The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

25. Brenna

25

brENNA

A manda finds me curled up on the couch, shivering yet again because I couldn’t muster up the energy to blow dry my wet hair after my warm shower.

“Sweetie, what happened?” She drops her bag and coat on a chair and sits on the coffee table in front of me.

“I had to come back from my parents’ house early and miss the Christmas decorating and then I got fired and then I made a fool of myself with Zach, so now I’m going to lay here until my body becomes one with the couch and I enter a higher plane as a sentient piece of furniture.”

“Oh no! What happened with Zach?” She balances her crossed arms on her scrub-clad knees and tilts her head to see my face better.

I scowl and sit up. “That’s the only part you heard? I got fired , Amanda. I have no job.”

Amanda pinches her lips and gives me an inscrutable look. “I heard. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Not since lunch. But I’m not hungry.”

She slaps her knees. “I’m going to make soup.”

I watch her march into the kitchen and wash her hands. Amanda believes that a good meal can cure what ails you, body, mind, and soul. For small things, she’s absolutely right. But this isn’t a head cold or PMS. I don’t think a pot of soup is going to fix this. It feels like I’ve lost everything. A day ago, I was surrounded by my family, gainfully employed in a job I was proud of, and had a boyfriend—albeit a fake one.

Okay, so I know I didn’t actually lose my family. But being unwillingly removed from them only hours before being fired makes it feel that way.

Eventually, I throw a blanket around my shoulders and drag myself off the couch and into the kitchen to lean against the counter and watch her work. I should tell her that my mom sent home sandwich stuff, but I could really go for a hot meal. The crackle of sauteing celery and onion fills the air, along with the sound of Amanda humming Simon and Garfunkel as she pulls open the spice drawer and withdraws parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. I watch her confidently season without measuring, and the savory aroma of the herbs soon reaches me in a comforting wave.

“What would you do if you couldn’t be a nurse anymore?” I ask Amanda suddenly.

She doesn’t hesitate. “I’d be a trophy wife.”

A laugh escapes me. “Sign me up.”

“Right?” She grins but quickly sobers. “In all seriousness, I think I’d like to own a coffee shop or cafe. Not very original, I know. But I like serving people food and creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere.”

“That sounds perfect for you.”

“What about you? This question is way more relevant to you right now.” She opens her arms wide, a can of chicken broth in each hand. “You have the freedom to do anything you want!”

The knot in the pit of my stomach cinches tighter. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

“I’d say that’s a good thing.” My shock must be evident on my face because she hastens to clarify. “Brenna, you’ve been so single-minded in your quest to climb the corporate law ladder that I think you forgot somewhere along the way to ask yourself if it’s still what you want. People change, and what they enjoy and desire changes. This is the perfect opportunity for you to spend some time figuring out if you still want your life to look the way you thought you did when you graduated. You get a clean slate.”

I stare at the floor, considering her words. I hadn’t thought about it like that. And she’s right, I’ve been on autopilot for the last three years, focusing solely on my work and not making time for anything else. What did I do for fun before I started working at Springfield & Springfield? Even before then, all my attention was on studying so that I could obtain the degree to get me the job. When was the last time I went on a date?

Dating brings Zach to mind, which brings a new wave of dejection and humiliation. I can’t believe I basically threw myself at him like that, especially after everything he’s shared with me about his love life—or lack thereof.

“So what else do we need to work through?” Amanda asks as she dices a potato. “Why’d you have to come home early?”

I relate the whole story of Springfield dumping busywork on me at the last minute and demanding it be returned by 5:00 today. Her outrage on my behalf is affirming and we rage together about how terrible he is. As we recount all the ways he’s messed with me or insulted me in the past three years, it finally dawns on me.

“He was never going to promote me, was he?” I ask quietly. “I was there for almost three years, and the two other associates who were hired at the same time were both promoted after one.”

It seems so obvious now. Would you ask a person you respect to act like your personal secretary instead of giving them work that would allow them to use their actual degree and training? Of course not.

Amanda shakes her head and dumps a handful of potato chunks into the pot. “I don’t know, but I suspect not. The one time I met him I got the impression that he likes power, likes to manipulate people and hold himself above them. I think he especially liked doing that with you because you wanted the job so badly that you’d put up with a lot to keep it.”

“Wow. I never realized how desperate and pathetic I am.” I feel about a foot tall right now. How could I have let him get away with this for so long? What kind of mousy little miss am I?

“You’re not either of those things. You were just too close to the situation to see what was really going on. And blinded by your determination to make it work.”

“If you could see it all so clearly, why didn’t you say anything?” I demand, my voice tight with frustration.

“I did, several times. You weren’t ready to hear it.”

My shoulders fall and I feel like a deflated balloon. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

“It’s okay, I know you’re not in your right mind tonight.” She grins at me and I know she’s really not offended. “And now circling back to my original question, what happened with Zach?”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. “I tried to kiss him.”

“Tried?” She cocks an eyebrow and puts one hand on her hip. “As in, you were not successful?”

“He dropped me off and I was upset and he gave me a hug and then I kind of…I don’t know, tried to kiss him. But he clearly didn’t want to.” The memory makes my cheeks heat again. “I was a mess, all wet from the rain and snotty from crying. I’m just glad he was polite enough not to scream and run.”

Amanda rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t, but that’s the story we’re going with to explain why he didn’t kiss me. It seems less hurtful than the true reason that Amanda has no idea about—he’s waiting for the right girl and he’s decided it’s not me. That’s what really made it sting. It was a very specific kind of rejection that plainly communicated that he’d evaluated me and decided I wasn’t good enough for him, even though for my part, he is the first guy I’ve felt more than a passing interest in since I graduated college.

“So then what? Did he say anything about it?”

“Um, I kind of retreated to my room and didn’t wait around to find out,” I admit. “I was too upset and embarrassed to function past that.” Then a thought dawns on me. “Amanda, was my car here when you got home?”

“Yeah, I parked right next to you. Why?” She’s looking at me with concern like I might be a little off my rocker. Who knows at this point. Her concern is probably justified.

“Well, we were in my car when he dropped me off, so how did he get home?”

She shrugs. “He’s not here now so he must have called someone or gotten a rideshare.”

“Uggggh. Now I feel even worse. I left him stranded after foisting myself on him. And that was after he gave up three days to come pretend to be my boyfriend for my mom’s crazy competition.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask how that went.” Amanda gives her soup a stir, leaning over the pot and inhaling deeply.

“We won, actually.”

“That’s great! You love to win!”

I do love to win, but the excitement I felt after our victory is dulled by all the uncertainty I’m now facing. Right now, just having some clue what I should do next would feel like a win. But I’m exhausted. I don’t think I can make any plans until I’ve had time to rest and ponder Amanda’s challenge to figure out what I actually want.

My stomach rumbles and I have to admit that Amanda is on the right track with her food therapy because the prospect of her cooking is giving me hope and purpose right now. “Any chance you might whip up some biscuits to go with this soup?”

She looks positively delighted by the request. “Coming right up.”

While she pulls out a baking sheet, I palm my phone and debate whether or not I should check on Zach. The thought of texting him is not appealing after everything that happened. I don’t think I can handle any more awkwardness. He’s a grown man. I’m sure he got home safely without me to hold his hand and that he’s absolutely fine and probably happy to be done with me and all my drama.

What I need to do is clear my mind. There’s no room in my brain for anything other than my career woes at the moment. Even as I think this, the memory of him bringing me hot chocolate in the middle of the night and sitting patiently by my side as I worked pops up, quickly followed by other sweet moments from the past few days.

If only it was as easy as just deciding not to care.