A State of Jane (17 page)

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

I wanted her to tell me I'd done the right thing. Bob was my first love, but not my
great
love. I wanted her to tell me it would be OK. “Is Dad there?”

“Yes, it's late though. He's in bed.”

I heard my father say, “I'll take it” in the background and then, “Hiya Pumpkin” into the phone.

My voice quivering, I said, “Hi Daddy.”

“Crazy news about Bob, huh?”

Not as crazy as going to a bar by yourself and accepting a pity drink from a guy in an ugly shirt.
“Yup.”

“Between you and me, munchkin, he's making a mistake.” Whispering, he said, “No one should get married before thirty. We'll get you on partnership track and then you can focus on getting married. Don't tell your mother.”

A small smile escaping, I said, “Sounds like a plan.”

“Bob wasn't the one for you anyway. I'd prefer you choose a guy who is shorter than your old man for one.”

“I'll do my best, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. Now go to bed and have some sweet dreams.”

“Will do. Night.”

After we hung up, I searched for Bob's number on my phone. I had my finger on the “send” button, but hesitated. I glanced at my clock radio. It was almost midnight. Too late to call an ex. Even if it
was
to congratulate him for his engagement. I put the phone down, removed my jeans and sweater and got into bed. I stared at the ceiling, thinking I should probably get up and brush my teeth. I turned onto my stomach, my head pressed into the pillow. I could hear my mom's voice urging me to at least wash off my make-up. I replayed in my mind the moment I knew Bob and I were no longer in love -- when he told the story of how we got together for the umpteenth time and instead of laughing and looking up at him longingly, I made a quick getaway to the lady's room and splashed cold water on my face. It was my decision to break up, but he didn't fight me on it. Would he have fought for Trish? And if so, was it because she was the
right
girl? Or was Trish simply the type of girl men fought for while I was the type of girl men left without looking back?

I went into the kitchen and removed a large stock pot from the cabinet above the sink. Then I removed bacon, onions, garlic, celery, and scallions from the refrigerator and made potato leek soup from scratch. I knew trying to fall asleep was pointless, and this way at least Lainie and I would have dinner for the next few nights.

C
HAPTER
30

I stared at my computer screen where I had typed “Hi Bob” in the text of a new email. I pressed the delete button until the screen was blank. I couldn't congratulate him in an email. Especially since he had called me personally to break the news.

I took a deep breath, placed a hand over my rapidly beating heart, and picked up my work phone. As it rang, I silently prayed for voicemail.

“You've reached Bob.”

I mouthed “thank you” to my office ceiling and waited for the beep.

“Hello?”

“Ba, Bob?”

“Nope. Just Bob,” he said laughing.

“I thought it was your voicemail,” I said in dread.

“Nope, I'm here. Hey Jane.”

“Uh, hi.” Remembering the point of my call, I said, “Congratulations! My mom told me!”

“Thanks! I figured you were out last night with one of your new boyfriends.”

Nope, just Tacky Shirt Guy, Yellow Teeth Dude, and
their
girlfriends
.
“Ha ha. Yes, I was out. Sorry I got home too late to call you back.”

“No problem. Thanks for calling.”

“Of course.” I scooped a handful of paper clips from the holder on my desk and began separating the large ones into a separate compartment. “So, uh, you guys must be super stoked. Send my congrats to Trish.”

“I will. We're gonna have an engagement party.”

Great.
“Great!”

“Did your mom tell you how I proposed?”

“No. Tell me!”
Or better yet, don't.

Speaking quickly and enthusiastically, Bob said, “I told Trish I needed new cuff-links and asked her to help me pick them out. I had already asked the jeweler to place the engagement ring in the center of the container with the cuff-links. When the jeweler asked if I wanted to take a closer look at any of them, I gestured to the ring, and when he gave it to me, I got down on one knee and proposed.”

I bit my lip to stop it from trembling and said, “Wow.” I tried to form other words but gave up and said, “Wow” again.

“Yeah, it was legendary,” Bob said proudly.

“Epic,” I agreed.

“Anyway, thanks for calling Jane. Wish I had more time to talk but I'm slammed and we have dinner with both sets of parents tonight.”

“OK, I'll let you go. Congratulations again.”

After we hung up, I stared at the phone and ignored the tears making their way from my eyes down to my chin.

“Jane? Are you OK?”

I absently looked over at Andrew, who was wide-eyed with concern. “No,” I said. I had completely forgotten he was in the room.

“What's wrong?”

Wiping my eyes, I swallowed back my tears and said, “Nothing.” But the tears were stronger than my resolve not to shed them and I had to get out of there fast. I calmly stood up, straightened out my skirt, and walked out of the office. I looked both ways and certain no one was in the hallway, ran to the bathroom.

Alone in the stall, I stood up and banged my head repeatedly against the door in frustration. In between gasps for air, I softly cried, “What's wrong with me? Why doesn't anyone want me? Why? Why? Why?” until someone joined me in the bathroom and I willed myself to keep quiet. I waited patiently, biting my lip again to keep
silent while my bathroom buddy did her thing. I stood still while she washed her hands and it wasn't until I heard the door of the bathroom close that I finally opened the door of my stall and walked to the sink. My face was blotchy like I got a bad sunburn and my eyes and lips were swollen. Since I didn't have any makeup to apply, I lightly tapped on my cheeks, hoping the swelling would go away and I removed the excess makeup from the corners of my eyes. I hoped Andrew had taken his lunch hour so I'd be alone in the office to compose myself.

He hadn't. He had pulled his chair closer to my desk and was reading Christopher Moore's book,
Island of the Sequined Love Nun
. I stood next to him and coughed until he looked up.

“Can I help you, Andrew?”

Andrew dropped the book in his lap and pursed his lips. His head was cocked to the side and he was looking at me strangely. Finally, he said, “Nope. But if you tell me why you've crying, I might be able to help you.”

I walked around his chair and sat down in mine. I was locked out of my computer so while I re-inserted my password, I told him, “Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, I thought you hated me.”

“I don't hate you, Jane. You've just been, well…” Andrew sighed, “…acting strange lately.”

Still unable to look at him, I continued to focus on my computer screen. “Strange how?”

“Not yourself.”

Finally, I faced him. “Being myself has gotten me nowhere! At least Frances was having fun!”

“Frances?” Andrew shook his head. “Strange. See what I mean?”

“If you must know, I was trying to do what you said. Nail ‘em and leave ‘em. And it was working.”

Andrew started laughing and a film of red blanketed his face. “Really?”

I felt my own face get warm as I clarified my previous statement. “Well, not nail ‘em, exactly. Just that one time. But, you know, not care so much. Make them see how it feels to be discarded like last night's leftovers!”

“I'd love to hear about that one time!” Standing up, Andrew said, “First things first. I'm starving. Let's go out to lunch — Cafe Europa. You can get one of those ‘make-your-own-salads’ you girls cream over.”

I rolled my eyes but laughed anyway. “Nice, Andrew.”

Andrew gestured to the door. “Coming?”

I grabbed my pocket-book from behind my chair and said, “Coming”.

Twenty minutes later, Andrew and I were seated at a table in Cafe Europa. I was eating a mixed green salad with tomato, cucumbers, carrots, mushrooms, chicken, and some blue cheese and Thousand Island dressing to add some actual taste. Andrew was eating a buffalo chicken wrap, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and drinking a can of Dr. Pepper. As I observed him swallow half of his wrap in three bites, I marveled at how some people could eat whatever they wanted and not get fat, while even when I religiously worked out five times a week and starved myself on salad, I still had to wear Spanx and lie on my back to zip up my size 8 jeans. If I was PMS-ing, forget about it. Sure, I could nix the blue cheese and substitute fat-free dressing but I'd probably not fit into a size 6 anyway and, instead, would be miserable, hungry and wind up with my head in a bag of mini Three Musketeers bars three hours later. So I was stuck with my, in online dating terms, “about average” body.

I waited until Andrew finished chewing and said, “So my ex got engaged.”

Andrew placed his soda can down and pushed his plate to the center of the table signifying he was finished. “Ahh. So
that's
what the tears are about.”

“Not really. I don't want him back or anything.”

Andrew nodded. “You just didn't want him to move on before you.”

“Exactly. I always thought I'd get married first. I'm so ready. He's so immature! Like a little boy!” I looked down at the remnants of my salad. I couldn't decide if I was finished eating.

“Men are boys ‘til the day they die, Jane. Doesn't mean they're not capable of getting married and having kids.”

I looked up at his last words. “Kids? Don't even go there. I couldn't take it if he had kids while I…”

“While you what, Jane?” Andrew held my gaze as if willing me to try to turn away.

I reluctantly answered, “Didn't even have a boyfriend!”

“You're not gonna get a boyfriend if you play with guys' feelings like you've been doing,” Andrew said matter-of-factly.

I slammed my fist on the table. “That's what you told me to do!”

Andrew shook his head. “That's not what I told you to do.”

In disbelief, I looked at Andrew, feeling my eyes bulge out of my head. “You told me to nail ‘em and leave ‘em!”

Still shaking his head adamantly, he said, “I meant you should stop taking it all so seriously and not think of every guy as ‘the one.’”

“No. That's what my sister said. You told me to, and I repeat for all the kids watching at home, nail ‘em and leave ‘em.”

Andrew raised his chin defiantly. “You're preaching to the perverted, babe, and I stand by that advice. But I didn't mean you should purposely play with a guy's feelings to build your own ego. Let's face it, that's the only reason you pretended to be interested in Brandon and Don.”

“I wasn't pretending on purpose, Andrew! Besides, why do guys get to play with my feelings, but I can't play with theirs? Kind of a double standard, don't you think?”

“The guys who have played with your feelings were jerks, Jane. You deserve better than guys like them.” Andrew stacked my tray on top of his and stood up. “At least you did deserve better until you decided to play their game.”

As Andrew walked to the garbage can with our trays, I let his last words sink in. When he returned I said, “I don't know why I bother. Guys are such assholes. And they get away with it. I don't think I want to do it anymore. I'm just going to be the best lawyer ever and that will be enough.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “OK, Jane. Whatever you say. But, so you know, not all guys are assholes.”

Throughout the remainder of the day, I kept hearing Andrew's words, “Not all guys are assholes.” As I rode the subway home that night, I glared at the cutish-corporate guy reading
The Wall Street
Journal
directly across from me and thought about the guys whose acquaintance I'd been unfortunate to make over the last six months. They'd certainly done little to support Andrew's statement. Randall was an asshole supreme and Cory was definitely in the same category. As Corporate Guy looked up from his paper and glared back at me, I quickly looked away. He was probably an asshole too but even men, I guessed, should be seen as innocent until proven guilty. In truth, there were some decent men in my life. I had to admit, Bob was not an asshole. So, score one for men. Claire's Kevin had, so far, been nothing but loyal and sweet. I smiled, remembering the picture Claire had emailed me earlier in the week. Apparently, Kevin had been kind enough to match Claire's weight gain, pound for pound. If that wasn't anti-asshole, behavior, what was? And, of course, my father was a shining example of non-asshole-like men. So score two and three for men.

I stood up in anticipation of the train's arrival at 77th Street. So did Corporate Guy. The stop was very popular for guys in their twenties and early thirties. Maybe he added to the decent-men quota too. I tried to make eye contact to silently apologize for the dirty looks I gave him earlier but he rushed off the train and was up the stairs before I had a chance. On my walk home, I tried to think of other good guys and immediately remembered Andrew. Despite telling me to date like a man, I got the feeling he was something of a romantic. I felt a bit guilty for flirting with both of his friends in the same night although it had been fun making them both think I'd go out with them. Truth was, had I met either of them before being blown off by Randall, Jim, and Cory, I might be dating them now. At least if they pulled the fade away on me, they'd have to answer to Andrew. It was so sweet of him to treat me to lunch. And his insistence that not all guys were assholes was comforting. I finally understood why all of the female paralegals flirted with him. I always thought he was a bit goofy, but his concern was sweet and sexy. I peeked in the window of Pick-a-Bagel, contemplating whether to buy something for dinner. I really had to study for the LSAT and reluctantly decided it was more efficient to pick up food than waste precious study time cooking. I'd buy a sandwich for Lainie too. Maybe I'd ask her to tell me more about Antoine since it seemed her interest in him extended beyond that of a carnal nature.