Read Online How to Look Happy by Stacey Wiedower - Free Book Online
Authors: Stacey Wiedower
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Carrie’s up to tonight. Chances are she has plans with David, but I haven’t actually talked to her today, so I’m not sure. Usually I’d have some type of plan on a Friday night with Jeremy, and I’m trying really hard not to dwell on the fact that I’m suddenly single, with nothing at all to do and nothing big and exciting to look forward to—like a wedding.
As Carr’s voicemail message starts to play, I’m musing over the fact that one week earlier, I was on top of the world. I’d scored a coup by landing Brewster as a client, I was on track for partnership in my firm (according to rumor, at least), and I had a fiancé who’d just been named one of the city’s hottest bachelors.
And I had integrity.
And a dog.
At that last thought, my heart thumps in an aching jolt. Simon.
How is it even possible for so much change to take place in seven days? It’s enough to make me want to crawl into my bed, sleep for a week, and pray that when I wake up the world is right again. I feel off-balance, like I’ve lost some essential element in my makeup that holds the air particles around me in place.
I’ve been lucky up to this point, I guess. And I guess at some point, everybody’s luck runs out. I hear the beep on the other end of the phone call and try to make my voice sound peppier than I feel—or at least, to not sound as strange as the thoughts kicking around in my head. “Um, hey, Carr. I’m just now leaving work. Had a little, um, situation to take care of at the office. I think I’m going out in Cooper-Young tonight. I might call and see if Rachael’s up for meeting me. Amelia’s not in town, is she?” I pause. “Anyway, if you’re not busy, call me, and maybe we can meet up.”
I click the button to hang up, but I’m pretty sure I was already sighing before the message cut off. I feel bad for making Carrie feel bad for me because I know she will take on my pain. Carrie is one of the most empathetic, selfless, caring people I’ve known in my entire life.
Sure enough, I haven’t even parked the car in Cooper-Young before my cricket ringtone blares out from my car’s speakers.
“Hey, Carr,” I say, clicking to put her on speaker while I crane my neck to check for cars as I parallel park. I can’t believe I’ve found a free spot this time of night on a weekend.
“Hey,” she answers in a loud voice, and I hear clangs and clatters and voices in the background of the call.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Café 1912,” she says. “I had that dinner with the spice people, remember?”
At first that sentence doesn’t even make sense, but then I vaguely recall a conversation about a new client she’s trying to land for her firm, some family-run herbs and spices company, if I’m remembering right. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life in the past few days that I don’t know what’s happening in anybody else’s. The thought piles guilt on top of my depression.
I really should be a mother, I think. I’ve got the mom-guilt thing down pat.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, feeling even more deflated. “How come you’re answering my call then?”
“Well, they actually just left. I just came out of the ladies’ room, and I’m about to go to my car.”
“Are you meeting David after?”
“No, David’s in Boston this weekend for some cooking demonstration. If I hadn’t had this meeting, I’d have gone with him.”
“Yeesh. I hope it was a good meeting then.”
“It was,” she says. “I presented the initial strategy, and they’re signing on with us. We have another meeting to sign the contract set for next week.”
Carrie’s been kicking ass and taking names ever since she was promoted to creative director at her firm last summer. I’m super proud of her, especially since she had major self-doubt about the promotion. Another friend of ours, Amelia Wright (or Mel, for short) used to be in Carrie’s role, but she lives in Texas now with her husband. Lately, though, she’s been
As Carr’s voicemail message starts to play, I’m musing over the fact that one week earlier, I was on top of the world. I’d scored a coup by landing Brewster as a client, I was on track for partnership in my firm (according to rumor, at least), and I had a fiancé who’d just been named one of the city’s hottest bachelors.
And I had integrity.
And a dog.
At that last thought, my heart thumps in an aching jolt. Simon.
How is it even possible for so much change to take place in seven days? It’s enough to make me want to crawl into my bed, sleep for a week, and pray that when I wake up the world is right again. I feel off-balance, like I’ve lost some essential element in my makeup that holds the air particles around me in place.
I’ve been lucky up to this point, I guess. And I guess at some point, everybody’s luck runs out. I hear the beep on the other end of the phone call and try to make my voice sound peppier than I feel—or at least, to not sound as strange as the thoughts kicking around in my head. “Um, hey, Carr. I’m just now leaving work. Had a little, um, situation to take care of at the office. I think I’m going out in Cooper-Young tonight. I might call and see if Rachael’s up for meeting me. Amelia’s not in town, is she?” I pause. “Anyway, if you’re not busy, call me, and maybe we can meet up.”
I click the button to hang up, but I’m pretty sure I was already sighing before the message cut off. I feel bad for making Carrie feel bad for me because I know she will take on my pain. Carrie is one of the most empathetic, selfless, caring people I’ve known in my entire life.
Sure enough, I haven’t even parked the car in Cooper-Young before my cricket ringtone blares out from my car’s speakers.
“Hey, Carr,” I say, clicking to put her on speaker while I crane my neck to check for cars as I parallel park. I can’t believe I’ve found a free spot this time of night on a weekend.
“Hey,” she answers in a loud voice, and I hear clangs and clatters and voices in the background of the call.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Café 1912,” she says. “I had that dinner with the spice people, remember?”
At first that sentence doesn’t even make sense, but then I vaguely recall a conversation about a new client she’s trying to land for her firm, some family-run herbs and spices company, if I’m remembering right. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life in the past few days that I don’t know what’s happening in anybody else’s. The thought piles guilt on top of my depression.
I really should be a mother, I think. I’ve got the mom-guilt thing down pat.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, feeling even more deflated. “How come you’re answering my call then?”
“Well, they actually just left. I just came out of the ladies’ room, and I’m about to go to my car.”
“Are you meeting David after?”
“No, David’s in Boston this weekend for some cooking demonstration. If I hadn’t had this meeting, I’d have gone with him.”
“Yeesh. I hope it was a good meeting then.”
“It was,” she says. “I presented the initial strategy, and they’re signing on with us. We have another meeting to sign the contract set for next week.”
Carrie’s been kicking ass and taking names ever since she was promoted to creative director at her firm last summer. I’m super proud of her, especially since she had major self-doubt about the promotion. Another friend of ours, Amelia Wright (or Mel, for short) used to be in Carrie’s role, but she lives in Texas now with her husband. Lately, though, she’s been
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