’t feel comfortable in her own (beautiful) skin I’ll never understand, but for whatever reason known only to her she had never exuded much confidence. Having guys from clubs and bars not call her like they said they would, or having failed date after failed date, certainly did not aid things. Judging by her radiant glow and shining smile that afternoon, she had either gotten a big promotion at work or she had recently found love—or at least a welcoming path toward it. Maybe she claimed that much-coveted project management title at work for the cover art of all of next season’s contemporary romance books. She had had her eye on a P.M. position for quite some time.
 

“I met a guy,” she exclaimed.
 

“That is awesome, Robin. Dish,” I said.

Even when Robin had gotten a call back from a guy or she had a date on the calendar, she usually wasn’t as chipper as she was at that moment. This guy must have been something special.

“Okay,” she started, setting down her mug of coffee. “His name’s Joseph, and he’s super, super sweet. He’s got so many of those qualities I’m looking for, you know?” She gushed on about how fabulous this guy was whom she had met when shopping for fresh produce down at the ever-busy Pike Place Market the other day. He was tall, dark, handsome, “emotionally aware,” as Robin phrased…the whole kit and caboodle. He sounded like the dashing man I knew would some day sweep Robin off her feet.
 

“I am so very happy for you, girl. So, when are you going out? Have you already been out?”

“That’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about, Sophie. See, we met at the market, and then we hit it off so well and started talking and talking…eventually we ended up having lunch together on the pier.” She was smiling from ear to ear. “Anyway, I give him my number, he says he’ll call—like they all say—and, well, he
did
. And we’ve got a date!”

“That’s awesome.” And it was. I really hoped this Joseph guy would pan out. “So you’re going out, eh? When?”

“That’s the problem,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee, then picked off a corner of the bread. “Our date’s for tomorrow. The problem is that I completely forgot about my date with Lara tomorrow. We had this whole big day planned to go have brunch, go shopping, even catch a ballet performance.” The glow started to disappear from Robin’s face. “You know how much I hate to go back on plans.”

Robin was
the
girl who upheld the “vows” of friendship stronger than anyone I knew. Claire could also nearly always be counted on for…well, just about anything. If Claire said she’d be there, she’d be there, and if she had something else to do she’d kindly let you know. Our good friend Emily Saunders, whenever she was in town (as she so often traveled the globe), was generally good for her money. Give her a time and a place and if she didn’t have some wildlife adventure to hop off to, she’d be there. The same went for Lara and myself, both of us ninety percent of the time able to say “count me in” or “regrettably not.” Rarely would we back out of plans last-minute. Jackie, well, she was our loose cannon girlfriend, but we loved her anyway. She was always, and I mean
always
, the girl that would say, “Most definitely I’ll be there!” And then, about half the time, would call last minute because of a sudden change of plans or, as was sometimes and unfortunately and always aggravatingly the case, would forget all about the plans and either sleep in or say “yes” to some other social occasion.