Page 9 of Merry Little Hate Notes

“It could be.” We’re talking possibly over $100,000 big, after taxes. It just depended on whether Brandon could close the lucrative deals Marisol had been working on before the end of the year. This was always a tricky time with the holiday season upon us.

“Why would he do that if he were trying to torture you? I’m not saying the guy’s not a jerk, because obviously I still hate him on your behalf, but this seems ... weird. And I don’t think Mr. Cassidy would allow this if he didn’t think Brandon would be aboveboard.”

She made some good points. But she didn’t know about his recent note, or any of his notes for that matter, and I wasn’t going to tell her about it. It felt like a dirty little secret I’d been keeping since I was eight. And I really didn’t want to admit out loud that I was a gray sprinkle. I collapsed onto my mat and sighed. “Maybe he won’t close any deals on purpose while we’re working together,” I lamely threw out there.

Carmen shifted fluidly and sat gracefully on her mat, biting her pouty lip. “But wouldn’t that hurt him just as much as you?”

“Well. Not really. With the kinds of deals he closes, he probably makes seven figures a year, not to mention he’ll own the company one day.” I had to hand it to Bertram Cassidy, though—he was making his son work his way up through the ranks. Brandon had started at the bottom in my same position, despite his MBA from Georgetown and the potential to write his ticket anywhere. This was all per Lauren, of course. I didn’t intentionally seek this information.

“Wow, he’s doing well for himself. Not that it’s a big surprise.”

“Exactly. So, what are a few more deals to him?”

“Hmm. You think he’s that callous and immature?”

That hate note said it all. “Yep.”

She shrugged like she wasn’t so sure, but was giving me the benefit of the doubt. “What areyou going to do?”

“I don’t know. I could really use that money. It would mean finally being able to look for a new job.”

“And move out? Come be roomies with me. Pretty please?” She clasped her hands together, begging.

I loved the sound of that. I’d wanted to move on for years, but I couldn’t leave my dad. Even now I was staving off a panic attack because he was a few minutes late coming home from work. He’d finally found a job teaching history at the local community college. It was the only place willing to take a chance on him after he’d burned almost every bridge with his drinking. He’d lost book deals, speaking engagements, his professorship at DU, along with every other opportunity. Where once people clamored for him, he was now persona non grata.

Watching his descent into the depths of hell almost unto death was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. And even though he was a year sober and doing better, I was having a hard time letting go. What if I did and lost him too? He’d barely gotten his license back after his DUI and was finally eating three proper meals a day. I couldn’t lose him like Christian and ... well . .. her. My mom. Although my mother was still alive, Mom was long gone, and I missed her more than I could articulate.

“I want to move in with you. I really do.”

Carmen crossed her perfectly toned legs and reached for my hands, holding them between her own. “Holly, you’re the most amazing person I know. But, chica, you have to stop putting your life on hold.”

It did feel as if someone had pushed the pause button on the made-for-TV movie of my life and I’d been living through years of infomercials for spray-on hair in a can. I’d thought I’d at least be clerking for a federal judge by now or working my way up to junior partner in a firm. Instead, I’d graduated from a local school hardly anyone would recognize, so far from all the Ivy League universities where I’d been accepted. But my dad needed me, and how could I follow in my mother’s footsteps, knowing the truth? I no longer had the desire to be anything like her.

“I know, but I’ve made detailed charts in my head about all thethings that could go wrong if I stop worrying and move on. Let me tell you, it’s not pretty. We’re talking Armageddon here.”

Carmen giggled. “I know you think your over-worrying is saving the world.”

“It is,” I interjected. “And you’re welcome.” Worrying is my superpower.

She shook my hands. “In the meantime, it’s wrecking your world.”

“Ouch. Way to not sugarcoat it.” Of course, she was right. I was almost thirty years old, still living with my dad, and working a job well below my capabilities. And don’t even get me going on my nonexistent love life. I could hardly recall the last date I’d been on. The only reason I remember it at all is because it got cut short when I received a call that our neighbor found my dad passed out drunk in the front yard and he was being rushed to the hospital. Shocker the guy didn’t ask me on a second date.

“This is called tough love, sister. And you need it.”

With a big exhale, I lowered my head. “You’re right. So right.” I thought for a moment, and a surge of courage pulsed through me. I lifted my head and looked directly into Carmen’s big brown eyes. “You know what? I don’t care what Brandon’s up to. I’m going to close these deals myself if I have to.” Not sure if that was allowed, but I’d figure it out. “Then we are going to live our best Monica Geller and Rachel Green lives.”

In high school we used to bingeFriendsreruns and daydream about being grown up, living together in some big city with cute guys for neighbors. We dreamed of meeting at the local coffee shop, being all vogue while I attended law school and Carmen did things that would tick off her parents, like being a yoga instructor. Mission accomplished in her case. Of course, in that scenario, my neighbor was going to be Brandon, which meant he’d be my Chandler and fall madly in love with me. Obviously, at fifteen, I was delusional and naïve. It never occurred to me that my life would be anything short of perfect. Oh, did I have a surprise in store. And not the good kind.

“Now we’re talking!” Carmen shouted.

“This is so happening. I think,” I squeaked out, my courage fading and all the charts I’d made in my head screaming at me to reconsider,to remember all the bad things that could happen. For this to work, I’d have to put up with Brandon for the next several weeks. I’m sure my brain would formulate new charts tonight about this unwelcome plot twist that would prevent me from sleeping.

Carmen’s face fell. “Holly, come on. You can do this. I believe in you.”

Summoning my courage again, I nodded. “I’m going to do it,” I whispered. Maybe if I started with a small dream, I could move on to bigger ones. Not to say $100,000—nor surviving a partnership with Brandon through the end of the year—was small.

Carmen let go of my hands and clapped. “Yes! I need to get going, but promise me you’ll come to the gym soon and meet Marco. My parents are going to hate him,” she sang with glee. “You know, as soon as we start dating.”

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