Cheating on Myself (31 page)

“Why the hell do you need to stick by your word? Obviously, your incredible resolve to trap yourself by your own stupid decisions has left you completely unsatisfied for the last ten years or so.” As Lily got worked up, she edged closer to Anders. Was his hand under her butt? “Maybe you should stop sticking by your stubborn guns and let yourself change your mind and change course?”

“Stubborn guns?” Anders asked. “Is that a real thing?”

“Mixed metaphor, maybe? But the point is made.” Lily grinned at him.

“For reals, Stella,” Cat chimed in. “You could just call him and see if maybe, possibly, you were a little harsh? Tell him you want to see him one more time?”

“It’s too late. I was really rude.” I knew that probably wasn’t true. Joe was the kind of guy who would forgive. He wasn’t the sort to bear grudges or linger forever on stupid mistakes. But carrying on with Joe wasn’t going to get me anywhere—it was time to grow up and figure out what I really wanted.

“Wah-wah.” Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re depressing me. It’s never too late for anything.” She glanced at Anders, and the significance wasn’t lost on any of us.

“Call him,” Anders agreed. “It can’t hurt.”

“Don’t you want to cuddle up in his flannel-y scruff again?” Lily asked, giggling. “Nuzzle up to the sounds of his crooning Banjo Boy voice?”

I shrugged and poured myself more wine. The thought of Joe, his warm chest wrapped in soft flannel and his adorable curls poking out from under that silly winter cap, was not something I wanted to think about. Because when I thought about him, I knew there was unfinished business between us. But what would another night, or another few months, or any amount of time with Joe, do for me? It wasn’t going to help me figure out where I wanted to be in life, or what I wanted to do, or get me any closer to the settled, secure life I wanted.

What was more important: A little more time with a hot guy who might turn into another mistake, or the confidence that I was making smart choices for myself? The answer was clear.

I knew I had to pick smart choices, but part of me wished it was possible to have both.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next morning, I went back to water aerobics for a final pre-holiday gossip session. Before and after the last few classes, I’d given the Y ladies a run-down of the month, and had filled everyone in on my final-for-real-this-time break up with Erik.

I’d also shared the details of my last conversation with Joe, which had not gone over as well as I might have hoped, but did go about as well as I would have expected. Rae and Fran and even Barbara hissed and booed, but I knew they would. They sometimes forgot my life wasn’t a movie and that a girl didn’t always end up with the sexy guy. Sometimes, the girl made more practical choices, which—they’d informed me—didn’t make for quite as good a plotline.

Even though they were all pissy with me about the Joe decision, I was looking forward to seeing them all one last time before Christmas. I suspected it would probably be the last time I’d see the Y crew for a while. I had no idea what my schedule would be like once I started my entrepreneurship class after the new year. But I did know it was time to settle back into a routine, and now that my back was feeling better, maybe it was time to do some real exercise.

Even though the ladies-of-the-pool deserved better, I’d brought a guest with me for my final class—someone who needed a few friends closer to her own age, so she’d stop bugging me.

“This is an old person class!” Laurel hissed as she stood, fully clothed and very pissed, in the locker room at the Y that morning. “They’re all minutes away from death!”

“We may be old, but we
can
hear you,” Heather muttered from a few feet away. Loudly, she asked, “Who’s the angry bitch, Stella?”

“Heather, this is Laurel… Erik’s mother.” I gave her a pointed glance that said,
Let’s not share my secrets, shall we?

Heather smirked. “Let me guess—this is the stiff’s mom?”

Laurel stomped on the floor, making me think of a toddler or an angry bull. “My son is not a stiff,” she said stiffly.

“Ignore Heather,” I said. “She’s senile.”

I smiled at Heather, warning her to keep her mouth shut. At least until I was no longer coming to water aerobics. Then they could say whatever they wanted to Laurel. I was actually hoping they’d torment her a little—it was part of the reason I’d suggested she come. She could use a good dose of what these ladies had to dish out. I had a feeling Laurel would fit in well with the water aerobics crew.

“Where, pray tell, do I change?” Laurel looked at me archly, her body stiff and rigid as she noticed all the naked figures around her. “Certainly not here.”

“You can get your fat ass into a swimsuit here, or you can hunker down over a toilet back there. But Barb squats when she pees, so there’s usually a bit of piss on the seat.” Heather smiled back at me. She was really laying it on thick for Laurel.

I pulled my own swimsuit on quickly, while Laurel huffed and puffed at my side.

“You’re going to have to change eventually. Here, try this.” I showed her the trick of wrapping a towel around herself while pulling her swimsuit up discreetly. But she lacked some coordination, and the towel fluttered to the floor mid-pull, leaving Laurel naked and screeching while Barb, Heather, and Fran crowded together at the end of the aisle laughing. Laurel shrieked and pulled her suit up, but not before everyone had a good laugh at her dramatics.

Laurel obviously wasn’t seeing the humor in the situation. She glared at all of us. “It’s impolite to laugh at another woman’s misfortunes,” she pouted. This made the others laugh harder, until finally they got distracted.

“Those women are terrible, Stella,” she told me. “I’m a Foodie Channel celebrity… they should have more respect. You should know better.”

“You’re not a Foodie Channel celebrity yet,” I warned her. “They haven’t even come to film you.”

“Well, the cameras will be on me soon, and then these women will have to treat me with more respect.” She grumbled and patted at her hair, making sure she was pulled together for class. “That’s the only reason I’m here, really. The camera adds five pounds, you know.”

“Isn’t it ten?” Heather asked with a smile. She always waited for me to walk her out to the pool deck, but today I sort of wished she’d leave us. I felt like a traitor, but I had a feeling coaxing Laurel out to the pool would be a little like coaxing Pippa into the doctor’s office for a shot.

The only reason Laurel had agreed to water aerobics in the first place is she wanted to slim down a bit for her Foodie Channel filming, which was finally scheduled for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Laurel had started herself on a cabbage soup diet and vowed to exercise, hoping she could shed at least ten pounds in less than two weeks.

“Who’s farting?” Fran asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the din in the locker room. She sniffed around in Barb’s aisle, then poked her head around to peer at us. “It stinks to high heaven in here.”

“It’s Stella’s friend,” Heather announced helpfully. “She’s gassy. Let’s get her under the water and the bubbles will give her away.”

“These women are crass,” Laurel hissed to me, her face turning crimson with embarrassment. I had to agree. The fact that they’d devolved to a discussion of bodily functions didn’t help, but it wasn’t like the ladies at the Y ever held back on much. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Polite company doesn’t discuss flatulence.” I fought hard to hold back my laughter, but it was impossible. I giggled and Laurel got even redder. “Seriously, Stella, you’re better than this. Do I need to worry about how you’re going to present yourself during my Foodie Channel filming? Need I worry about how you’re going to represent the family?”

I’d told Laurel many times it made me uncomfortable to be a part of her Foodie Channel segment, but she never seemed to hear me. We saw each other infrequently enough that I hoped she’d just sort of give up after a while. Unfortunately, she called too often, and every time we spoke, she acted like it made total sense for me to be right there by her side when she filmed her bit about comfort food from the Heartland. I just couldn’t come up with a decent excuse for why I couldn’t do it, so Laurel refused to hear me. I know she understood Erik and I were over, but I wondered if maybe this was her way of holding on to me a little longer. Maybe she thought I’d slip away if she didn’t continue to cling and act needy.

“For your information,” Laurel announced haughtily. “I’m on a diet of cabbage soup and grapefruit. It’s glorious for weight-loss, but the side effects are challenging.”

The other women in the locker room stared. Rae spoke first. “So I take it this means we should keep you away from the bag of cookies after class?”

“Why diet?” Barbara asked. “You’re chubby, not fat. You need the spare tire for when you get old and wither up, like Heather.” She lifted her eyebrows and surveyed Laurel with the keen eye of an observant retiree. “It’s a good thing you’re at aerobics, though, since it looks like you’d benefit from a little strength, but all in all I wouldn’t mind having your figure.”

Laurel wasn’t sure whether to take this as a compliment. She frowned, then tried to hide behind an open locker door to finish getting dressed.

“I’ve been selected for a segment on the Foodie Channel,” Laurel informed the others as we walked out toward the pool deck. She lifted her chin and told the other women about her segment, and about her magnificent kitchen, and carried right on to explain how Cat and I would be a part of the show with her. About how it was everything both of us had ever dreamed of, which was obviously incorrect.

I caught Heather watching me, noting my discomfort.

“When are they coming to film this?” Heather asked, glancing at me quickly before easing into the pool.

“Right after Christmas—they fit me in on the Friday before New Year’s, which will be ideal, since my ceramic Christmas village will still be up on display on the buffet.” She breathed out as the water reached her midsection. “I always take it down on New Year’s Day—I feel it’s inappropriate to stretch a holiday past its limit.”

“Obviously,” Heather muttered. “That would be a sin.” She glanced at me again, and I shrugged. “It’s just bad timing,” Heather said, more loudly this time.

“Why’s that?” Laurel asked. “My house never looks as good as it does during the holidays, and my hair will be in the perfect place between cuts. I think the timing of their visit is ideal.” She lifted her chin and dared Heather to challenge her.

Heather shrugged. “It’s just that I was going to see if Stella wanted to join me on a little holiday jaunt…” She trailed off.

“What kind of jaunt? You mean, a trip?” I asked, curious. I liked Heather. A lot. And I liked jaunts—or, at least I liked the idea of trips. It wasn’t as if I’d been on a multitude of adventures, but still. On the other hand, Christmas was just days away, and I had things to do. Gifts to buy for the girls, pre-reading to do for my class, cookies to bake for the office (I
always
baked cookies for the office). How could I possibly consider a
vacation
. “Where are you going?”

“I’m headed to Venice,” she uttered casually, letting the tiniest hint of a smile tug at her mouth. “A last-minute thing. ”

“California?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Stella…” Laurel began, her gaze darting between Heather and I. Rae, Barbara, and Fran were all watching the conversation with great interest from their perch on the side of the pool.  “You wouldn’t let me down, would you?” Tears pooled in her eyes and a Laurel-pout crushed her lips into a squishy line that looked like a row of raisins lined up end to end. “I need you.”

“Not California. Italy,” Heather said, wiggling her dumbbells through the water. Little chlorinated ripples lapped at the sides of my body. “I’ve got a nephew in Italy, and he’s invited me to visit for the holidays.” She grinned. “I might stay for a while, actually. See if I can snag a man. Got nothing better to do.”

Barbara snorted and Rae huffed.

“You’re going to Italy for Christmas? Since when?” Fran demanded.

“Since I decided it would be fun,” Heather chirped back. “And I’m inviting Stella to join me because she’s young and
single
—” She cast a meaningful look at Laurel, who stared right back at her. “And besides, she’ll help me pee on the plane. Spending Christmas on the Venice canals should be decent.” She shrugged. “It’s just an invite, no pressure. You can run your own life, Stella. I’m certainly not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.” She turned away, but I could hear her say, “Nobody wants to be alone at Christmas.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, finding myself getting a little emotional at the kindness and surprise of the offer. Here I’d been sniping and griping about these ladies and making fun of my water aerobics course, and Heather was offering to save me from a Christmas alone. It was almost as though she was stepping up, offering to be my Nana—or, at the very least, a crabby and reliable friend. I was happy with either—and overwhelmed by the idea of a Christmas in Italy. “I’ll think about it. But with work, and my class starting, and…” I broke off, realizing how sad and thin all of those excuses sounded in comparison to an on-a-whim trip to Italy.
Italy!

I could practically taste the tiramisu in my mouth when Laurel spoke. “But you’re all booked up with the Foodie Channel segment. Don’t forget about our segment. I’m counting on you, Stella.”

“I don’t think there’s much risk of her forgetting,” Rae muttered, rolling her eyes.

“You know you don’t
need
me,” I said to Laurel. “But I appreciate that you
want
me there with you.” I smiled warmly. “That alone means a lot to me, but what I would really appreciate is the chance to make a choice for myself for once, without anyone giving me a hard time.”

Laurel wiped at her eyes and mascara trailed from the corner of one eye to her temple. She smiled wanly, unwilling to let it go without the extra dash of drama.