When Girlfriends Step Up (13 page)

Sophie gave Brandon Lara’s address for where he could send his checks (I’d be surprised if anything ever arrived), and I shut myself into the car. It was time to leave. Sophie had come to do what she felt was necessary. I’d said everything I’d needed to say to Brandon. It was time to go home.

I watched as Sophie said something low and brief to Brandon up close, then came some inaudible response from him, followed by a swift slap across his face. Sophie shouted some more obscenities, probably rightly deserved, before jogging her way back to the car.

“And I mean it!” Sophie shouted, right before she got in and started to roll out of the neighborhood.

After a painstakingly long silence, I said, “Thanks, Sophie.”

She blurted out, “Why thank me? You didn’t want any part of this scene I made.”

“Thank you for your support. For your friendship. It’s really admirable how you’re trying to help.”

“Yeah, well,” she said gruffly. She turned on her window wipers as a light rain developed. “He deserved it. And I think I needed it, too. Selfish bastard.”

“You did what you had to for both of us. For all three of us.” I rubbed my nonexistent bump of a belly. “And we should both be over him. Through with him. He’s gone and out of our lives now, save for a few checks that I
doubt
I’ll ever see…he’s gone now, Sophie.”

She nodded emphatically and added, “That’s for sure. He’s moving to New York. Before the end of the year. Says he found a new and better job and is moving. No looking back kind of thing, I guess.” She looked at me. “Probably for the better, huh?”

“Definitely,” I said, still rubbing my stomach. “Definitely for the best here. So, what did you tell him?” I was madly curious. “And what a slap! What ever for?” I’d nearly forgotten the last-minute blow she sailed his way.

She laughed a loud, solid sound. “He said a few choice words. Called you something I didn’t appreciate. Anyway, I told him that if he ever came near you or any of us,
especially
your baby, that I’d come after him and tear him apart.”

“What, with some mobsters you’ve befriended?” It did sound kind of funny.

“Oh, I’d find a way to hit him where it hurt. We were together for three years, Robin. I’d figure something out. I don’t think any of us have to worry about him, though. He’s leaving for New York and he’s getting out of our lives completely. Like you said, he’s gone now.”

“Fresh start.”

“Yeah, fresh start for everyone.”

I found myself smiling slightly, and not because Brandon was not only steering clear of our lives and moving across the country, as far as he could possibly go within the continental US. I smiled because Sophie was right. It was a fresh start for everyone. A new chapter. And I was actually looking forward to it. Really looking forward to it, as daunting as parts of it might be.

“What do you say to a gelato and a brief shopping run downtown?” Sophie said, upbeat. “There’s a new baby store I saw open up a few weeks ago. I bet we could find little Robin Junior something super cute. My treat.”

Chapter Eight

Moving day had arrived, and it was all hands on deck! I didn’t have that much to begin with, as my apartment was as small as they come, so packing my personal effects was no great task. Lara helped orchestrate an online sale of most of the furniture that I no longer wanted and didn’t need. A lot of the stuff was pretty shabby—stuff I’d never replaced from my college days. Lara’s apartment was exquisitely furnished, and her hardwood floors and immaculate kitchen with granite countertops and all stainless steel appliances, didn’t need a ratty coffee table like mine around. We did keep a few things that I didn’t want to let go of or that we actually found a use for, but most of my furniture had either been sold or donated and was in the process of being hauled on out. Slowly the apartment I’d called home for four years was emptying out. A small wave of nostalgia overcame me as I stared at the area where my bed had once been, the carpet beneath a brighter (and cleaner) shade.
 

God, how many nights did I spend in that bed cramming for tests? Or how many nights did the girls and I spend in this room together…in this apartment together…

 
“You sure this is everything?” Claire asked, picking up a small box from my bedroom and snapping me out of my nostalgia. “Doesn’t look like all that much.”

“Lara’s helped me get rid of a ton of stuff. Just personal things are left, really. Clothes, shoes, books…” I did a sweeping three-sixty of the bedroom. “Not that much stuff, nope.”

Claire wiped some sweat from her brow with her shoulder. “It’s effing hot. I’m glad we’ve got the boys to help with the heavy stuff.”

Seattle graced us with a particularly warm June day, and no level on the air conditioning unit could keep any of us cool enough with all the moving going on. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t keep from having what I swore were hot flashes. I took a sip of the lemonade I’d whipped up (four gallons worth) before the helpful crew of movers arrived.

“Ow,” I moaned, rubbing at my forehead. “Damn brain freeze.” I read somewhere either online or in my baby book that sometimes pregnant women would experience bouts of strange bodily reactions, such as night sweats, a sudden outbreak of goose bumps, and, yes, brain freezes. “It’s not even that cold.” The heat was melting the ice fast.

Sophie came in to retrieve yet another box as Claire made her way out with another.
 

“And you’re sure this is all you have?” Sophie asked, surveying the room and its few remaining boxes.

“My goodness, yes,” I said, chuckling. “I don’t have all that much.”

Sophie shrugged, now holding a box that contained many of my paintbrushes, watercolors, and various other art supplies.

“Careful with that one, doll. That one’s got my treasures.”

Sophie read the label
ART SUPPLIES
written in bold, black letters on its side and said, “So how’s that going? Still painting and sketching like your usual self? Any masterpieces yet?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t think so.” I followed Sophie out to one of the cars, carrying a very small box myself. The girls, and Conner and Chad, who had also offered to help me move, insisted that I not carry anything that weighed more than ten pounds. And even then, Sophie said that I should consider making my weight limit five pounds “to be safe.” I told them they were overreacting. It wasn’t like I was about to burst or anything. I still wasn’t even showing. But then Lara popped in with a stern warning that Dr. Buschardi had told us that the first trimester was the most dicey of times in a pregnancy. “You could miscarry if you’re not careful,” the doctor had said. “When you clear your first trimester your rate of miscarrying decreases significantly.”
 

“Well I’m pretty much done with my first trimester,” I’d told Sophie. “Actually this weekend marks my moving on into the second one. And boy have the cravings already hit!”
 

It didn’t matter, though. I was not to lift anything more than five pounds, and the girls would make sure of it.

“Looks like this is the last one for this car,” Conner said, taking the box from Claire and arranging it in her Corolla.

“And that’s the last for this baby,” Chad said, taking the box from Sophie’s clutch and setting it in the trunk of her compact car.

Everyone had pitched in, bringing over their cars and trucks, and spending their entire Saturday helping me move to Lara’s.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, stretching out my back. “I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”

Jackie came up beside me and started to massage my lower back. “You didn’t lift something too heavy, did you?” Her tone was scolding, and I told her not to overreact. It was the expected cramping and general discomfort that comes with being pregnant.

We finished loading Lara’s car with some more boxes, and utilized every inch of space in both Conner’s and Chad’s large trucks. Then we made our way for the second time from my old University District neighborhood to the adjacent neighborhood of Wallingford, where Lara lived. Where my new home was!

Wallingford was an old working-class part of town that is now a very pleasant district. It has some interesting bookstores, DIY-style and thrift stores, coffee shops, and inexpensive eateries. Wallingford is as much a “real” neighborhood as you can get. It still has some old-fashioned hardware and handy and supply stores, even some ruggedly handsome and quaint pubs and espresso shops. It’s mostly a residential part of Seattle, much like Claire and Conner’s neighborhood of Madison Park, and is very quiet and serene with next to no traffic. It would be the perfect location to have a newborn and start raising a baby. And Lara’s snazzy apartment would be like high living. Granted we’d soon be three living under one roof best suited for two and Lara’s cat, but we’d make it work. It’d be a substantial improvement from my place.

“Who’s up for some burgers?” Chad asked, getting out of his massive truck once we arrived at my new home. “We could unload Sophie’s roller skate and then you girls could go for a burger run?” He looked over at Sophie, who was rolling her eyes.

“It’s an
economically-
and
ecologically-
sized car,” Sophie defended. “Unlike that monster of a gas guzzler you have. Who needs such a big truck like that anyway? Overcompensating for something, are we?”

Sophie had asked for it; she should have known better. Naturally, Chad had a smooth one coming: “You of all people should know that’s not true, Sophie baby.”

Conner made a low and drawn out groan, followed by a whistle that said, “Burn! He got you good!” He clapped Chad on the back.

“Whatever,” Sophie said, tossing her silky, long, brunette ponytail behind her. “It’s still a ridiculous vehicle.”

“Hey, that truck’s helping make this move go quickly,” I reminded her. If it weren’t for Chad’s large truck, and Conner’s, too, we would be looking at a few more carloads. And in this heat I didn’t even want to consider such a possibility.

“Got a point there,” Jackie added, lighting up a cigarette and making sure she stood several yards away and downwind from me. The first time she’d lit up around me post-pregnancy news all of the girls had practically screamed admonitions at her. Jackie made a motion with her hand, silently asking me if she was far enough away. I gave her a smile and a thumbs up that she was fine.

“Oh, you know you like it,” Chad teased Sophie, who was looking in the opposite direction, clearly not wanting to carry on a discussion with him. “Besides, it comes in handy when I need to transport a big canvas. Not to mention it hauls mom and dad’s boat, the kayaks… Which I
know
you enjoy riding.”

“Big canvases, eh?” Sophie said. “I didn’t know you were selling your art literally by the truckload.”

Here we go. A Sophie-Chad banter session. All out this time.

Sometimes, you could practically cut the sexual tension, or the “I really can’t stand you” attitude, with a knife. I wasn’t sure which way the discussion was trending, but the lot of us watched and snickered as it unfolded.

“Actually, yeah,” Chad defended. “I
did
sell a painting the other week. And it
was
a large canvas, thank you very much.”

Chad was an aspiring artist, but not like myself. I enjoyed painting and sketching as a hobby, and nothing more. Any so-called masterpieces that I created were for my and my close friends’ pleasure alone. I had no desire to try to make it big with my art, and I didn’t even care to sell a piece. It was strictly a hobby for me; that is, unless it was graphic art and I was designing book covers. That was a different medium entirely, though.

Chad, however, worked in the marketing field in some ritzy Downtown office building by day, and by night and all other spare hours he was a fledgling artist. Actually, he was quite good, so fledgling is probably the wrong word; he was
aspiring
. And his work had promise. Real promise. He’d sold a few paintings over the years and seemed eager to make a full-time go at it at some point. I didn’t understand why he didn’t quit his day job and try it out, seeing how his dad was some IT big shot millionaire who had a mansion on a hill. If I were Chad, I’d probably bounce on the whole trust fund baby way of life.

Hmm, spend most of my time working a job when I could spend all of my time painting and doing what I love…

“How about those burgers?” Conner interrupted the ribbing. He, like the rest of us, didn’t want to stand under the blazing sun watching a back-and-forth between Sophie and Chad all afternoon.

“Fine, unload my
car
then, Chad, and we’ll go pick something up,” Sophie said, opening her trunk.
 

“God. Someone needs to get laid,” Jackie said to me after she stamped out her cigarette and started to tote a blanket and some pillows off to Lara’s apartment.

“Yeah,” I said, helping her out. “You, right?”

***

Lara’s apartment was slowly beginning to look like a bomb had gone off, with everything disorganized and boxes haphazardly placed in my new room. Lara’s poor little cat, Beebee, took cover under Lara’s bed when we had started lugging in the boxes, and she hadn’t moved since. Once the last box had been set on the kitchen counter, the boys decided it was time to head out.

“We’re going to hit a few balls,” Conner said to Claire, motioning towards Chad, “before it gets dark. Meet you back at the house later tonight?” Conner and Claire kissed each other goodbye, and I thanked the guys again for all of their help.

“Think nothing of it,” Chad called out before he left. “Oh, and congratulations, Robin. You’ll make a great mom.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophie shake her head. Apparently a little of Chad could go a long way.

“Thank you, all of you, for the help, girls,” I said when the guys were gone. “And thank you, Lara, for letting me do this.”

“Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “This is going to be awesome. We’re going to have so much fun raising little baby X together. And how fun will it be to set up the baby’s stuff in your room? It’ll be a little cramped but—”