Page 42 of The False Flat

The waiter brought out three pieces of cake, set one in front of me and the other two in front of the empty chairs, still warm from the not-clients who had vacated them.

“My dinner companions left,” I told his tie, unable to look him in the face.

“Should I clear these away then?”

“Leave them.”

He shrugged as I scooted both plates nearer to my own. After he’d walked away, I dumped both pieces of cake onto my plate, pulled out my phone, and started eating as I crafted a text.

Text: They aren’t signing. It’s over.

Almost immediately a reply popped up on my screen.

Reply: They’re fools, and you don’t need them.

As I typed Are they the fools, or am I?, I got cream on my screen.

Reply: They are. No doubt.

Text: I’m the one eating three pieces of cake.

I drew a frowny face with my finger in the icing and took a picture of my plate, sent it.

Reply: Stop eating that right now. I’ll make you some real food when you get home.

Home.

Text: I’ll be there tomorrow night. Pie?

Reply: Definitely.

Text: Thanks Deanna.

Reply: What are friends for?

CHAPTER 18

LIFE REALIZATION #9: EVERYONE SHOULD OWN A GOLDFISH. JUST. IN. CASE.

True to her word, Deanna made me pie as soon as I got back to Nashville on Saturday night. I told her that Houston was spreading rumors about me, but I couldn’t tell her the ultimate reason the Fletchers had decided not to sign with me. Because what if she thought of me differently? I was dating the man I’d cheated with, and it didn’t seem to matter that I’d been unaware of his marital status or why I’d made the decision to be with him. And how could I explain that? From the outside, it looked awful. I couldn’t risk her looking at me the way the Fletchers had.

So I kept it all to myself, feeling isolated and unsure of what to do next. The thing was, the more I connected with others, the more I wanted to connect. So, four days after my return, when I was banging my head on my desk at the office, still reeling from the loss of what I’d thought had been a sure thing and feeling paralyzed with indecision, I called Deanna to ask her to lunch.

“I’d really, really love to, Pen, but I’m swamped.” Deanna’s voice was heavy with apology as she turned me down.

“My produce order just came in, and the stinkin’ arugula was soggy in the middle! I’m prepping for a fancy fiftieth anniversary party tomorrow, which means a mad dash to Costco . . . right now. And we just got a bachelorette party order, also for this weekend. But I would’ve had to say no anyway because Grant and I had plans to meet at that horrible little meat ’n’ three he’s always going to. He’s the only almost-forty-year-old I know who willingly eats at the same place the nursing home field-trips to. Which reminds me, I need to call him! He’s probably almost there by now. Ugh, I’m such a horrible sister and friend.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear to exhale the sharp sting of regret. “You are neither. It’s not a big deal on my end.” It kind of was a big deal. I’d initiated a nonbusiness, recreational activity. Her refusal, while logical, felt like a kick when I was down.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And we need to discuss that event to get you clients. In Nashville. Erin’s idea was perfect.”

Erin had decided I needed to use my WeWork office contacts, coupled with the networking site, to throw a party. She was picturing a concert, arranged by the husband-and-wife country music team, and sample massages from Piper to draw people in. She’d written a long email about it, likely because she felt sorry for me. Deanna loved the idea and swatted my second thoughts away like gnats. I really wanted to believe something like that would work, but I couldn’t get excited over it because nothing had panned out so far.

“We’re gonna do this. I’d love to chat about it now, but I really should call Grant.”

“Of course. We’ll catch up soon.” I worked the disappointment out of my words and spun in my chair. My knee hit soundly into the side of my desk, but I barely noticed because—Deanna might not be able to meet Grant for lunch, but I could.

My lower lip throbbed with the force of my bite.