I had friends at work. Well, acquaintances really. But some of us exchanged Christmas gifts. We went to lunch. We even stopped for drinks in the evening before heading home.
My lifelong friends Layla and Brooklyn might have moved out of Seattle, but I’d rebound from that. People rebounded from absent friendships all the time. They filled their lives with other things, new experiences and new companions.
The companions didn’t even have to be people.
I liked cats. I especially liked kittens. I’d heard once that kittens should be adopted in pairs, littermates if you could get them. That way, they kept themselves company when you were away.
A librarian with two cats.
Perfect.
Exactly how I hoped my life would end up.
I was at the Harbor Tennis Club in downtown Seattle contemplating the latest text message from Sophie Crush, the fourth close friend in our circle. Several games were underway on the indoor courts below me. The frequent sound of balls popping hollowly against the painted surface faded into the background while my herbal tea cooled on a round polished beech wood table in the lounge.
I liked herbal tea. It was a comfort drink, and I didn’t want to give it up. All the same, I was thinking I might have to choose between tea and cats to keep from becoming a cliché.
I had acquaintances here at the Harbor Club, too. I’d been a member since I was a teenager. I’d taken lessons and played matches over the years with most of the other members in my age range.
But acquaintances weren’t close friends. They weren’t the people you could call up to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon with dressed in yoga pants, eating gourmet ice cream and loaded nachos, adding wine as soon as the clocked ticked over to four o’clock. They weren’t the people you could count on when you were feeling down.
I was feeling down.
I told myself it was normal. And it was. I didn’t begrudge Layla and Brooklyn their happily-ever-afters. I was happy for them. But it was hard to be happy for me right now.
I checked my cell phone screen again. The text from Sophie stared back at me.
Her lunch was running late—her lunch with her new guy was running late.
I surmised from the grinning emoji that lunch with the new guy was going great.
I was happy for her, too. Again, just not for me.
She’d canceled our Saturday tennis game at the last minute, so here I was sitting alone in my tennis shorts, my racket by my side, with no plans for the afternoon and none for the evening, either. I found myself wondering how late the animal shelter was open on weekends.
It felt pathetic again, the cat thing. I did like cats. What I didn’t like was what they represented, like I’d given up and started that long, long journey through stoic mediocrity to... I don’t know...retirement or death.
Wow.
I tried to laugh at myself. I’d just gone from a canceled tennis date to death in under thirty minutes. Maybe I needed tequila instead of tea.
One of the games below me ended. Two men shook hands and walked off the court.
I recognized James Gillen—Layla Kendrick’s, née Gillen’s, older brother. If I had to say, he was the one person in the club worse off than me.
I didn’t know if that made me feel worse or better. Better for me, I suppose, since I’m human and not a saint. But worse for him—I definitely felt worse for him. Again, since I was human and capable of empathy.
I wouldn’t wish his life on anyone.
James had been high-school sweethearts with my gorgeous and much sought-after friend Brooklyn. And up until this July, they’d been blissfully engaged.
They’d spent a full year planning one of the greatest weddings in the history of weddings. It would have been magnificent. In fact, it was magnificent—at least at the start, right up to the moment Brooklyn left James at the altar in front of five hundred guests and a stringer for the local newspaper.
I didn’t blame Brooklyn, at least not completely. By all accounts her handsome, successful new husband, Colton Kendrick, was a real catch.
It hadn’t surprised me at all that Brooklyn would have two great guys competing to marry her. Brooklyn sparkled. She always had, and I expected she always would. And that sparkle drew men—flies to honey and all that. It was a gift.
I wished I had that gift.
I pretended for a second that I did. I gave a Brooklynesque smile at my faint reflection in the tennis court viewing window. I tried to toss my hair the way she did, but it was fastened back in a tight braid, so my toss didn’t work out.
I gave a real smile then, a laughing-at-myself smile. I took a sip of the lukewarm tea, wishing it really was tequila.
Librarians didn’t sparkle. We weren’t supposed to sparkle. We were practical and dependable, admirable qualities for sure. But there were no flies coming to my honey.
I removed my sports glasses and reached for my everyday pair as a couple strolled into the lounge. With my glasses back in place, I recognized them. My besieged heart sank another big notch.
It was Henry Reginald Paulson III with his pretty, bubbly girlfriend clinging to his arm.
She was tall, thin and blonde, with shiny white teeth and luscious eyelashes that seemed to blink too often. I thought her name was Kaylee or Candi or something. I’d never seen her play tennis, but nobody cared about her tennis skills. Athletic ability was obviously not on the top of Henry’s wish list for a girlfriend.
The Paulson family, with Henry’s parents at the center, practically ran the Harbor Club, hosting fund-raisers and sitting on the board. They were third-and fourth-generation members of the private club. Henry was the crown prince.
He was also my ex. He’d unceremoniously dumped me back in May, May 25 to be exact. It was the same day the Northridge Library had celebrated my fifth anniversary as an employee. It meant I was entitled to an extra week’s holiday leave, and I moved up to parking lot B—two blocks closer to the civic building. I’d looked forward to those perks, and I’d been excited to meet Henry to cap off the day.
But our celebratory dinner at the Tidal Rush Restaurant turned into a lonely cab ride home in my blue crepe dress before the appetizers had even been served. I’d tossed the Northridge plaque into my bottom drawer and left it there.
Henry had said that night we’d stay friends. He told me I had many good qualities. He said he admired me and that one day I was going to make some man very happy.
He hadn’t complained about my plain brown hair, my glasses, my understated wardrobe or my modest height. But since he’d replaced me with my physical and stylistic opposite, I could draw my own conclusions.
Henry spotted me from across the lounge.
He smiled and waved as if we had, in fact, remained friends. We hadn’t even spoken since the breakup.
I wished I wasn’t sitting alone right now.
I wished I was out on the court playing tennis with Sophie.
I wished I was anywhere or anything but—
“Hi, Nat.” It was a man’s voice directly beside my table.
I looked up to see James.
Thank you, James.
If James would only stand still and chat for a minute or two, then I wouldn’t have to look completely pathetic while Henry and Kaylee joined a boisterous clique of members at a central table.
“Hi, James,” I said.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked, with a glance around the expansive room.
I