California Girls(95)

“Ali!” Glen’s eyes widened in alarm as he pushed up his glasses. “What are you doing here?”

“Confronting you.”

He reached for the phone on his desk. “If you’re going to get violent, I’m calling security.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really? Violent? When has that ever happened?”

“You’re a woman scorned.”

That nearly made her laugh—then she remembered the credit card bill. She walked over to his desk and waved the envelope.

“What I am is dealing with a lot of debt from the wedding. You proposed to me, Glen. You helped plan the wedding, then you walked away without bothering with your responsibilities. I’m willing to pay for half, but that’s all. I’m going to stand here until you write me a check for twelve thousand dollars.”

He blanched. “I’m not going to do that and you can’t make me.”

His voice was petulant. As she watched him, she tried to figure out what she’d ever seen in him. Had she really been so lonely and desperate that she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? The answer was obvious and embarrassing. Thank goodness he’d dumped her—what if he hadn’t? She might have married him.

“Glen, be a human being and give me the money. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

She waited. After a couple of seconds, he muttered, “I, ah, don’t have my checkbook with me.”

She sighed. “You always have it in your briefcase, Glen. Come on. Don’t play this game with me.”

He made a face, then reached under his desk for his briefcase. It only took him a second to write out the check and hand it to her.

“What about the ring?” he asked as she tucked the piece of paper into her back pocket. “I want it back.”

She smiled. “Funny you should mention that. You know what? Per the state of California, the ring is an implied conditional gift. Had I broken the engagement, you would certainly be entitled to the ring back, but as you ended things, it’s mine to keep.” She smiled. “And just in case you try to pretend things happened otherwise, let’s all remember you didn’t have the balls to break up with me yourself. You had your brother do it, so there’s a witness.”

He stood and glared at her. “You’re different. I’m not sure I like it.”

“Glen, what you like and don’t like about me is no longer my problem.” She offered him an insincere smile. “Thanks for the check. Have a nice day.”

She walked out without saying anything else. When she got to her car, she was both elated and shaking. The combination was unsettling, but she was going to go with it.

She opened her banking app and deposited the check. Once it cleared, she could pay off a good chunk of her credit card and get on with her life. Even better, in less than five hours her workday would be done. She would go home to Daniel and have some hot monkey sex to celebrate her newfound backbone.

*

When Zennie’s mother had said her boobs would hurt, Zennie had not understood the truth in the statement. They didn’t just hurt, they ached and burned and were uncomfortable enough that she wanted to whimper.

“I thought we had a deal,” she said to herself as she got her things out of her locker and headed for her car. “I’ve always taken care of you. I eat right and exercise. I’m just pregnant, can’t you cooperate a little more?”

Before her body could answer—or not—she was close enough to her car to see something tucked under her windshield wipers. While she prayed it was a circular for a new car wash or even somebody leaving a note after denting her car, she knew her luck wasn’t that good. Not anymore.

She unfolded the piece of paper and groaned when she recognized Bernie’s handwriting.

Just a gentle reminder that you need to be taking your calcium every day. Oh, and I have a coupon for a couple’s massage. I thought maybe I could set up an appointment for the two of us. I could make yours a prenatal massage. Wouldn’t that be fun? Love you.

She got in her car, dropped her backpack on the passenger seat, then leaned her forehead against her steering wheel.

“I can’t do this,” she said aloud, not caring that talking to herself was becoming a thing. “I just can’t.”

The changes to her body were hard enough, but dear God, Bernie was getting on her nerves.

It wasn’t just the meal service or the very ugly and tight support hose she’d dropped by. It was the email reminders of her next doctor’s appointment and the little notes like the one left today, and texts about whatever Bernie had just read in the pregnancy books and understandable interest that a nicer person would like but that Zennie was finding overwhelming and intrusive.

She reminded herself that Bernie was her best friend and of course she cared about the baby, but Zennie desperately needed a break. And a hug. And someone to listen to her whine. And the other kind of wine.

She ignored the inevitable tears that were a daily part of life now and started the car’s engine. All she had to do was drive home and then she would be fine. She was always happy to head to her own place and decompress from a long day in surgery, but suddenly she felt less excited about, well, everything.

It was just the note, she told herself. And the stupid food that was waiting for her, she thought with a sigh. Every dinner came with a healthy salad with dark green vegetables and lots of crunchy raw things and beans and a dressing that tasted like road tar. She was tired of plain white fish or plain chicken breasts and two servings of vegetables and unsweetened yogurt because she needed dairy but God forbid she have a little Brie and a hot fudge sundae.