Winter Jacket: Finding Home (17 page)

If you never give someone the power to love you, they can never take that love away. I’d remained guarded in my adult relationships, keeping partners at arm’s length. I had always prided myself on not crying in front of others, showing no vulnerability or weakness. Only with Hunter had those carefully constructed walls begun to crumble away. I’d fallen in love, but more damaging, I’d fallen
in trust
. I couldn’t say for sure who had been the gardener and who the flower in our relationship; I’d like to think I’d finally found an equal, someone who tended to me as I had to her. As a writer and English professor, I knew the power of words—and with a few words she had unraveled my world.

The tears refused to come, even a week divorced from my last conversation with her. I was in denial; it didn’t feel real. None of my life felt authentic or mine since I’d arrived in California. I’d dismissed those feelings, chalking it up to a transitional period, but I still had nightmares about class lectures going poorly, not dreams about showing up to a pitch meeting with nothing prepared.

Because of her busy schedule I didn’t see much of Troian during the work week unless she had time to be in the writer’s room. The network had her tied up in production meetings or scouting new talent for guest appearances on future episodes. Getting picked up for a full season run was on the forefront of everyone’s minds, and until that happened, I wouldn’t get my friend back.

I knew it wasn’t her fault, but a part of me couldn’t help feeling abandoned by my best friend at the moment I needed her the most. In the absence of Troian, I found myself spending more time with Nikole, helping with wedding preparation while Troian’s days remained monopolized with work. I was sure we both would have rather been spending our free time with a different person, but I was happy for the distraction and she was grateful for the help, even if I was no professional wedding planner. 

It was a bright Sunday afternoon. Troian had to meet with the network’s casting agent, so Nikole and I explored a garden center in the outskirts of Los Angeles.  

“Did Troian put you up to this?”

Nik shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s Hunter’s birthday.”

“And?”

“And I’m pretty sure Troian asked you to babysit me today because she’s afraid I’m going to do something reckless and stupid.”

“I wanted someone’s opinion on flower arrangements, and Troian didn’t have time today. But yes, she might have mentioned something about keeping an eye on you.”

“What’s our mission today?” I asked, trying to shake off the gloom that perpetually hovered around me these days like a thick fog bank.

“Bouquets for the brides and centerpieces for the reception tables. I’m thinking something wild and natural looking; not artificially dyed flowers and definitely no gerbera daisies.”

In our small college town, and with Minnesota’s curtailed growing season, Nik would have been limited in her options; she probably would have grown her own flowers, actually, even though her business specialized in landscaping, not bridal bouquets.

“Do you have your dress picked out?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yup.”

“Do I get to see it?”

“Not before I walk down the aisle,” she informed me. “I’m sure you’re a good secret keeper, but if Troi found out that you got to see the dress when I’m making her wait—”

“She’d flip her lid,” I nodded.

“That, or she’d pout and give me puppy dog eyes until I finally caved. Trust me,” she laughed, “it’s better for everyone involved if I keep it a secret until the wedding.”

“Are you getting nervous?”

“Not for the actual ceremony, but I am getting a little anxious that we’ve put off so many details until now. I keep telling Troi we need to finalize these decisions. That wedding day is sneaking up on us.”

“And with Troian in production meetings all the time, I’m sure that makes it even harder to find the time to make those decisions,” I noted.

Nikole nodded thoughtfully as we moved from one greenhouse to the next. “She tells me year two will be easier when all she has to really worry about is the scripts. There’s just been so much front loading with set construction and crew and casting decisions and if the show will even get a full season,” she listed off. “I think I underestimated what her getting this job would mean.”

“I don’t think any of us realized how time consuming it would be for her as showrunner,” I sympathized.

“Last May was the cruelest month. The pilot had been filmed, the director had finished his cut—which Troi hated, by the way—but there was nothing to do but wait to hear if the network was going to pick up the pilot.”

“And now we wait again,” I observed. The pilot was actually airing in a few days. Everyone was on edge, frazzled, and emotionally exhausted from the stress of not knowing.

“I’m actually kind of glad we have this wedding to plan,” Nikole remarked. “It’s at least been a distraction from all of that.”

“And I’m happy to help.” I stopped in front of a grouping of gardenias and rubbed the soft pedals of the white flower between my thumb and forefinger. “Although I don’t know if this chore was necessarily the best errand to invite me along to. I hated flowers until I met Hunter. Now I can’t seem to see a fresh-cut arrangement without thinking about her.”

“It’ll take some time,” Nik acknowledged, “but you’ll get there.”

I left the flower alone. “Yeah. Maybe,” I sighed, shoulders drooping.

“You know you can stay in our guest room if you’re feeling overwhelmed or sad or lonely or whatever it is that you’ve been feeling too much of.”

“I’m trying not to feel much at all, honestly,” I said as we continued to walk among the rows and rows of fragrant flowers. “It’s been easier to not feel anything at all. If I don’t acknowledge that I’m capable of emotions, then I can’t get hurt.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” Nik admonished.

“I know it’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s the best I can do right now.” If I could have removed my heart and buried it in one of these flowered pots to keep from feeling anything, I would have.

“I’ve got some great women working for me right now. Just your type, too—blonde, legs for days. I could introduce you,” she suggested.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m no good for anyone right now. I’m not in a mindset where I could jump back into a relationship.”

Nik nudged me playfully in the ribs. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

“You’re as bad as Troian,” I said with a rueful shake of my head.

“When you spend that much time with a person, it’s bound to rub off.”

“I could only hope that some of Hunter’s goodness rubbed off on me and made me a better person,” I sighed.

“I think the fact that you haven’t hopped into bed with the next girl in a skirt is evidence of that,” Nik pointed out.

“Or I’m really too broken to even pretend to have a libido these days,” I countered.

Nikole frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not saying things that remind you of Hunter.”

“You might as well be a mute then,” I said with a soft laugh. “Because short of a lobotomy, I don’t think anything will stop me from thinking about her.”

Nik looped her arm around my shoulder. We were the same height, which made the gesture easier than if Troian had tried the same move. “How about we just get you a beer instead?”

I nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

After flower shopping, I returned to my apartment to clean up. An hour or so later, I was letting myself into Nik and Troian’s apartment for a night out with my friends. Agitated voices grew louder when I unlocked the door with the key they’d given me and let myself in. At first I thought the noises were coming from the television, but after a short moment, I realized that the voices belonged to Troian and Nikole, and they were fighting.

I would have turned on my heel and promptly marched out, not wanting to interrupt or embarrass them that I’d overheard, but then I heard my name: “Elle’s going to lose her shit.”

Curiosity won over propriety, and I moved silently through the house to find them. There weren’t too many places they could be. Unlike the sprawling rental home the studio had lent them when Troian had first accepted the job, their new apartment had similar limited square footage to my apartment.

The narrow entry hallway opened up into a small living room that spilled into the eat-in kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, dark wood cabinets, and grey spackled concrete countertops.

“Elle will be fine,” I heard Nikole’s reasonable tone.

“Yeah,” Troian snapped back, “because we’re gonna stop it from happening.”

“And how exactly do you suggest we do that?” Nikole’s voice rose in volume.

I felt bad for creeping in the hallway while they continued to debate, not knowing I was eavesdropping, but my curiosity demanded I find out what they were talking about.

“Un-invite her.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not?” Troian demanded.

“Because it’s rude.”

“Yeah, well it was pretty fucking
rude
of her to break my best friend’s heart. I can’t believe you sent her an invitation after what she did.”

I inhaled sharply. They were talking about Hunter.

“You know I mailed out those invites
ages
ago,” Nikole sharply pointed out. “How was I supposed to know they’d break up?”

“You invited her,” Troian continued to rant, “so you get to un-invite her.”

“Oh, really?” I could hear the heated challenge in Nikole’s voice.

I cleared my throat and scuffled my shoes on the hallway floor. I needed to alert them of my presence before I witnessed an escalated fight. The voices in the kitchen fell silent. I rounded the corner and entered the room. Both Troian and Nikole were huddled conspiratorially around the kitchen island.

Nicole refused to look in my direction, no doubt embarrassed that I’d overheard them. Troian, however, glared at me. “How long have you been standing there?”

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Pretty long. Guess you want your apartment key back, huh?”

“So you heard about our new addition to the wedding guest list?” Troian asked.

I nodded. “It’s fine. I’ll survive. I’m an adult.” The words felt robotic. I had no other choice, but to let robo-Elle take over.

“See?” Nikole finally turned to me and spoke. “I told you she would be fine.”

Troian scowled. “I call bullshit. I don’t know how any of this can be considered fine.”

“Maybe we won’t even bump into each other. I’ll be busy with Best Woman duties.”

“That’s still not a thing,” Troian grumbled.

“Are we going out tonight?” I asked. “I shaved my legs
and
I’m wearing a dress. I’d hate for both of those things to go to waste.”

I didn’t feel much like going out and being social after this new revelation about Hunter, but hanging out with my two best friends was always a better option than going home to an empty apartment with only my thoughts and a liquor cabinet to keep me company.

“Yes. We are most definitely going out tonight.” Nikole stood from her stool. “I’ll be right back. My clutch is in the bedroom.” Her high heels clicked down the hallway.

“Okay. Time for real talk,” Troian announced.

“Huh?”

“It’s just me and you. How do you really feel about this Hunter thing?”

I winced at the sound of her name from my best friend’s mouth. “Real talk?”

Troian nodded.

“It sucks,” I said in truth.

“Why would she RSVP?” Troian demanded, still sounding annoyed.

I sighed and rubbed at my temples. “Because she’s polite.”

“You know what I mean; if you two are separated, then why would she even come to my wedding?”

“It’s Nik’s wedding, too,” I reminded her. “And it’s not like she and I don’t have anything to do with each other. She lives in my house and is taking care of my cat. Maybe this is her way of seeing if we can still be friends.”

“So you don’t want me to un-invite her,” Troian guessed.

“No. It’s not necessary. I meant what I said before: I can be an adult about this.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” Troian smirked.

Batch 19 was a Prohibition Era-themed bar that featured classic cocktails and strong moonshine that was borderline illegal. On weekday nights it played host to local burlesque troupes to draw in a larger crowd. The cocktail waitresses wore bustiers and micro skirts that left little to the imagination. My inner feminist reviled the bar’s uniforms, especially considering the handlebar-mustached bartenders wore full-length pants and long-sleeved dress shirts, but my eyes enjoyed the show the more I plied myself with alcohol.

“Why whenever we go out it’s to places where women are barely wearing any clothes?”

Nikole’s eyebrows rose. “You sound like you’re complaining.”