The oddest thing about me is that I love Monday mornings. I don’t suffer from the so-called ‘Mondayitis’ like everyone else I know. There’s something about a new week, a fresh start, which excites me. The possibilities are endless.
Lately, I’ve kept myself busy by listening to podcasts to try to nurture my brain. That, and I have been single for a year straight. According to many of my close friends, a year is the slippery slope to crazy cat lady syndrome. So, I have one cat, Coco. She’s a great cat—obedient, cuddly, and doesn’t leave dead mice in my apartment.
I do, however, feel sorry for having to leave her alone for several hours and often contemplate getting another cat so they can chill and have cat-type fun.
My phone sits on the boardroom table in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I text back Julian. He messaged me late last night, a day after my embarrassing stint at the gym. We texted for hours about trivial topics, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed his online company and equally witty banter.
So, I’m seizing the day. According to this podcast, if I don’t act, I won’t receive good things in my life.
And I don’t want to become a crazy cat lady.
The temptation to check my phone to see if he responds is too great, so I place it face down on the table and stare at my surroundings, waiting for our meeting to start. My train of thought has so easily gone from cats to an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where George died, and I sobbed like a baby.
“Monday, can you believe it?”
The voices enter the room, my colleagues looking less than pleased by the early Monday morning meeting. After quickly taking a seat, all heads are down, fingers busily typing away on their phones. In a room full of people, there’s nothing but the sounds of tapping and the constant ping or chirp followed by more tapping.
Aside from loving Mondays, I also love my job. If I could, I’d never leave this place. Some call me a workaholic. I prefer the word ‘passionate.’ It helps that I adore my co-workers. Over time, they have become good friends, and our office has become like a close-knit family.
While waiting for the last person to arrive, I focus my attention on my new shoes. Okay, so I have a problem, and I have no doubt in my mind I’m a shoe addict. These new Louboutins are fresh off the fall line, and I’m a woman possessed by my need for shiny new patent leather and a heel that could poke your worst enemy’s eye out. As I cross my legs admiring my new guilty pleasure, I catch sight of Eric taking a photograph with his phone.
“Absolutely gorgeous, Charlie. Let’s hashtag this.” Fingers busily typing away, Eric smiles. Moments later, he flashes me the picture.
“How nice of you, Eric. Did that interrupt your busy Candy Crush schedule? You have a problem, you know that, right? I’d like to see you live one day… actually, no… make that half a day without your phone.”
“I did, remember?”
“Taking it back to the shop and getting a loaner phone does not count.”
“Well, for your information, I’m now using my phone to order lunch.”
Now that catches my attention. Lunch, and it’s only eight fifty-five in the morning. Please be the sushi rolls from the Japanese place that just opened around the corner. My stomach rumbles at the thought, and, embarrassed, I let out a loose cough and make a mental note to eat more breakfast in the morning. Clearly, my stomach and I aren’t in harmony with this let’s-just-have-a- cup-of-coffee diet, which has become a terrible lazy habit.
“Charlie, the people all the way in Africa can hear your thoughts as well as your belly. And yes, I’m ordering from that new Japanese place. And no, you aren’t eating those salmon rolls that make you puke up more than Linda Blair in The Exorcist.”
“Disgusting, but you do have a point.”
Suddenly, I feel queasy. That was one hell of a bad salmon roll. How is it possible that I’m not scarred enough that my body still craves it? The problem is, I remember how mouth-watering it was when I took the first bite and failed to remember the aftermath. I shudder at the thought, and mentally scold myself for craving it again. I’m so weak.
“Of course, I have a point,” Eric continues, confidently. “I’m your personal assistant and BFF. It’s my job to steer you away from danger, and that includes bad sushi rolls.”
He buries himself in his phone again, looking up for only a moment to show me some picture of a dog wearing a Halloween costume. I have to chuckle because it’s beyond pathetic someone’s gone to these lengths, yet cute at the same time.
Eric always makes me laugh. He brings out the fun in everyone, plus he reminds me every day that we’re Generation Y, living in a world that can no longer function without social media and ridiculous abbreviations such as BFF, LOL, and YOLO.
Like a whirlwind, Nikki, who’s my partner at the firm, throws her stuff on the large mahogany table creating a loud bang, startling the others. Her usual perfect copper hair looks disheveled as she blows it out of her face, annoyed it strayed. Her bright blue eyes have dark circles underneath them. I can’t help but worry as I take in her appearance.
“Nikki, are you okay?” I ask quietly, trying not to attract attention.
“No, not really. I spent most of the night sick from that Italian place we love to order the seafood marinara from. My new Dior dress is ruined because Rocky couldn’t wait to reach the toilet or basin. It was the most disastrous anniversary in the history of bad anniversaries like a scene from one of those cheesy movies.”
“The ruby-colored Dior dress?”
“Yes, Eric. The ruby-colored Dior dress, which is at the dry cleaners being cleaned of any traces of projectile seafood marinara,” she answers in a huff.
“Thank God, Nikki. That dress is to die for.”
It’s totally Eric to worry about the dress more than the person. He’s fashion-obsessed, and if you’re his best friend, it’s impossible not to feel the same. It is the main reason why I designated him as my personal shopper when I don’t have time to shop for myself. We’re a lethal combination, but American Express seems to love us.
“Okay, seriously, let’s get this meeting underway before I projectile vomit over all of you,” she quickly interjects.
With a look of disgust, she starts the meeting, and I follow her lead. We talk about our schedules for the week, an upcoming workshop Eric and Emma, Nikki’s assistant, will be attending tomorrow, and lastly, my long-awaited trip to Hawaii for my cousin’s wedding.
When the meeting finishes, I find myself alone with Nikki, giving us a few minutes to catch up before we’re inundated with work for the rest of the day.
“So, I’m guessing your anniversary didn’t have a happy ending?”
“Honestly, Charlie, you know I love Rocky, but there’s seriously nothing more unattractive than seeing your husband covered in vomit, bent over the toilet bowl crying while calling his mom and asking her to come over.”
“He called his mom?” I question, trying to hold back my laughter.
“Yes, and she arrived exactly an hour later with what could only be described as the entire drugstore.”
I’m not surprised. Rocky is such a momma’s boy. Poor Nikki, she doesn’t exactly dislike his mom but hates being the second person he asks for in a crisis.
“Enough bitching about my sookie-la-la-momma’s-boy husband and back to work.”
“You sure you don’t want to go home and rest for the day?”
“Charlie, you’ve known me what, eight years? Since when do I ever go home sick?”
“True. We’ll catch up later,” I say as I walk out of the room and head toward my office.
I sit at my desk and start thinking about what Nikki said. Eight years seems like a lifetime. I do a mental calculation of the years in my head. I can’t believe how long it has been since we first met in college.
Nikki and I were designated roommates. Both of us were studying law, which was why they dumped us together. The only problem was that Nikki was a bitch, the mean-girl type, the type who made your life a living hell. She thought she ruled the world, gave no one the time of day except for her college boyfriend, Rockford Romano.
Rocky was a burly Italian guy, huge muscles, and he was the quarterback on the college football team. Women threw themselves at him, men wanted to be him, but students were generally scared of his tough ego. There were rumors that his family was part of the Mafia, but in truth, he was nothing but a pussycat. The kindest, sweetest guy you could ever meet who worshiped the ground Nikki walked on.
They began dating, would break up every week only to get back together again.
I mean, Nikki has always been beautiful. She puts Victoria’s Secret models to shame. Her long, lean legs made her supermodel tall, and her body’s toned as a result of the Pilates she did every day in our dorm room.
Despite her being a total glamour-puss, she still remained the campus bitch. If you had a pair of tits and a vagina, she watched you like a hawk around her man.
One night during the end of our first year, I found her lying on the bathroom floor, sobbing, surrounded by pregnancy tests. She needed a friend, so I was there to console her, but that night we became more like sisters than friends. I did everything I could at the time to support Rocky and Nikki during the pregnancy, mainly covering her shifts at the local pizza joint when she was too tired to work.
And seven months later, they welcomed William Nicholas Romano into the world at exactly 11:34 p.m. I watched him being placed on his mother’s chest, not a dry eye in the room. I still remember the moment Rocky handed him to me, and I held my godson for the first time. Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on his wrinkly forehead and inhaled his baby scent. I fell in love with the boy the moment I laid eyes on him, but holding him, that broke me, in a good way. There was this unconditional love for him I couldn’t explain, and it has only grown since.
“Okay, settle a bet. Who wears it better? Jennifer Aniston or J Lo?”
Eric is waiting impatiently, tapping his foot as I analyze the image in front of me, breaking me away from my past reflection.
“J Lo. Now seriously, don’t you have anything better to do like making sure everything’s wrapped up before I go to Hawaii?”
“I’m in denial about you going because I’m a jealous best friend who still doesn’t understand why you’re not taking me,” Eric asserts with an envious stare.
“I’m not going to justify my need for a holiday since I’ve worked for two years straight with no break. Now, get back to work and make sure you order me the salmon rolls.”
Eric leaves my office and closes the door behind him. Sitting in my plush chair, I take a moment to refocus. I have a lot to do and will need to haul some serious ass before next Friday.
There’s no time for being lazy or unorganized. Focus, regroup, and get your shit together, Charlie.
My cell beeps loudly, breaking my zen. It’s a text from Julian.
Julian: I’m glad you finally texted me. I wasn’t sure how long a gorgeous woman like yourself would leave me hanging. I’m free today at two if you are? I promise to behave if you want me to.
The text follows with the address of a café. I’m unable to hide the smile which so easily graces my face from his cute text. Even through a message, he still has this charm about him. My fingers type back quickly, letting him know I’m free and how much I love the café he suggests because of the peanut shop next to it, accidentally hitting send and realizing that peanuts autocorrected to penis.
Me: Duck, I’m sorry. Penis.
Me: Argh! I mean Penis.
Me: PEANUTS.
I yell loudly in frustration. Stupid autocorrect. Did it not understand no one gives a flying fuck not duck? How difficult is it for the companies to realize and fix the problem? Once again, I have managed to embarrass myself in front of an unbelievably sexy guy which is probably why I have been single for a year. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes only to open them when my phone pings.
Julian: Charlie, relax. All the ducks in the world couldn’t change how happy you’ve made me today. I’ll see you at 2 next to the penis store.
This time, I manage to laugh instead of yell. It’s been a long time since I’ve flirted with a guy, and if there’s anyone worth flirting over it’s Julian Baker.
I have a good feeling about this.
