December Rain (7 page)

“Nah, I’ll make sure it’s got what you need.” He turns to the blender and adds fresh strawberries with coconut cream steadily pouring rum the whole time.

That’s gonna make me drunk. So. Fuck it.
The fruity blend masks the obscene amount of rum and she pulls out her phone.

“Why would you call on vacation? To rub it in?” Monica doesn’t say anything. “You okay hon?” Robin asks.

“No.”

November 27th - Sunday

Monica wakes to the sound of a zipper. Alex has packed his bag and reaches for hers. She watches as he takes each of her dresses out of the closet and rolls them to pack. He lays out her jogging pants and a t-shirt signaling the long flight he must be preparing for. Her heart is ripping with each movement, but he says nothing all the way to the airport. She notices that he’s changed the tickets when they get there and their boarding passes are ready. There’s a surreal quality to him making plans without her. It’s so foreign and upsetting. Monica’s frequent bathroom stops haven’t gone unnoticed, but for once Alex doesn’t want to comfort her nerves.

The take-off is smooth and Monica turns on her iPod while she waits for the drink service. The playlist of island reggae songs that lifted her mood coming to Hawaii now punctuate her pain heading home.
What about our home? Am I leaving? Is he leaving? I don’t think I can stay there. Not without them. I have to stop this.
She looks and sees the restroom light is occupied.
Urgh!

Alex waves his hand to get her attention as the flight attendant stands at the head of the isle. “What would you like dear?” she asks.

“Ginger Ale.”

Alex finally breaks his silence, but she can’t hear with the plugs back in. She rips them out as he says, “I think we should go to therapy tomorrow to let Leslie know our decision. Maybe we can schedule separate sessions after that.”

The statement is firm, backed by a lot of thought that she wants to argue with, but doesn’t.
It wasn’t our decision, it was yours.
As hard as she tries she can’t think of anything to magically change his mind though, short of begging. The more she tries the more pissed off she becomes. Pissed that they tried so hard, pissed that they were so happy a day ago, but above all she’s pissed that he may be right. They might be unfixable.

November 28th - Monday

“Well, I think this is a breakthrough. Finally,” Leslie says.

Can’t believe how smug she looks. Did she know this was going to happen the whole time? Was she rooting for us to fail?

“I know this process is painful,” Leslie says looking at Monica’s reaction. “I am here for you both and will open up the idea of separate sessions.”

Monica looks at Alex.
Fuckin’ smug face. He’s so pleased that he knew she’d say that. Typical. Always trying to win-

“Monica?” Leslie tries to get her attention.

“What?” she snaps.

“Would you like to continue sessions individually?”

“No. I have a personal therapist.”

“Ha!” Alex laughs.

He’s fucking laughing. How can he laugh at anything right now? At me? If he loves me...
She holds back tears. “What’s fuckin’ funny to you?” Monica spits out.

“Nothing,” he answers, cowering into the sofa.

“You have another therapist?” Leslie asks.

“My best friend.”

“Friends are crucial right now. That’s great, but I would suggest that you think about a professional-”

“She is a goddamn professional! She’s a therapist! And she’s a lot more comforting than you!” Monica gets up, grabs her purse and walks out into the hall.

Did that just happen? I really did that?
She looks around the living room.
Now what? Should I wait in the car or in here?
A cat tiptoes past her jingling a tiny bell on his collar.
The car.

She shuts the door softly behind her as she leaves the house.
Can’t believe I did that. Now they’re alone in there talking about me. I hate that.
Monica’s hands tremble as she clicks the alarm button. Her adrenaline is pumping and she’s out of breath. Once she’s behind the wheel she stares back to the house.
How long is he going to stay in there? We’ve only been here ten minutes. He wouldn’t...

Nearly an hour later Alex comes walking towards the car. Monica is furious. Her cheeks are completely flush. Alex gets in and says nothing.
He’s trying not to smile. I can tell. Fucker.
She starts the car and drives home.

“I’ll crash at Jason’s this week, but Lacey will have to stay at the house with you until I get a place,” he says.

And just like that she’s left with the house. A house full of memories from not one, but two loves now lost, and he’s evidently taking the dog too.
Great.

December 2nd - Friday

Every drawer she opens is filled with things she suddenly has to claim or give up. Utensils, dishes, towels, sheets, books, Christmas and Halloween decorations, and even goddamn board games they haven’t played in years all get divvied up. Suddenly their fighting over DVDs and bonsai trees. She knows he’s won the argument over their dog, but she’s blue in the face trying to hang on. Waves of anger precede painful moments alone in a house so full of good memories it suffocates her. She sees Alex in every room and Quinn through every window.

“I’m going to lose my mind if I stay here Robin,” she says on her cell phone. She looks at the garden tools from their basement laid out on the lawn along with plastic tubs of crap from high school.

“I was thinking about that today and I got an idea. I know a guy who’s out of town for a couple months. He’s got a loft downtown. Maybe just through the holidays you could stay there.”

“Can I move in this weekend?”

“I’ll give him a call.

December 4th - Sunday

The air in Los Angeles is turning slightly colder as its lame version of winter settles in. Robin worked out the loft situation and helps Monica load her car with clothes and essentials. Alex has already found a place that he can move with Lacey despite trying to convince him to move back into the house. He doesn’t want to be there any more than she does. The neighbor lady Rosa is dying to know what’s going on. She’s been fussing with her stupid lemon tree all week trying to catch Monica for a chat. By the time Monica and Robin’s cars are full the Christmas lights on Rosa’s house came on, and she comes to the low fence next to the driveway.

“It’s been lovely knowing you Rosa.” Monica smiles trying to find an ounce of sincerity.

“You leaving? What happened? You okay?”

Monica can’t handle the grandma vibe so she looks for Robin who’s still in the house. “I’ll be fine. I gotta go. Thanks for everything.”

Robin comes out of the gate and sees tears. “What did I miss? I was gone for like ten seconds. I had to pee.” Robin notices Rosa ducking into her garage and rolls her eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Come here.” She hugs Monica who’s laughing at herself.

“I’m sorry. It comes in waves.”

“I know. It doesn’t help when fucknut over there gets you worked up. Let’s go see the new pad.”

The new pad is interesting. The loft itself is spacious with huge windows and great view of Los Angeles, but its decor is unique. From the hand stitched couch made from patches of gray and blue denims and tweed to the chevron patterns painted on the walls. It isn’t lacking character that’s for sure, or house plants; there must have been thirty.

“Have you ever seen this place before?”

Robin looks a bit embarrassed. “No. He called it boclectic craftern.” She bursts with laughter. “Certainly fucking interesting, just like Justin. Well there’s certainly nothing here to remind you of home.”

“I take it he’s gay?” Monica points to a large sculpture of a penis in the corner that doubles as a plant holder. They both nearly pee their pants from laughing. “I’m living with a giant penis now.”

“You can thank me later.”

They get Monica’s stuff to the bedroom area and proceed to look through the cupboards with caution. “I’m fucking scared to see what’s in the bathroom.” Robin peeks in. “Oh, this isn’t bad Mon, it’s got a huge tub. One of those modern Kohler types.”

“That’s nice. Is it clean? I’m not going near those big closets.” Monica walks into the bathroom and Robin has the water on.

“I had Carla come over this morning to clean up. You should hop in here and relax and get some sleep. The sheets are clean and there’s water in the fridge.” Monica starts to feel frail in her best friend’s care, not knowing how to thank her. She shakes her head and dives into her arms. “Whoa. It’s going to be okay. I swear it is.”

“I know. You deal with this every day and now you’re getting it outside of work.”

“Never compare yourself to my clients. You hear me? You’re my fucking sister. If you’re hurting, I’m hurting. I’m in this with you.” She sweeps Monica’s hair out of her face and hands her a tissue.

“What do you recommend I do next?”

“Besides get in the goddamn water I’ve got running?” She waits without a response to her rhetorical sass. “Are you going to call Quinn?”

“Hell no! He probably wouldn’t answer my calls anyway... the way I ran from him... twice.” Monica’s voice cracks as every muscle in her face starts hurting.

“I doubt that, but that’s what I’d do.”

“I can’t handle him like this.”

“Okay. Maybe you’re right.”

“I appreciate everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Yes you could. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. I’ll check on you tomorrow okay. You got a lot to do at work?”

“Not really. I’ve got one more episode before we break for the holidays. Same old same old.”

“Good. Routine is good. So is sleep, that’s why I have to go try to pack some cream on these bags and get some Z’s.” She pinches her own cheeks before blowing a kiss.

Monica hears the big metal door click and she follows to latch the deadbolt. She turns towards the huge windows of darkness, feeling exposed and strange. At least there are no windows in the bathroom, just a round skylight unlike anything she’s seen before. She imagines it’s the equivalent of staring up from inside a fishbowl, a really weird fishbowl.

December 17th - Saturday

The pounding at the door is an unwelcome startle that throws Monica nearly off the sofa. She scrambles for her phone to check the time, 8:17 a.m. The music blasting from next door didn’t taper off until after four dropping Monica into a deep coma for the last four hours.
Why would anyone be here?
She gets up and stumbles to the peep hole just as the pounding resumes.

“Monica get your ass up and answer this…”

She jerks it open. “What? Why are you here this early?”

“Oh. Good fucking morning to you too. I see you’re as charming as ever.” Robin pushes her way inside and assesses the apartment. Most of Monica’s things are still in boxes and it is obvious that she’s spent most of her time on the sofa for the last two weeks.

“I don’t like drop-ins. You know that.”

“First… I am not a drop-in. And second...” She snatches the empty bag of corn puffs and crinkles it into a ball. “You can’t keep this up. Shutting yourself in here, wallowing. I’ve been trying to call you for days and I know you were here yesterday when I was downstairs with the crazy doorman. You have friends who care about you, ya know?”

“Why is that plural? Only you know what’s going on.”

“Well…not anymore.” Robin looks a little afraid as she continues cleaning towards the kitchen.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t really
do
anything. It just kinda happened.”

Monica is still as she goes through possible scenarios in her head. “You told Tristan?” The daggers aimed at Robin are sharp. Robin’s eyes drop as she adds another glass to the pile of dishes in her hands. “You told Tristan about the divorce? You didn’t tell her I had an affair right? Please tell me you didn’t tell her my shit!”

“She had suspicions anyway and started asking questions, tons of fuckin’ questions-”

“Since when can you
not
flip the script? You don’t even like Tristan anymore, why would you talk to her?”

“That’s not true.” Robin points her finger like it’s a sword. “There wasn’t any way to avoid it. Bitch kept calling me over and over. She’s relentless, you know that.”

“Oh Please! You said yourself that she’s had an attitude since she got married. Tristan’s the last person I’d ever talk to about this. She’s so judgmental. I don’t need it right now!”

“Well, too bad. We’re going up there so pack a bag.”

Monica’s hip shifts with the tilt of the head. “You’re not serious.”