The Last Thing She Wants (Chestnut Hills #1)

1

ellie

Dear Diary

Hello

‘Ello

Cheerio

How does this shit work?

Goals:

Focus on my health and start working out again.

Sing in front of an audience.

Put myself first.

I reflected on the recent changes in my life and sighed as I wrote in the fresh notebook. After a self-loathing ten-minute cry in my car after work, I swerved into the Target parking lot for retail therapy. The cheery doodled sun on the front beckoned me with promises of shining as bright as the yellow circle with rosy pink cheeks.

It had been three weeks since my buffoon of an ex, Shane, admitted to cheating on me with the leasing office manager of our apartment complex. In his defense, we were on the outs as it was.

I had just received a promotion at work, and he was not supportive or excited for me. Of course, he loved my raise and the new computer parts he could buy with it, but he couldn’t care any less about my actual day to day. It was common for him to sigh, roll his eyes, or just walk away while I was mid-sentence if the conversation in any way shifted towards me. Unless, of course, he was listening for my debit card number to buy more precious shiny computer parts - then, he was all ears.

My best friend, Daisy, believed that he just couldn’t handle a strong, independent woman.

After three years of working the same junior copywriter job, I finally received a promotion. When living in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the entry-level job at the sizeable agency in the city was my best chance of exposure and growth. Copywriting was never my dream, but it allowed me to flex my creative muscles and pay the bills…and it paid the bills well. Especially after my promotion…and after the new hobby pieces for my ex, of course.

After successfully making sponges “sexy” through a campaign, yes, “making sponges sexy,” they promoted me to senior copywriter. The new title came with managing my own clients and campaigns, along with a big base pay bump and bonus incentive increase.

Despite Shane’s obvious growing distaste for me, I stayed and tried. I ignored the deep feeling of rejection in the pit of my stomach and would come, plaster a smile on my face, and make dinner. I planned date nights and initiated sex regularly. I was A+ girlfriend material, even going as far as to plan a romantic two-night getaway to the city in July. Given that it’s March and July is four months away, it seemed reasonable to expect a deposit refund. If one thought that, one would be wrong.

Apparently, “non-refundable” truly meant non-refundable. Who would have thought?

We were together for four solid years. For anyone counting, four years is ,460 days, or 35,040 hours, or 2,02,400 minutes. All that time, I put someone else before myself. What hurt most of the situation was that Shane wasn’t even a good someone. He didn’t do the dishes, always stopped me from leaving the apartment, and sex consisted of me star-fishing and thinking about my next ad campaign.

The bastard couldn’t even pay me enough respect to break up with me before diving dick first into another woman.

I had the good sense and ability to appreciate Celine’s traditional beauty. What stung was thinking about how we were polar opposite in attributes.

I loved my deep brown hair that curled with little help, and although it was a journey, I was learning to love my curves. Sure, my boobs made it hard to find shirts that laid in a flattering manner, and my hips made me have to buy jeans a size bigger to fit my legs best, but thick was in, right? Or was it thicc?

I made a mental note to ask the not-old-enough-to-legally-drink-yet receptionist at work to clarify.

My barely budding self-confidence was quickly squashed back into the ground when my boyfriend of nearly half a decade cheated on me with a tall, blond, beautiful, model-slim woman. It was hard to resist questioning if the confidence I had been holding onto by a thread was a joke.

Two and a half years ago, we were so eager to start the next chapter of our lives together.

Helene, a sweet old woman with silver curls and bright pink lipstick, walked us through the leasing contract. Between pointing at the blank spaces where we were to sign, she repeatedly told us how cute she thought we were. Smiling and nodding, I listened as she told stories of herself and her husband. Almost immediately, I became enamored with her lasting love for her partner. I listened, a smile on my face, all the while thinking Shane and I were on the same path.

A year later, Helene and her husband of 45 years went on an anniversary trip to the countryside of France. It was there that they realized they wanted to spend the rest of their days together living a care free life in the country. Helene quit without ever even returning to the leasing office. A week later Celine was at Helene’s old desk, smiling that big smile with those perfect white teeth.

Helene, you bitch.

At our most recent lease renewal, we sat across the desk from Celine as she leaned over, pushing her tits up in our faces. Between pointing at the lines to sign or initial, I would catch Shane looking at Celine with a heat that was reserved for me. Okay, maybe not heat, but he was smiling more than was typical for him with strangers, and his eyes had this weird cloudy look.

Anytime I questioned him, though, he would shake his head in amplified disapproval. He would tell me I was “nuts” and pull me along. I didn’t think much about it until he started going to the leasing office more often. First, it was to check for packages…that we never ordered. Then it was getting touch-up paint…that we didn’t need, and at last, was going to the apartment gym down the hall from the office…when he hated working out.

Turns out he was working out, just between the sheets. Or should I say, in the package closet?

Despite half-expecting it, I still felt a little shell-shocked. After the initial shock wore off, I sighed heavily and resigned to asking him how he wanted to go about things. We had to figure out who was going to move out and if we were going to share custody of our half-dead fern, Fernadette.

In a deflated manner, he just apologized flatly, agreed to sleep on the couch and be gone the next day. He didn’t even ask about Fernadette.

The more I pondered, the more I felt disturbed by the betrayal and deceit. I never gave up. I poured love, effort, and care into him, but it was disregarded easily, as our relationship quickly deteriorated.

What an absolute buffoon.

?“Please, for the love of dicks, do not tell me you’re crying over that absolute waste of human life.” I jumped at the intrusion, followed by a loud slam of the front door as Daisy walked in.

I watched her best friend in confusion as she dropped her bags, walked straight to where I was sitting on the couch, and wiped a tear from my face. Huh, I didn’t even realize I was crying. Daisy looked down at my still open notebook. “Oh, goal setting? I love this! Health and working out? Good one. Sing in front of a live audience? Absolutely. Put yourself first? It’s about time, bitch!” She grabbed me by the shoulders and squeezed me tight.

?“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was crying. I was thinking things over and realized how angry I am.” I set the pen down and secured the notebook closed. The bright and smiling sun on the cover mocked me from the top of the coffee table. “I’m ready, though, to get my shit back together.”

?Daisy stood up and made her way into the open area kitchen of my small apartment and picked up the bags she dropped next to the builder grade granite island. “Your shit was never broken. Your light was just dimmed,” she pulled out a bottle of wine, “and now that the obstruction is gone, you can shine bright, baby.”

?We became best friends between scooping ice cream and dodging our creepy boss’ son. My first job out of high school was at a local ice cream shop, Loop Stuart gave me the check while telling me to get to lost and cursing Daisy under his breath. After I ran up front and introduced myself to Daisy, we have been inseparable.

Returning to the present moment, I pushed myself up from the new couch I bought the same weekend Shane moved out. Despite paying most of the rent, Shane was domineering in every aspect of decorating. The apartment barely reflected any bit of me. Walking across the also new rug with a pink and beige oriental design, I joined Daisy in the kitchen. Reaching into the cabinet next to the microwave, I pulled out two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“So, I called the hotel I booked for that trip to the city in July and asked for a refund.” Daisy raised her eyebrows, waiting, “They said no,” I deadpanned .

“Dang it. I was hoping they would say yes, and you would take that big fat refund and buy me something pretty,” she said, giving me a coy smile.

“Why don’t you come with me? We’ll make it a girl’s trip! Taylor Black is going to be in town doing an intimate coffee house type concert thing. We could get tickets.”

“Taylor Black? The country singer?” Daisy scrunched her nose and pulled her lips to the side, showing her obvious distaste for country music.

“Yes, but you’ve heard his music! You like it. I’ve been dying to see him live and my broken heart just needs a little love and support.” I clutched her chest and placed the back of my hand to my forehead for dramatic effect.

Daisy stopped herself from spitting out her wine, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at her wide eyes. “No thanks drama mama. Take a man with you.”

Typical Daisy. “A man?! I’ve been single for five minutes, Daisy!”

“Three weeks,” she cleared her throat and continued, “three weeks and a day, to be exact. And you were together, one, two, three,” she made a show of counting her fingers, “four, oh yes, four years, and it ended with him cheating on you, so you get one week per year to recover. You have six days left. Make them count. Then we are prepping you for launch.”

Shaking my head, the corners of my mouth turned downward. “I am a person, Daisy. Your best friend. Not a rocket. I am not preparing to launch anything.”

“Yes, you are.” Daisy turned her back and returned to the couch. That is that I guess.

“I’m putting myself first,” I said with conviction, eyeing the closed journal on the coffee table. “The answer is no. ”

“So lame, at least have a rebound.”

Managing men was like a game to Daisy, her personal checkers, and she always won. Settling on the couch next to my best friend, I let out an exasperated sigh and sipped my wine before Daisy rested her head on my shoulder.

“Ok, take your time. But not too long, or I’ll start pressuring you again.”