Page 13 of The Quit List
I’ll find some quiet time to talk to Orlagh, my manager, and give my resignation. I’ll take Laurel for a hike or two to sharpen my guiding skills. And I’ll ask my sister to point me in the right direction with marketing.
Before I know it, I’ll be out of here and this place will be a distant memory…
Though a little part of me might miss seeing who the hell Holly turns up with on the next Saturday night.
5
HOLLY
Do better.
Jax’s kinda mean but well-intended (I think) words are still ringing in my ears as I grab my keys and unlock the door of the bungalow Aubrey and I share.
We’ve been renting this place together for the past three years, but our lease is up in the summer and she’s been talking about moving in with Alec, her ER Doctor in Shining Armor. Which makes sense—they’re getting married soon.
I, meanwhile, will be striking out on my own. I won’t be able to afford to pay the rent here on my own, and I don’t want to live with a stranger, so I guess I can add “apartment hunting” to my to-do list before I turn thirty.
On the bright side, Aubrey has insisted that she will help me find a place when the time comes. And a cat. Because she’s not a dog person and believes cats to have “nice smiles and soulful eyes.”
I know. I wonder about her sanity, too.
“She’s alive!” Aubrey squeals from where she’s sitting on the living room floor.
I laugh as I walk into our cramped living room, which features heritage (read: old and long overdue a replacement) bay windows with busted seals that leak condensation and uneven thin-plank hardwood floors that are ideal for toe-stubbing. On the plus side though, our home also features a squashy, overstuffed old couch, a selection of Pottery Barn throw pillows and blankets (mine), and enough plants to reforest the Amazon (Aubrey’s).
Aubrey’s sitting with her spine straight and her legs crossed in front of her, which would look very zen if she wasn’t surrounded by half-empty Chinese food containers. Her dirty blond hair is piled in a loose bun held with what looks like a zip tie, and she’s wearing nothing but a flowy white tank top with a soy sauce stain on it and polka-dotted underwear. Her reading glasses are on, there’s an open book in her lap, and soft classical music plays from the stereo.
“How’s the studying?” I kick off my pointy-toed stiletto heels and flop onto the couch, swiping a container of veggie chow mein on my way down. I dig my chopsticks eagerly into the saucy deliciousness and twirl. “Mmmm,” I mumble through a mouthful of noodles.
I’m starving. Despite the expensive dinner tonight, I barely touched my plate. Keith was a total appetite buzzkill.
“It sucks.” Aubs looks at me solemnly. “Never become a lawyer.”
I laugh. “I have no plans to ever do that in this lifetime, thank you very much.”
Aubrey and I have been best friends since college, and we are the epitome of opposites attract. She—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—is a hot mess. She’s never on time for anything, is booksmart but has the memory of a goldfish for any real-life engagements, and is constantly taking up and dropping new hobbies. But, she also has a heart of gold and treats everyone from the mailman to the homeless guy on the corner like her best friend. She has a wardrobe of floaty cotton and linen neutrals, but has no qualms leaving the house with unbrushed hair and mismatched flip-flops.
Me? I’m hard lines where she’s soft edges. I have a perfectly organized Tupperware cabinet, a fastidiously-kept daily planner full of index tabs, and a wardrobe full of perfectly ironed dresses all hanging in a row. Where she’s an extrovert, I hate talking to strangers (see, “I hate dating”), and I keep a quiver of self-deprecating-humor-laced arrows in my arsenal for when conversation becomes too personal or uncomfortable.
“Sooooo, about tonight…” Aubrey sets down her book, titled The Bar Exam Is Easy. Her eyes follow mine to the cover, and she snorts. “Spoiler alert, the title is wildly misleading. Once I pass, I may use my fancy new lawyer powers to sue.”
“I think you’d win.” I smile. “Wanna make a fake case for it?”
We do this sometimes. When one of us is trying to make an important decision, or we’re mad at someone, or we simply disagree about something, we binge-watch Suits, then get dressed up in a couple of men’s suit jackets Aubrey snagged for us at Goodwill, and debate, courtroom-style.
Each of us takes turns to convince the imaginary judge (Aubrey’s stuffed flamingo, Pauly D) that we’re right. Topics range from “Kiss, Marry, Kill: Mike Ross, Harvey Specter, Louis Litt” (Aubrey was squarely in the kill Louis camp, whereas I was all for offing Harvey… both of us wanted to marry Mike. Probably due to that scene with Meghan Markle in the filing room), to “should I get bangs?” (a resounding no), to “do you think what happened with Dylan is because I’m entirely deluded?” (I leaned yes, even after Aubs gave a tearful, wine-induced speech declaring that I was beautiful and special and Dylan was a grade-A idiot).
“Nope.” Aubrey snaps her eggshell-blue fingernails in front of my face. “Stop trying to distract me and start telling me about your trainwreck of a date.”
I poke at a mushroom with my chopsticks. “There’s no more to say than what I texted you. It was a total off-the-rails disaster.”
“Where’s your phone?” Aubrey makes a gimme motion. “Let’s forget Keith and go man-shopping.”
I know my best friend is trying to help. That her heart is in the right place. But she and I have been “man-shopping” for me on Spark since my post-Christmas-party resolution, and we keep coming up empty.
What I’m looking for is straightforward enough: