disappointing. The winner of the best costume category is a poodle with a laconic grin who goes by “Pawl Newman.” Second place goes to a weiner dog in a sparkly jumpsuit and a ginger wig who the owner would have us believe is Elton John. I leave thinking that Ziggy was robbed.
I head back to the office to start writing up the piece, wondering if this is it for me. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my days writing articles that nobody will read until I eventually retire to become a childless, angry cat lady? There has to be more than this.
During the day, I text my best friend, Clara Fitzgerald, to update her on the latest in my love life. She tries to call me several times during the day, but I don’t answer. When I finish work at five-thirty on the dot, I call her back.
“Finally!” she groans. “I was beginning to worry about you.”
“Sorry. It’s just been a busy day.” I fish a chocolate bar out of my purse and start munching on it on my way to the subway.
“I can’t believe Grant. What an absolute pig.”
“I know.” I sigh. “Look, I’m going to lose you in the subway soon. Can I call you later?”
“No need!” Clara says brightly. “I’m on my way over to your place now.”
“Clara …”
I really don’t feel like company tonight. It’s Friday, which means there will be a movie on TV and I can be as hungover as I want in the morning. There’s a bottle of wine on the rack that Grant’s boss got us for our engagement that we were supposed to wait until the wedding to drink. That bad boy’s getting cracked. I’ve also got a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer. My evening is set.
“Oh—I’m losing you,” Clara hisses into the phone. “Can’t—cutting out.”
“Clara!”
“See—soon!”
She hangs up and I curse under my breath. Clara is very kind, and wise, and unbelievably forgiving, but she’s also the pushiest person I’ve ever met. She seeks to control everything in her environment, which I know is something that has come out of two hard years of sobriety but still frustrates me sometimes.
Still, I guess it will be nice to spend some quality time with my best friend. I’ll need to move out of Grant’s apartment soon, so it could be fun to do a little damage to it.
Clara is waiting in front of my building when I get home. She is holding two big shopping bags and bounds up to me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. One of the bags smacks against my spine.
“Ouch,” I complain. “What is that? A bag of bricks?”
Clara chuckles. “Just you wait.”
We head up to the apartment and Clara sets the bags on the kitchen island, then throws herself across the sofa. Her mass of golden curls spills over the armrest and she tilts her head back to look at me.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
I sigh and slump into the armchair opposite. “Weird.”
“Maybe a little free?”
“Nope. Just weird.” My head lolls to the side and I meet her gaze. “We had a plan, Clara. Grant and I had a plan. After we got married, we were going to travel, and then we were going to start our family. Grant wanted a girl first, but I wanted a boy, a little fella I could dress up as a sailor and teach to always be polite. He’d be the kind of kid that would call adults ‘ma’am’ and ‘mister,’ and everyone would fawn over how cute he was.”
“Were you planning to have a child in the 1950s?” she asks skeptically.
I frown. “Well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
“You can still have all that,” Clara says. “You’re only twenty-six. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and it’s better to start fresh now than spend the rest of your life tied to a man who was never going to put you first.”
“You’re right.” I look back to the ceiling. “I’m just scared to start over.”
“If life didn’t scare you, it wouldn’t be worth living.”
“I’m sure that will be comforting in a couple of weeks, but at the moment, I just …” I look over at her. “I don’t know. I’m hurt.”
Clara sits up, green eyes twinkling with something I can only describe as mischief. “You know what I hear when you say that?”
“What?”
“That you need a distraction,” she says. “Let’s go out tonight.”