“What’s wrong with you?”
Heather shrugs. “I don’t know. I have no filter. My dad is a no-bullshit kind of guy, and he doesn’t tolerate any filter at home, so I’m a bitch.” She laughs, but it’s a bitter one. “But the ironic thing is that he dates these...babies who talk like babies and act like babies and everything that comes out of their mouths is fake and childish, but it’s me that he hates. I’m doing this whole thing to show him that I’m exactly what he made me.”
Jesus, that sounded awful. I sit down.
“So it’s guy trouble,” she muses.
I nod slowly. “Yes. It’s guy trouble.” She makes a winding motion with her hand. I heave a sigh. “I have a guy friend, and he was angry I’d been seeing Matty.”
She interrupts. “Can we have names or identifying marks?”
“Identifying marks?” I query.
“Yeah, like this one guy I slept with had a mole on his neck so I’d call him Spot and this other guy I slept with had a square head so I’d call him Frank.”
“Short for Frankenstein?” I guess.
“Exactly. So you have Matt and who?”
“JR. Or Ace. Everyone calls him Ace. Ace and I have been friends for a long time. He just busts out with the friend-zone accusation when he finds out I’ve been sleeping with Matty. But Matty apparently can’t keep his hands to himself. Ace took pictures of Matty being drunk and handsy with another girl.”
The latter accusation is a bit unfair to Matty, but there’s a ring of truth to it. I don’t trust him. I never really did, looking back. When he said he was falling for me, I was too afraid to give him the same reply in return, even though I knew I was under his spell from the minute he tossed me the aspirin packet.
Still, I know he didn’t exactly cheat on me, and even though he’s not here, I’m impelled to clarify things. “Okay, that’s not fair. He didn’t cheat on me. He was drunk and another girl kissed him. Pictures were taken and I felt like a fool when I saw them.”
She tips her head to one side and then the other, as if assessing the quality of my reasoning. “Are you saying he didn’t respect you?”
I think about it. “No. It’s really his life. He’s super attractive. He’s literally one of those guys that every man wants to be and every woman wants to be with. When he goes out to a bar, women are all over him. And even if he tells them he’s taken, they still push themselves on him, hoping to convince him otherwise.”
“How is that his problem? I mean, other than he can do a better job of projecting his ‘taken’ status.”
I shake my head. “It’s not his problem,” I admit. “It’s mine. I told him it was my problem.”
“So you didn’t break up with him because of anything he did. You broke up with him because you’re weaksauce.” Heather chops me down to my knees with a few matter-of-fact words.
But she’s not wrong. “Yes.”
She shrugs fatalistically. “So you’re weak. At least you admit it.”
It’s the ugliest description I’ve ever had applied to me, but I can’t dismiss it. It’s the truth. I didn’t believe in myself more than I didn’t believe in Matty.
“Your lack of confidence is why you can’t do a closing. You know that, right?” she prods.
“Yes, I know that.” I can’t do a closing because my throat shuts down. “It’s a version of stage fright.”
“Which you could overcome if you actually believed a little bit in yourself. Take it from me. If you don’t believe in yourself, no one will. Think I’m standing here because my dad’s a big supporter? Hell no. He wanted me to marry one of his junior partners.” My mouth drops open in shock. “Yeah, your hero, Paul Bell, is a real asshole misogynist. So if I did what my dad always wanted, I’d be married, with two kids, no education, wondering which strand of pearls I should choke myself with before my husband comes home smelling like his secretary. I believe I’m better than that. Better than most people, frankly.”
She reaches under the chair and pulls out my backpack. “You’d be a lot better in everything if you said, ‘Fuck what anyone else thinks of me,’ and just do whatever the hell you want.”
“I don’t operate that way.” The words sound like sanctimonious bullshit the minute they leave my mouth. “Fuck, okay.” I scrub two hands down my face, but the scorn on Heather’s expression doesn’t change. “I know I lack confidence and that’s why I don’t do closings. I stick to the stuff I am good at. That’s not being a coward.”
“So knowing you’re chickenshit is a good excuse? I’d rather suck at something and keep trying than just quit.”
I lose it. I jump to my feet and point an accusing finger at her. “I am not a quitter. I stuck with this team even after I crashed and burned. I have never quit on anyone.”
“Oh really? I bet Matty would disagree.” She throws the backpack into my chest.
34
Matty