The room is quiet. Even that ridiculous sunshine, the piercing light that greets me most mornings, seems subdued today.
A small voice, quiet and subtle and frequently ignored, whispers in my ear and I don’t want to listen to it, but I have a feeling it’s right.
Things are different somehow. Something happened, between dinner at Dory’s and Jane pulling out of my driveway in her own car. It didn’t involve the students we saw. It didn’t involve the drive to my house. I don’t know what it was, what it is, but as I stare at my phone, waiting for her to call, I know she won’t.
But I don’t know why.
28
Jane
“So you’re ignoring him?”
“I am not ignoring him.” I roll my eyes. Penelope continues spritzing her collection of orchids and herbs on her deck, back towards me.
“He has left you two messages, and knocked on your door-”
“I think he knocked on my door,” I interrupt, wishing I had never told her that.
“Of course it was him. No one else knocks.” She peers at me over the thick black rim of her glasses which, I know for a fact, she only wears for fun. The lenses are plain glass. “So, why are you ignoring him?”
“He’s going to L.A.”
“Son of a bitch,” she slams the watering can down on the deck plants her hands on her hips. It takes me a minute to realize she’s joking.
“I mean-”
“How dare that asshole visit his friends. Or conduct business. Or travel at all.”
“Very funny, Pen.”
“I say we kill him.”
This time I do roll my eyes in front of her, glad she can see me do it.
“I think we need a break.”
“Ok, Rachel Green.”
“Look-”
“You know what you’re doing, right?”
I stop. “What?”
She stands there, hemp skirt, bare feet, lilacs woven in her hair. Cat fur sprinkled across her crocheted top. She would look ridiculous if she weren’t so goddamn perceptive, and possessed of some magic skill that makes everything she wears look amazing. Honestly, the woman could dress herself in a garbage bag and work a runway.
“What?” I repeat myself.
“You’re pushing him away.”
“I am not,” I huff. “I’m just…taking time.”
“Have you told him you need to take some time?”
“No…”
“Huh. Weird. Because he’s about to fly across the country for a week or more, which would lead one to think that this would be the perfect time to let him know you need a bit of space. Quite logical, actually. Your schedules work perfectly.” She returns to watering her plants. “All you have to do is return his call. Or pick up when he calls. Or,” she sends me a withering look over her shoulder, “not hide in your house when he knocks on your door.”
“It might not have been him.”
“If it hadn’t been him, you would have opened the door.” She fixes me with a pointed look and I know she’s right.
Damn.
“It’s just…things are moving fast.”
She nods.
“And it feels…like a lot,” I continue.
She nods.
“So, I think a bit of time apart is the prudent thing to do.”
She nods.
“I’m being very sensible,” I practically shout.
“Have you told him any of this?”
“Well-”
“Then it’s all bullshit.” She stares at me. I open my mouth to defend myself, but she continues. “If you felt things were moving too quickly, or you genuinely needed some time to think, you would tell him that. You would make yourself clear. You love to make yourself clear.”
I open my mouth again, but she continues. “But you didn’t. So everything you just said is bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I sulk.
“It is,” she points her watering can at me and it feels like a weapon. “It’s bullshit and you know it. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?”
“You’re running away,” she shakes her head, “like a little bitch.”
“I am not a little bitch!”
“You are right now. Refusing to return calls, not answering doors, ignoring your fella’s attempts to get in contact with you, not being honest and open with your feelings?” Penelope shakes her head in disgust. “That is what a little bitch does. A tiny, tiny bitch.”
“Who’s a little bitch?”
I hear Kate’s voice behind me as she approaches the deck.
“Me, apparently,” I open the gate for her and she climbs the stairs two at a time, heels in hand, Brooks Brothers blazer over her arm.
“How can you dress like that in the summer?” Penelope asks as she pulls out a deck chair.
“Because mergers and acquisitions sometimes happen in warm weather,” Kate smiles, seating herself in the chair, back straight and elbows on each armrest, and for a minute, I am convinced she was Cleopatra in a past life. Or Queen Victoria. She looks at me, “Why are you being a little bitch, Jane?”
“She’s being rude to her boyfriend,” Penelope mutters.
Kate’s eyebrows lift.
“That’s just it though,” I pull at the hem of my shirt, oddly self-conscious on this subject, even in front of my friends, “he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Fine, ‘partner,’ whatever,” Penelope shrugs.
“No, none of that. Nothing. We’ve never discussed that. That’s the issue. I’m not being a little bitch. I’m being sensible and collecting myself, so I don’t get too carried away.”
“Uh,” Kate points a finger at me. “I’ve seen you two together. It’s a little late to try and avoid getting carried away.”
“Exactly.” I look down, hands in my lap. Penelope and Kate are silent. Waiting. I sigh. “I’m already carried away.”
I look up. They’re still silent. Kate glances at Penelope. Penelope shrugs.
“Don’t you get it?”
Still silent.
“I’m in love,” I grit out, my jaw tense. “I’m in love with a movie star.”
Penelope glances at Kate. Kate shrugs.
“Jesus you two. Don’t you get it?” This time, I do shout.
“Clearly not,” Kate folds her hands in her lap, elbows balanced on the arm rest, back straight. I feel a twinge of sympathy for anyone who is on the other side of that table, when she does her mergers and acquisitions. Poor bastards don’t stand a chance.
“What’s the big deal?” Penelope places the watering can on the deck floor, and picks up her
