What a Girl Needs (12 page)

“Is this seat taken?”

I look up and see Seth standing over the table, with his hand possessively on the chair. I stand up. “I was just leaving. Feel free.”

“Ashley, I just wanted to finish our conversation.”

“You never wanted to finish a conversation when we were dating.”

“So you’re still mad at me.”

“I’m not. I don’t even think about you, Seth. You’re married. I’m married. This isn’t appropriate on any level.” Isn’t it ironic that the only person who wants to spill secrets with me is Seth Greenwood?

He stands in front of me and blocks my path. “I need your help, Ashley. We’re friends. Why would I come to see you at Kay’s house last night?”

“Um, the free meal didn’t have anything to do with it?” I mean, really, am I supposed to believe that Arin has become a chef all of a sudden? All Arin ever did was prance around in her tiny jeans, and travel on someone else’s dime under the guise of being a missionary. But even with those qualifications, she doesn’t deserve her husband chasing down his ex, looking for advice. That, no doubt, he won’t follow anyway.

“I came to dinner to see you. That’s why we were invited. That’s why I came.”

“Seth, we haven’t spoken since my wedding. I would say more aptly that we
were
friends and it’s just as well that we keep it that way.”

“Why are you here, Ashley? Why did you come home?” His incredible eyes, which are aquamarine, and haven’t changed a bit in their intensity, stare me down. “If everything is so wonderful in your marriage, then why are you here all by yourself? In Silicon Valley of all places?”

“I’m asking myself the same question, at the moment. I can assure you, I’m not escaping anything, other than my lack of employment. My mom and dad are here, my best friends are here. There are lots of reasons to be in Silicon Valley.”

I wish I could say I’m unfazed by his presence, but I’m not. I see how easily he controlled my feelings, when logically, I knew exactly who he was. Inherently, even back then I understood on some level that he would continue to break my heart. Yet, still I had run back towards him for the leftover scraps I got before he married Arin.
I was as dumb as a brick.

It still haunts me.

Now I want to shop, and Seth’s bald head seems to light up—like the apparent shopping trigger it is for me, a recovering shopaholic. All those times that I agonized over a pair of the perfect shoes, it was avoiding the hard truth, that Seth would never love me. The perfect pair of shoes changed nothing. To him, I was a worn-out pair of Crocs—he’d never see the Christian Louboutin in me.

Hindsight really is 20-20
.

“You’re telling me everything is perfect with you and the good doctor?”

“Everything is wonderful in my marriage, and even if it wasn’t, I’d deal with the issues with my husband. I wouldn’t be talking to my ex-boyfriend about it. Excuse me.” I try to pass him again and he blocks me once more. When I was dating Seth, I practically had to chase him down and beat him with a stick to get his attention – now I can’t shake him.

“That’s what you consider me? Your ex-boyfriend. That’s all? Ash, we had years of friendship. Years. We were there for each other, and now I need help.”

Ah, the guilt. I almost break down – I’m not without a heart.

I sigh, grab my coffee and take a swig. “Actually, it’s more accurate to say that I was there for you. You haven’t changed a bit, Seth. You want someone else to fix this for you, but you’re just going to have to do the work.”

“I want your advice, that’s all. I want you to talk to Arin and tell her how lucky she is to be at home with Toby.”

“I don’t know if she’s lucky to be home with Toby. I certainly don’t feel lucky to be home with Rhett.”

“Rhett’s a dog.” He only remembers that because he bought Rhett for me – showed up at my doorstep with a wild liability who eats me out of house and home. Not that I’m complaining because Rhett is always there for me, but the point is still the same. He doesn’t consider others in his decisions.

“I feel underutilized at home without kids. Maybe Arin needs more. I get that you don’t like to deal in emotion, but you can’t avoid it forever in marriage. You’re going to have to deal with it, or someone else will.”

His face contorts and I know I’ve hit some sort of truth center within him.

“Ever dramatizing things. Life is not a soap opera, Ashley. I want Arin to stay home with our children and in your mind, she’s cheating on me?”

I ignore his ridiculous accusation.
I will not engage. I will not engage
. “You and Arin have to work it out. There is no shortcut. There is no third party in marriage, other than God. Figure out why your wife’s unhappy and help her.”

“I wouldn’t have married her if I’d known how she felt about me.”

Baloney
. I shake my head with how easily Seth revisits history. Not only would he have married her, he may have chained her down to make sure it was official.

“I’m thinking of embarking on a second career as a ballerina.” I put my coffee cup down and lift my arms above my head and pose in fifth position. If Seth won’t listen, I will get his attention.

“Ashley, what are you doing?” Seth looks around him. “Put your arms down.”

“Ballet!” I allow my handbag to fall off my shoulder onto the table. “I need more room if I’m going to spin – do you mind?”

“People are staring.” He presses my arms down and I reach for my handbag again.

“I just wanted you to remember how you really felt about me. I seem to remember you saying that I didn’t need you, but Arin did. Well—” I raise my arms again. “Remember, Arin will never do ballet in public.”

“Sometimes, I really wonder what’s wrong with you,” he says.

“I know, and here’s the beauty part. Kevin never does.”

I should feel guilty, but Seth knew how I felt about him. He felt no compunction whatsoever to marry me or to let me go completely. He strung me along for years, and when Arin strutted in, he acted as if I were invisible and should simply know to get lost. He dropped me like last year’s technology when pregnant Arin needed a husband.

That’s not true.

I have compassion for him, though I saw his future—and I’m no psychic. He was just too proud to listen to anyone, and there are consequences to pride. I just pray his children don’t pay the price. Is it wrong to feel just the slightest tinge of justice here? It probably is.

“I have to go, Seth.” I stand up and drain my coffee with all its bug-fighting bacteria. I smash the cup in my hand and toss it in the overflowing garbage can.

He tugs at my shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew that she was using me.”

“Seth, I’m not having this conversation.”

Seth looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, and I suppose, speaking in emotional terms, I am speaking a foreign language. “You spoiled me, Ashley. You didn’t question my every motive.”

Uh, because I was too afraid you’d run
.
Arin didn’t care.

He always did have some way of pulling me in and making his problems, mine. My cell phone trills and I look down to see Kevin’s name. I suddenly feel incredibly guilty.

“Kevin,” I say in a whispery voice. “I’m at my old coffee shop,” I blurt, and turn away from Seth. “I ran into Seth here.”

“Seth Greenwood?” Kevin asks me.

I stare at my ex, as if he’s the enemy for putting me in this awkward situation. “The very same.”

“How are he and Arin doing?”

“They’re expecting!”

“I know that. It seems as if the entire world is expecting.” I hear the drop in his voice, the reality that our lives are on hold while he finishes his fellowship.

“Did Emily arrive?” I try to keep the villain out of my voice when asking the question, but let’s face it, Cruella De Ville has nothing on plotting when it comes to my sister-in-law.

“She did. That’s why I’m calling. She wanted to know if it was okay to use some of your make-up. She left hers at home.”

How convenient. Let me translate. Emily left her Maybelline at home, and now must sacrifice and borrow my Laura Mercier and Nars that I struggled to pay for. Why am I not surprised? “Sure,” I say to my own detriment. “She’s free to use anything she likes. I’ll pick up some more at Nordstrom while I’m here.” Granted, I know this strikes the fear of God into my husband – me going to Nordstrom.

He ignores my veiled threat. “Can I talk to Seth for a minute, Ashley?”

I stare into those familiar aquamarine eyes. “You want to talk to Seth?”

“Yes, please,” he says. “I just want to speak to him for a second.”

I hesitate, and then hand the phone to my balding ex. “Kevin wants to talk to you.”

He reaches for the phone eagerly. There’s a bunch of back and forth and I strain to hear the contents, but I can’t make out a word Kevin is saying. Seth is nodding, occasionally offering an affirmative reply. “Did you know your wife is taking up ballet? She’s doing it here in the coffee shop!”

It seems like an eternity before Seth hands me back my phone.

“Kevin?”

“Call me later. I’m working late again, but don’t worry, Emily is home with Rhett. Your baby is fine.” He pauses. “Please stop doing ballet in public. I’m sure it has something to do with wanting to ditch Seth, but Ash? You’re no dancer.”

“Rude.”

“Emily promised to take Rhett for a walk.”

No doubt, in full make-up.

“All right.”

“Ashley?”

“Yeah.”

“I may not be reachable for a few days.”

“Wait, what?”

Kevin hangs up before he answers me.

Seth stares at me, blinking several times like a lizard in direct sunlight.

“What was that all about?” I ask him.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to run.” He moves so quickly, he knocks the chair back with a loud clang onto the tile floor. And he leaves. Just like that. I don’t know what Kevin said to him, but it’s clearly a skill I need to learn. It’s clearly more effective than public ballet.

‡

I
called a
taxi from the coffee shop. Who knew they had taxis in Silicon Valley? Well, Google apparently, because that’s how I figured it out. I was under the assumption that when you moved to Silicon Valley, you inherently purchased a Prius, Leaf or Tesla and that was the end of it. Public transportation is virtually non-existent, although fancy Apple and Google busses are readily available. If you’re employed, they’re going to make sure you’re getting to work—even if you don’t have the compulsory hybrid.

The taxi driver is Sikh and he’s wearing a turban. He’s listening to foreign music that lights up some Pavlovian part of my brain and I suddenly feel as if I’m getting dropped off at some outdoor marketplace. He’s extremely polite when he plugs the address into his GPS, but after that, he doesn’t say a word until we reach my destination, so I’m left to ponder how America misses out on all the great outdoor Bazaars in lieu of malls.

“Thank you,” I tell him as we get to Brea’s mom’s house. I double the fare to make up for the short ride.

He takes the money and hands me a card. “You call if you need a pick-up.”

“I will, thank you.”

As I stand on the sidewalk and stare at Brea’s childhood home, it occurs to me how often I’ve avoided my best friend’s mother. The house is a two-story, blue Colonial with white shutters and birch trees lining the circular drive. In other words, everything is picture-perfect…until you enter and understand how Mrs. Browning’s iron-fisted control keeps it that way.

I ring the doorbell and wait. I can hear Brea’s boys inside, so I know she’s in there, but the quick harsh steps on the marble entry tell me that her mother will answer the door. And I will cower.

Mrs. Browning swings open the door and glares down at me from atop her pointy nose. Seriously?
Why do mean people always have pointy noses?
Which comes first, the nose or the mean? Mrs. Browning always scared me, as she never thought I was a good influence on her daughter.

Let’s be honest, we weren’t a good influence on
each other
.

It takes Mrs. Browning a minute to comprehend me at her doorstep. “Ashley, is that you? Whatever did you do to your hair? It looks ghastly. You’re married to a doctor, looking like that?”

“Uh, thank you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Mrs. Browning. I came to see Brea.” I avoid adding
duh
. She always kept me waiting out on the front stoop, as if my very presence in her home would pollute its purity and sully her good name.

“It’s kind of early for a social call, isn’t it?”

A social call? I suppose she wants me to leave my calling card and return when she’s accepting visitors. “It’s three hours earlier than my time, so I guess I haven’t quite adjusted yet. I assume Brea would be up with the boys.”

“Well, she is, but—” Somehow, I feel like if Brea were in San Quentin, it might be easier to get in to see her. Mrs. Browning opens the door reluctantly. “Have a seat. I’ll fetch her,” she says wearily, and I’m actually shocked I’ve been invited into the great sanctuary, rather than left to ponder my worth on the front porch.