Page 128 of Things I Overshared
She mentioned my money a trillion times. She balked and rolled her eyes and sighed and . . . what the hell was I thinking? I guess I just wasn’t? Or I was just feeling? Feeling the fun of having a best friend like Skye has Janie? Just feeling a break from the loneliness of Manhattan, of the post-grad years where all your close friendships pull apart?
I make a vow to myself as I flush the toilet and stand. Never again will I accept a friendship with fangs. I remember the slight heartburn I’d feel if I hung out with Nicole for days. I’d retreat a bit, lessen myself and make more jokes at my own expense. It wasn’t that different from college and high school, with those girls who you knew in your gut you could never fully trust.
That all ends now, today. If I don’t feel 1,000 percent comfortable as me, not having to make fun of myself or apologize for who I am and where I come from, then I am out. Forever, from now on, no matter what.
I’d rather be lonely than be a scared, watered-down version of myself. I’m fearfully and wonderfully made, as my mother used to say, and now Susan, and God clearly made me to be . . . well . . . big. Big hopes, big emotions, big stupidly trusting heart, big laugh, big everything.
No more Shrinking Sam.
For anyone, ever.
Chapter 40
EMERSON
Three Weeks Later
“What the actual hell, man?” Adam Bell bursts into my office as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. There he stands, tan and hulking, a little less fit and a little more tired than the last time I saw him. His expression is as exasperated as I am shocked and irritated. I do not tolerate disruptions well.
“What are you doing here?” I snipe the question at him.
“That’s what happens when you won’t answer calls or texts or even emails for weeks and weeks.”
“Ms. Wayne?” I call out to my EA, louder than I mean to, my frustration gnawing at me.
“She’s gone. Your schedule’s been cleared for the day.”
“Ah, wife still wearing the pants, then?” It was a jab I didn’t mean, stemming from anger that has nothing to do with him, not only my college roommate and best friend, but also my boss’s husband.
“Hey, might not want to be an asshole to your only friend in the continental US, dickhead.”
I let out a bitter exhale. He’s mostly right. I have other acquaintances, sure, but Adam is one of maybe three or four friends I have. Period. The best and most beautiful of which I recently pushed away.As I should have.
My chest aches remembering her eyes when I turned to apologize on my way out the door. My hand goes to rub the pain involuntarily. I stare at Adam with a glare that makes most wither, but on him, it’s ineffective. Probably because he’s seen me at my absolute lowest, multiple times.
“You look worse than sewer runoff. Want to tell me what happened?”
I let all the air in my lungs out through my nostrils before responding. “I assume you already know.”
“I know you royally screwed up. That’s the only bit I’m clear on. And since you have been avoiding me, I’m guessing you’re mad at yourself over all of it.”
“All of . . . what?” I ask him, still unsure of what he knows, or thinks he knows.
“You were with Samantha, pretty seriously it sounds like, then dumped her when shit got too real.” I consider what to say in response. His words sting, particularlywith Samanthaanddumped. He continues, as people tend to do if you let the silence settle between you like a layer of dust. It makes others uncomfortable, but not me, as it usually provides my escape from speaking, because others rush in to fill the void. “She was a wreck, didn’t talk to anyone for a week. And, I mean, for her, that’s serious. But she’s doing better now. We thought for a minute you broke her, dude.”
I respond immediately without thinking. “You all underestimate her.” It’s true, they do. Almost everyone does. Coworkers, acquaintances, and even her own damn family. They see the sunny, drop-dead gorgeous exterior, the unabashed friendliness she radiates, but not the brilliant mind and Herculean heart underneath. The depth of her loyalty and selflessness. The depth ofher.
People are idiots.
That’s why I avoid them.
Adam stares at me.
“So you do love her,” he says finally. It’s a heavy question that resurrects the tightness in my chest for a thousand reasons. I want to say yes, but I won’t. I want to ask about her, demand more information, but I won’t.
I am doing the right thing. I am doing the right thing, I am, damn it,I tell myself again and again, as I have nearly one hundred times a day, for the thirty-one days since I saw her last. Since I could eat, think, breathe. Since I could do anything other than adjust numbers in glowing rectangles on a screen. I haven’t even been able to muster weekly phone meetings with the C-suite, hence this unexpected visit.Still, I am doing the right thing.
“You know she’s leaving?” Adam asks, breaking me out of my mental spin cycle.
