“Do you have any idea why she’s doing this to me?” She slumps down on my sofa. But before I can respond, she keeps going. “Because it feels so out of nowhere. She’s saying that I’ve been dropping the ball and making mistakes, and when I asked for examples, she gave me dozens. But, Kate, I don’t remember doing any of the things she’s accusing me of!” Her eyes fill with tears again.
“You know Magda, she gets her mind set on something and it’s hard to change it. She’ll come around,” I say, trying to stick to truthful statements. Hating to lie any more than I already have.
“Can you even handle all this with the wedding coming up? There’s a lot going on with Calvin Klein.”
Fortunately, I’ve already lived this month. I know about the embarrassing typo we miss on that vineyard’s press release; I have a plan for how to correct the major faux pas we make with the powers that be at Whole Foods; and I am going to avoid Magda’s meltdown by not letting us screw up the pitch for the up-and-coming vodka brand like we did last time around.
I nod. “So what will you be doing now?”
“Filing, photocopying, and answering phones! She’s treating me like an intern. Why doesn’t she just fire me?”
Because I didn’t have the balls to wish for that.
“Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing to get back to basics,” I offer. Because I need you spending time in the copy room, not with my fiancé.
“Maybe.” She doesn’t continue her thought, and I see that familiar sparkle in her eye—the one she gets when she’s considering an opinion that’s not her own. It’s a quality that’s helped her secure more than one client as she compromises without losing the upper hand. It’s also a characteristic I’ve been envious of—I could often be shortsighted and stubborn. “I guess I could use a little downtime. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“Oh? Anything you want to talk about?” I ask lightly.
“No, but thank you.” She frowns and strides toward the door, somehow looking even longer and leaner with her new haircut.
“Because I’m always here for you if you need me,” I call after her, wondering if she catches that I’m using her own words to Max.
? ? ?
I walk into Palms Thai a few minutes before six and immediately spot Liam sitting at one of the long wood tables in the back. He holds up a bottle of Singha and smiles and I practically run across the restaurant, both excited to see him and eager for a drink after what feels like the longest day of my life. I slide into the chair next to him without speaking and lay my head against his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me.
“Hi,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“Hi,” I say back and chug half of his beer.
“Rough day?” He smiles, signaling to the waitress that we’d like two more.
“You have no idea,” I say with a sigh.
“What’s going on? You look like hell!”
“Thanks?” I laugh and pick up the menu, Liam watching me with amusement in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” he says, leaning forward.
“I’m going to need a beer and a fried wonton first,” I say as a server passes by with a tray full of barbecued chicken and pad thai, the rich smells making my stomach rumble.
After we order our appetizers, Liam tells me that he just started dating a new girl, a brunette with “legs for days,” he says as he stretches out his arms and I picture the woman he brought to my wedding.
“Pouty lips, porcelain skin, tiny waist,” I murmur.
“How did you know that? You haven’t met her.” He furrows his brow.
“I have—Angie, right? Nice girl, doesn’t say much though. You brought her to my wedding.”
“What are you talking about? You aren’t married yet.”
“Well, that part is true. In fact, I don’t get married at all. Well, not the first time around anyway,” I say after the waitress delivers our wontons and beers. I grab a wonton and dip it in sweet-and-sour sauce as Liam frowns at me.
“Okay, you’re going to have to speak a little bit slower for this country boy because I’m not following what you’re saying,” he says in a mock southern drawl.
“It’s all part of the story you’ll never believe.” I take a drink of my beer.
“Okay. This is getting weird. Start talking.” He points to my mouth as I’m swallowing another bite.
After I tell him the whole story, he stares at me for a full minute before finally speaking.
“Are you shitting me?”
“No—and believe me, I wish I were,” I say as the Elvis impersonator swaggers onto the stage in his tight rhinestone-encrusted white jumpsuit.
“Does Jules know?”
I nod my head.
“And?”
“She believes me,” I say as I pop the last fried wonton into my mouth. “Well, she might have been a bit doubtful at first, but then I wished her a makeover and, well, have you seen her?”
“But Jules did not need a makeover,” Liam says protectively.
“I agree! And it wasn’t anything major. But there are certain things that need a little firming up after you have kids.” I smile.