“A glass of water sounds great.”
I pour my soup into a bowl and get a glass of water for Eric and carry both out of the kitchen. Eric is sitting back on the sofa, his arm stretched along the top and his ankle resting on his knee. I hand him his water and then take the opposite side with my soup bowl.
“We can sit at the table,” he offers, gesturing to my bowl.
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ve been eating most of my meals here anyway.” I point to the TV with my spoon. He’s already caught me wearing pajamas at this hour, so the jig is up. “So?” I say and then dip my spoon into my soup and blow on it to cool.
Taking the hint, Eric says, “So why am I here?”
I nod and then put the spoon in my mouth.
“Sorry to come over unannounced. Like I said, I had called and emailed marketing stuff, but since you said you were going to be back and I didn’t hear from you, I thought I’d come by.”
“I’m so sorry about that. I haven’t been checking my email or voicemail since I got back. I know that’s irresponsible.” I don’t want to repeat my lie about not feeling well, so I hope he makes the connection. “How did you know my address?”
“It was on your resume.” He looks a little sheepish. “Sorry if that sounds stalker-ish. I guess I was excited to get started with a marketing plan. But I don’t want to bother you when you’re sick.” He looks at me more closely. “So what’s wrong with you?”
“Uhhh. …”
He’s looking at me earnestly and seems genuinely concerned, so I shake my head and come clean. “Sorry. I haven’t been feeling great, but not because I’m sick. Frankly, I’ve just been depressed and hiding out from the world.” Wow, saying that felt good. Maybe there is something to this being yourself and not worrying about what others think.
He nods. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve been there myself and it’s no fun.”
I nod back and then look down at my pajamas. They’re not even cute like Olivia Pope’s satin sets with cashmere sweater wraps that look like they can be an outfit. These are back-of-the-drawer-red-plaid-I’m-a-lumberjack flannels since I don’t have anything else that’s clean. “Though entertaining in my PJs might be a new low for me. I can go change.”
“Don’t change on my account. Where’s the joy in being depressed if you can’t wear jammies?”
I laugh.
“Not to sound unsympathetic, but … it’s just a job.” He looks at me intently. “You’re more than your job, you know.”
“I know.” Now I feel even more pathetic in his eyes and want to tell him everything. I take a deep breath and set my soup bowl down on the coffee table. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. Would you like some?”
“Oh?” His eyes widen a little and he straightens up from his relaxed position. “Sure, why not? I have no place to be. Brian is closing tonight.”
I head back to the kitchen where I take out two wineglasses from the cupboard. “Can I help?” Eric asks from the sofa.
“I got it,” I say as I twist the cork out of the Syrah and then bring the bottle and glasses to the coffee table. “It’s nice to be able to offer you a free drink for once.”
He laughs. “Though I did bring you some free cookies.”
“Oh! The bag! I forgot!” I look at it on the table. “Thank you so much.”
“They’re a vegan, gluten-free oatmeal raisin. Something basic and familiar, but healthier. But I don’t think they’ll go well with wine, so you can let me know another time.”
“Sounds delicious.” I’ve already filled both our glasses. “To vegan oatmeal cookies.” I lift my glass up and take a sip.
Eric does the same, then asks, “Have you been doing more cooking lately?”
I shake my head no. “Since I’ve been back I’ve been pretty unmotivated. And since cooking would require energy, I’ve been living on delivery.”
“Hey, come on. You’ll figure out this career stuff. And in the meantime, I can really use your help.” He gives me a nervous smile. “Unless, you’ve changed your mind?”
“Or unless you’ve changed yours since I’ve been incommunicado.” I take a deep breath. “It’s not just the job that’s put me over the edge. It’s actually kind of everything.”
“I have a glass of wine in my hand, so if you want to tell me about it, I’m not going anywhere.”
I do want to tell him. “So the day I got fired, I came home and Neil was waiting for me.”
Eric cocks his head. “Neil?”
“My fiancé. Well, ex-fiancé.”
“Oh!” His eyes widen with surprise and interest.
“I walked in, and, before I could even tell him that I’d just been fired, he tells me that he’s calling off the wedding because he’s in love with my maid of honor.”
Poor Eric looks speechless, but recovers a second before I have the common sense to feel embarrassed about unloading on him. “Whoa! The bastard. Was he cheating?”
I nod. “Yep. They’d been having an affair behind my back. So the shock of losing my career of twelve years and my boyfriend of five years along with one of my best friends was just too much. It just felt like everything I worked hard for and believed in and loved all disappeared in one day.”
“Oh, Allison, I’m sorry. That’s a terrible story. I want to hug you, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to prey on your vulnerability or something.”
“Ha! Don’t worry. It’s the hug thought that counts.” Though I could desperately use a physical hug, even I can admit it’d be weird right now.
“I have to say, I was kinda wondering what your story was. When you first came into the shop, you were wearing a pretty nice-sized rock. But then I noticed that you haven’t been wearing it, which could mean many things—it’s being cleaned or repaired, or that you were no longer engaged—and it seemed too personal a question to ask.”
“I actually didn’t take it off right away. I couldn’t. I was blindsided and taking it off meant admitting that had really happened.” I frown.
“I never would’ve guessed because you always seem fine. You just seem like one of those people who have it together … um, until today.” His eyes run over my pajamas.
“Well, I thought I was handling it pretty well, but then …” I take a big gulp of my wine. Am I going to spill the entire truth? Might as well. “So this trip coincided with what was supposed to be my wedding day. I wanted to be anywhere but here. But then the rat bastard posts on Facebook—on what is supposed to be our wedding day—that he and my ex-maid of honor are in a relationship and she’s pregnant.”
“Oh my god!” Eric sets down his glass and puts up both his palms to his cheeks in horror. He’s better than a girlfriend, and it feels good to tell him this. “That. Is. Insane.”
“I know! And the whole reason we held off on getting engaged, etcetera, was because he wasn’t sure about kids. I was sure about having kids from the get-go and then I stayed with someone who wasn’t. But now I know that’s because he wasn’t sure about me.”