When Girlfriends Break Hearts (15 page)

“I know you’re going through a lot of pain right now and this certainly hasn’t been easy to digest. But you’re not the only one who’s hurting from all of it. Robin feels horrible about everything and she’s very sorry.”

“Well, she hasn’t tried to apologize. Hasn’t tried to come running back…like you.”
As if that will help anything,
I thought.

“She’s too afraid. You made it quite clear to her that you didn’t want to see her ever again. She’s trying to respect your space. She doesn’t want to make you feel any worse, so that’s why she hasn’t tried to reach you.

“And that’s why I’m here. One of the reasons. I’m sorry for hurting you. For keeping this all a secret. Look, she asked me to see you and tell you that she’s very sorry. That she wants to make amends somehow. She knows it might take time to trust again, but she wants to give it a try. She loves you, Sophie. She doesn’t want to lose you.”

I heard everything she was saying, but I wasn’t willing to digest it or understand it. And I was not about to accept it.

“And I’m here because I don’t want to lose you either.” Lara reached out and I shrugged away. Her face saddened. “I’m just trying to help fix things. You know what I think of all of our friendships. I’d never want to see any of us come to hate each other.”

Lara, perhaps as our camp counselor freshman year, or because she was older than most of us at twenty-eight, an MBA in-hand and a career that was definitely going somewhere, was always heralded as a bit of the glue that held everyone together. She was sort of the resident leader of the pack. Lara was the person who would scramble to fix our broken relationships.
 
We often teased her for being so damn maternal, and this particular occasion was no different. Except at this point I wouldn’t
tease
her for her maternal actions, rather
chide
her.

“All I’m asking is that you consider—just
consider
—talking to Robin. And consider accepting my apology. I didn’t mean to hurt you, girl. I was literally caught between a rock and hard place. I mean, what was I supposed to do?”
 

She heaved a heavy sigh and set her hands on her hips in a discerning way. “I love you and all the girls. But when Robin told me what she’d done and then made me swear that I wouldn’t say anything…because she didn’t want to hurt you…I felt like I acted the best way I could….
 

“I didn’t want to betray Robin’s trust and what she’d done had been eating away at her. She felt like I was all she had. She couldn’t go to you and she didn’t want to tell any of the other girls. I was the only one she told and I couldn’t leave her out in the cold. Not when she really felt absolute remorse.” Lara searched my face for a response. My stare was blank.

“Robin and I are
very
sorry. If we could take it all back we would. But we
can’t
. So that’s why I’m here. Let’s not lose friendships that mean so much to us, Sophie.”

“I’ve been through a lot of horrible crap lately.” My voice had registered back to calm and even. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I certainly didn’t want to lose Robin, either. Or Brandon. But what all of you have done is just…just…it’s just unforgivable.”
 

My voice quickly started to quake and in an effort to bite back the tears I raised it, letting anger overpower remorse or pain or, God forbid, vulnerability. “I can’t even stand to look at you, Lara! Every time I do…every time I even
think
about any of you…I get sick. I get angry all over and I just
hate
what happened. Hate, hate,
hate
it! And I can’t have that kind of influence in my life. Those kind of things…people…who make me so angry all over and inside. I can’t have it. I can’t.” I shook my head. “And now I want you to leave.”

“Sophie…”
 

“Please go.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Sophie.” Lara’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’ll come around and we can put this all behind us.” She headed toward the front door.

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll leave it up to hope, then.” She smiled meekly and opened the door to let herself out.

“Hey, Lara,” I called before she left.

She turned around, a small spark of excitement in her eyes.

“Don’t hope too much.” My voice was cold—and it made me feel good. “There’s no hope left. It’s done.”

Lara’s eyes met the floor. And without so much as another look, another word, another breath, she left.

Chapter Fifteen

Why isn’t there some kind of an instant remedy or a ten-step program or a four-week-long intensive class for learning how to get over a broken heart? To learn how to start over? Why does time have to heal all wounds? Why do the wounds even have to happen? Alright, well since they obviously do, why isn’t there a simple fix-it solution? How could a girl just accept (like Lara so stupidly suggested) that two of her best friends stabbed her in the back and her boyfriend cheated on her? How could she pick up the pieces and move on? Could she try
to make amends? Should amends even be made?
 

These were the questions incessantly plaguing me as I tossed and turned during the nights, as I frosted cakes, as I whisked tempura batter, as I stood under the steaming hot water of the shower for countless minutes that felt like hours. The pain wasn’t getting
that
much easier to manage. I still felt so hollowed out.
 

And during the rare moments when I thought that I was starting to feel relief the pain would resurface, completely take over my mind, and I would sink back into depression. It felt great when Claire and I would take a walk together through the park, or when we’d cuddle on the sofa for a favorite television show or movie. I would take a moment to notice what a great friend I had in her and be so happy and so thankful—then I’d remember Robin and Lara and all of the pain would resurface. I’d realize that I couldn’t do this with them—sit together cozily on the sofa and girl-talk and simply be best of girlfriends.
 

I actually considered seeing a therapist but the price tag of Pamela’s recommended shrink made me consider otherwise. I visited the Father at a nearby Catholic church I attended now and then, mostly out of the “Creastor” tradition and in small efforts to please my parents, who made sure they went to Mass at least once a month, for good measure. I entered into a small, and seriously pitiful, confession and that made me feel even worse. No amount of “Hail Marys” was going to fix this demise.

I downloaded a couple of “make you feel better” reads onto my Kindle—two self-help books that involved getting over heartbreak, and a Nicholas Sparks book. Unfortunately, these didn’t seem to be doing the trick, either. Accepting apologies and moving toward forgiveness was the general recommendation of the authors, and that’s not what I wanted to hear. And Nicholas Sparks just made me cry, and I wasn’t exactly in search of a good tear-jerker. I had enough of that with my life.

Yoga was the closest thing to relief I could find. It was a great way for me to escape from the pain, at least temporarily. Did I realize I was only shoveling all my emotion into yoga, and that some point it’d all come hurtling back? Actually, I sort of did. But I didn’t care. For now it was working, it was healthy for the mind and body, and it ensured that I got myself out of the house and away doing something other than work, sleeping, crying, and no doubt complaining to Claire about how much life sucked.
 

I was certain Claire was slowly becoming drained and at some point her empathy would turn into apathy. The clock was ticking. But I figured I’d leave everything that yoga couldn’t take care of to good old Father Time and try to shove my problems behind me. Time would heal—that was a given—and this adage had been proven time and time again throughout the course of hate-and-love history. I despised how slowly it moved, though.
 

Yet I knew that eventually an appropriate amount of time would pass and I’d forget all about Brandon. And I’d get used to life without Robin as “one of the girls,” and Lara, too. All I had to do was wait. Right? Wait patiently, as recommended. In the meantime, I’d shuffle through the pain with batches of homemade cupcakes with my best friend and cycles of yoga sessions.

***

I was surprisingly chipper as I walked into yoga class. Work had gone well and all of our goals at the kitchen had been reached in a timely manner—the work week seemed to be shaping up rather nicely. Oliver and I were really hitting a great rhythm together. We whipped up and iced batch after batch of red velvet and key lime cupcakes, and I even managed some time to test out a new strawberry-kiwi icing I wanted to make.

As far as the goings-on on the home front, I hadn’t heard from Lara since the face-to-face blowout a couple of days before, and right now I felt great. I didn’t feel badly about what I had said. It actually felt rather liberating to tell her precisely how I felt. And I hoped Robin, when Lara relayed everything, felt like a horrible person and friend all over again.
 

There were a few small moments when I did feel grim about the prospect of no longer having Lara in my life. Losing Robin was tough, not to mention Brandon, but adding
another
close friend to the list was a bit of a blow. Lara had always been a dear friend. We had been through a lot together and I loved her, just like I loved Robin.
 

Lara was the girl that I—all of us, in fact—could turn to when we needed some motherly advice or encouragement. She was the friend that was always
there.
Right up there with Claire. I could trust her implicitly. That whole camp counselor role in college stuck with her over the years…or maybe that’s because first impressions always resonate deepest, and Lara completely fit the bill of a caring and compassionate “mom-type.”
 

If there was one thing Lara perfected it was reliability. You could always turn to her in a pinch, which is probably why (aside from their very close bond) Robin confided in her about the affair right away. She had strong character and a kind and open heart; and the value she placed on true friendship and the importance of close friends was of excellent merit. When I needed to whine about how I would never see my business dreams come true, she was there to forward me helpful “tips to opening a small business” links online. When Claire and I wanted to crash her place so we could hang out like old times, Lara’s door was always open. When Emily needed a favor while she was out of town, Lara could always be counted on. When Jackie needed some extra cash or a ride home from some guy’s place, Lara never hesitated. When Robin needed Lara’s trust, she was right there to keep her secret.
 

In the seven years Lara and I had known each other, never had injustice or hurt been inflicted like this. We were great friends for seven years
because
nothing like this impeded our relationship. Now that everything had happened I didn’t see a reason to continue a friendship. Besides, how could something new and true be built on something broken? These thoughts made me feel forlorn, especially when I recalled the happy memories among us…all us girls together…and then between Brandon and me. Thinking about the good times sank me into a small pit of the despair that I had become well-acquainted with. But then I’d think back on why I no longer wished for the three of these traitors to be in my life and my sadness turned, yet again, to anger. And then I’d push the anger aside and say to myself,
Time will heal. Moving on!
It was such a vicious,
vicious
cycle.

***

When I entered the yoga studio that rainy evening, heading toward the rack of mats to prepare for class, I caught the silence and general discomfort that loomed in the air. The aura was definitely not that of yoga or Pilates, and it definitely was far from the atmosphere of meditation class.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to a fellow classmate, Sarah.
 

Sarah shook her head, eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Pamela started crying and we’re all wondering what’s going on. She’s in the restroom.”

I checked the wall clock. It read five minutes to class time. Crying aside, this was highly unlike Pamela. She was a timely lady and could always be found on her mat or in the studio a good ten minutes before class commenced, giggling and chatting away with the students.

“Is she okay?” I asked. “I mean, did something happen here?”

Sarah didn’t have any more answers; like the rest of the class.

A few minutes later, Pamela emerged from the bathroom and entered the studio.

“Hi, ladies,” she said in a small voice. She had a tissue in her hand and dabbed at her nose. “Sorry about that.” She took her place near her mat at the front, but didn’t assume her usual position to begin class. Instead, she stood a few paces in front of her mat, and made a quick hand motion for us to gather around. Confused, looking to and from one another, we ambled forth.

Pamela brought the tissue to her nose again. As I neared, cautiously and concerned, I noticed fresh tear drops cascade down her soft, lightly wrinkled cheeks. She brought her tissue up to her eyes and wiped at them.

“Pamela, dear,” one of the older ladies said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Pamela reached into her pants pocket for another tissue. Immediately I started to tear up. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Pamela sniffled back the tears…wiped at them on her cheeks…blotted at her eyes…but they kept coming. She let out a soft whine, like that of a small child in pain. She spoke softly, carefully, and her words stung. They stung more than the terrifying words that Brandon had said to me, more than the deceitful words of Robin, and more than those of Lara.

“I have cancer,” she breathed.

Silence.
 

Not a single word.

Not a single breath.

Goosebumps prickled my arms. My legs. My fingers and toes felt numb.