Page 6 of We Can't Be Friends

Tamara’s words echo in my ears the entire elevator ride and walk back. I swear she is a kissass. She wouldn’t have said that—at least I hope for the sake of every female out there—if it wasn’t an entire marketing department meeting, including the VP, Michael. We both know our boss, Ryan, is leaving soon. He gave us the heads up that he was offered a job in NYC where his partner lives. Surprisingly, one of us is up for the promotion.

Ryan hired Tamara and me at the same time, wanting to bring more females into the company and thought we’d be this elite dynamic duo. At first, we were, but slowly event planning became less of a team sport kind of job.

There is noIin team, but there is inI want to do it my way.

Hence the check in on an upcoming back-to-school event turning into a three hour debacle—that still could have been an email.

My phone vibrates when I enter my office.

SETH: Flights are expensive, not sure if I’m coming this weekend

He can’t be serious. Seth, my on-again, off-again long distance boyfriend, was supposed to be visiting me in Chicago this weekend.

Flights weren’t expensive last month, when we confirmed the trip.

Or in May when I asked you to visit.

SETH: Then you pay for the flight.

I wish this was surprising, but it’s not.

Checking the clock, I don’t bother to set down my things. I pick up my shoulder bag, dumping the contents of my hands into it.

Popping my head into Ryan’s office, I tell him, “I’m going to work from home for the rest of the day. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” His door is halfway closed when he continues, “Chloe, wait. Your idea was valid. I liked it.” I had suggested doing pop-ups at colleges around the country. “I’m going to sleep on it tonight and think through a solution. We can’t jump ship completely, but we can take steps toward more representation.” I always admired Ryan’s leadership style. I’m going to miss him when heleaves.

Gifting him a soft smile, I close the door and leave.

I grab another latte, hoping this time it’ll work. Picked up a black coffee for my best friend and caught the next train to her place.

“Emme, I’m here. Sorry to crash,” I shout in the doorway, my voice echoing in her shoebox apartment. “I know you are working from home today. If I stayed in the office a moment longer, I might have pulled Tamara’s hair out strand by strand.”

Nudging the door with my butt, it accidentally slams behind me.

It takes two steps, and I’m in her kitchen, setting the molded pulp carrier on the linoleum counter and pulling out the consolation hot black coffee I bought her.

“Coffee for you on the counter,” I end up saying to no one, quickly tracking her location only to realize she’s not home.

Slipping off my black heels haphazardly—they are out of place against her pristine apartment—I take my coffee and head for the bathroom.

I know it’s weird, but when I’m overwhelmed, I need a shower.

Not one of those showers to help me work out the tension between my legs—I wish it were that. It’s my mind. It won’t stop. Won’t shut up. I swear it runs laps like a dog catching the zoomies.

I need a scalding hot shower. One so hot that my skin feels like it will burn off.

Unfortunately for me, my shower is brokenagain. I swear the pipes in my ancient West Loop apartment are more moody than me.

Fortunately for me, my best friend, Emerson Clarke—Emme, as I call her—doesn’t mind when I come to use hers. After the last time they broke, she gave me a key to her apartment.

Her bathroom is a mirror for the rest of her apartment. Meticulous. Everything has a place, which makes it easy to find everything, not that I don’t already know. We’ve been friends for over five years, ex-colleagues, and she’s lived here for three of those years.

Tossing my hair into a bun, I step into the falling water.

Letting the droplets sting my skin. Everything begins to quiet, a numbness to my nerves. As the water washes over me, I’m lighter; everything running through my head is slowly being cleaned.

I wrap a terry cloth towel around my body, drying off my skin and then apply a layer of body oil. I reach for the door handle when I hear the sound of her front door opening and closing.

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