“Where?”
“Bar at Marais? You probably missed your fancypants martinis.”
“Not really,” I said glumly.
“Damn, you are depressed. I’ll text Claire.”
“OK. Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course!”
“Can you call Georgia Valentini and tell her I had to come home suddenly but I’ll be in touch tomorrow? I’ll forward her contact information.” I couldn’t bear to talk to her.
“Consider it done. Now go get a massage or something. A mani-pedi. Or a blowout! Those always perk you up.”
“I’ll be fine. Maybe I’m just tired.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ll take a nap and see you after work.”
We hung up, and I messaged her Georgia’s number before tossing my phone aside. I didn’t want a massage or a manicure or a blowout. None of those things would make me feel better, and in fact it kind of made me feel shallow and vain that I was the sort of person who regularly enjoyed those luxuries. Why didn’t I use my resources for more meaningful things? What was I even doing with my life? How was I contributing to the greater good? Millions of people lived in poverty and I did nothing to help them! No wonder no one loved me!
I curled into a ball, knees tucked under my chest, butt in the air. “I’m a terrible, useless person,” I moaned into my pillow. “My life has no purpose.”
Eventually I got hungry, so I went downstairs to find something to eat, but even the contents of my fridge depressed me—suspicious cheese, expired milk, a jar of pickles, rotting lemons, mysterious takeout containers—and the freezer contained only ice cubes, a bottle of gin, and some frozen meals for one that spoke of my sad single status and inability to cook. “This is my life,” I said as clouds of cold air billowed out. “Gin, loneliness, and Lean Cuisine.” Sorta sounded like a country song.
In the pantry I managed to find a box of crackers that had probably been left over from a cocktail party in 2014, and I ate them while sitting on the kitchen floor. They were stale and tasteless. I sniffed at the cheese and decided I wasn’t that desperate, so I ate the entire jar of pickles instead. After that, I went back to bed and hid under the covers, where I eventually fell asleep.
I woke to the ring of my phone around five. Georgia Valentini calling. Chewing on my lower lip, I debated taking it. Could I fake cheerful well enough to fool her? Old Margot wouldn’t have thought twice. Was she still inside me somewhere?
I did my best to summon her. “Hello?”
“Oh, Margot, hi. I thought I’d get your voicemail. Your business partner called a bit ago and said you had a family emergency. I hope everything is OK.” Georgia sounded concerned, and I felt guilty about the lie.
“Yes, everything’s fine. It turned out to be no big deal.” Just my own existential crisis.
“Glad to hear it. I just wanted to tell you how grateful we are that you took the time to come here and jumpstart our efforts at marketing more effectively. You did your research, came prepared, got to know us, and really delivered.”
“Thanks.”
“And you inspired us to get moving on our restaurant dream, too. Even if the Oliver place doesn’t work out for us, we’re motivated to keep pushing toward it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Any news on the house?”
“Nothing too encouraging,” she said. “But we’re getting some estimates on what it would take to renovate the place, and Brad’s helping us come up with a plan to apply for a business loan.”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you.”
“I appreciate that, thanks.” She paused for a minute. “Margot, I hope it’s not out of line to ask if you’re OK? You sound different.”
I sighed. “I’m OK. I mean, I’ll be OK. I guess.”
She laughed sympathetically. “That does not sound good.”
“I just…got my hopes up about something I shouldn’t have.”
“I understand.” A few seconds went by. “Margot, he’s sad too.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?” Georgia sounded genuinely surprised.
“Because he’s the one who broke things off. He doesn’t want me. Not enough, anyway.”
She sighed exasperatedly. “He does, though. I can see it. He’s just so damn stubborn.”
“Anyway,” I said, “it’s done. And it’s what he wanted.”
“I’m sorry, Margot. I really wish things were different.”
“Me too.” I needed to hang up before I started bawling again. “Bye.”